09-02-2018, 06:38 PM
☽ ☽ ☽
Go outside, Feyre Darling. Trust me. Trust us. The storm will reward you.
Such an ominous promise and yet, one the ragdoll could hardly refuse, white-capped paws leading her delicate form out of the Observatory and into the foreboding darkness of the outside world. The storm was incessant and admittedly, rather unexpected. Feyre felt as if she had just strayed in from the Great Oak under the relaxing twinkle of a calm night sky, one that did not show any signs of bring forth a storm of almost epic proportions. A part of her wondered if it had been born from magic, the crackle in the air - whether that be her own, thinly veiled anticipation or something mystical - making it hard to differentiate the storm's source. All she knew was that two auras seemed to be gathered around one that seemed to be the was the embodiment of lightning itself- interesting.
Ears would pin against her skull as she finally halted before the trio, lavender eyes glowng in the gloom. [color=#3f5351]"Who're you?" An almost accusatory inquiry, one that slipped from her lips with no remorse. Already something about this stranger rubbed her the wrong way, the first sign of frustration dancing across her pelt in the form of embers. An innocent. This person was an innocent- and yet, Feyre could not deny the way Bryn made her feel. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, the tug of something pulling on what felt like her very soul. [color=#3f5351]"You're a witch, aren't you?" She questioned, seemingly unfazed by the onslaught of rain that continued to pelt her form. Call it a witch's intuition, but she just knew. That was why the storm was here, that was why that mysterious voice urged her to leave behind the warmth and safety of the Observatory for this. For her. But she didn't want another witch, not one like this... not one that didn't raise her, didn't care for her. Bryn was a fake in her mind, would always be a fake.
[color=#3f5351]"I'm Feyre Josephine."
Such an ominous promise and yet, one the ragdoll could hardly refuse, white-capped paws leading her delicate form out of the Observatory and into the foreboding darkness of the outside world. The storm was incessant and admittedly, rather unexpected. Feyre felt as if she had just strayed in from the Great Oak under the relaxing twinkle of a calm night sky, one that did not show any signs of bring forth a storm of almost epic proportions. A part of her wondered if it had been born from magic, the crackle in the air - whether that be her own, thinly veiled anticipation or something mystical - making it hard to differentiate the storm's source. All she knew was that two auras seemed to be gathered around one that seemed to be the was the embodiment of lightning itself- interesting.
Ears would pin against her skull as she finally halted before the trio, lavender eyes glowng in the gloom. [color=#3f5351]"Who're you?" An almost accusatory inquiry, one that slipped from her lips with no remorse. Already something about this stranger rubbed her the wrong way, the first sign of frustration dancing across her pelt in the form of embers. An innocent. This person was an innocent- and yet, Feyre could not deny the way Bryn made her feel. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, the tug of something pulling on what felt like her very soul. [color=#3f5351]"You're a witch, aren't you?" She questioned, seemingly unfazed by the onslaught of rain that continued to pelt her form. Call it a witch's intuition, but she just knew. That was why the storm was here, that was why that mysterious voice urged her to leave behind the warmth and safety of the Observatory for this. For her. But she didn't want another witch, not one like this... not one that didn't raise her, didn't care for her. Bryn was a fake in her mind, would always be a fake.
[color=#3f5351]"I'm Feyre Josephine."
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YOU COULD [B]RATTLE THE STARS[/b]
[div style="font-family: HELVETICA;font-size: 17px; color:#000000; LETTER-SPACING: 0PX; line-height: 99%;"]YOU COULD DO [i]ANYTHING, IF ONLY YOU [color=black]DARED