table © Alaine
ooc: <3 Wifey!
WC: 700+
The air was silent and heavy.
Threatening a storm, perhaps, a high pressure formation breaking and bending the atmosphere above their world with a resolve found only in nature itself. A determination to complete a task unspoken, to churn the tides of the sea and crack the stony bones of mountains, to bend the unyielding forests to a will beyond that of the normal. It hung heavy on her shoulders, pointing out the frailties of her decisions, of the bright light clinging fervently to caramel and cream fur.
The child was returning home. Alas, a child no more, she had grown without the watchful eye of her adopted mother, kept from the close embrace of her adopted brother. Left as the single blossom in the field of cattails, alone, fragile, stubborn. For though her roots were strong, they still snapped beneath the pressure, splitting like hairs beneath an axe, allowing the delicate blossom to blow freely upon the wind. Darkness pervaded once cheery violet gems, quashing the excited light from her return to Cour Des Miracles soil. What awaited the young maiden inside? Her adopted family surely had enough of her unreasonable absence, her inadequate attendances to important matters.
Alabaster hands clung tightly to one another before their owner, though whether in prayer or to chase away the gripping chill of nervousness was unclear. Breast rose and fell in a sharp intake of air as the slender Optime debated on a course of action. It was pertinent she rekindle her relationships with her family- they were all she had, and likely ever would have. They lit the flame in her soul that kept her alive, prevented the broken babe that washed ashore that night from passing into the light. They, the valkyries of her battlefield, had brought her to Valhalla... and then she forsook them, leaving the sacred place for a life unhindered.
She stood there, silent, statuesque, until finally, one shaking hand rose to the handle of the bronze lion knocker, soothing the savagely carved beast with a light caress before pushing the heavy old doors open. Ghastly creaks resounded throughout the old hotel, causing Sylvie to shrink back in alarm, soft multi-faceted bangs falling before her blurring gaze. Is anyone at home...? She thought, the prevailing silence and lack of activity leading the gypsy to investigate.
Peeking into the lobby, Sylvie gawked at the familiar scene beneath a wave of nostalgia, finally stepping into the dilapidated old building. Memories danced through partial-consciousness as the lilac collie girl settled one curved footpaw onto the torn shag rug at the staircase, and then another. No one came to greet her, no one came to show her back out. Thusfar, it appeared the traveling girl was alone in this old building, even as she took a gandering sniff of the air, searching for those familiar scents. Of all the old and stale smells, only one was recent... current, even.
Harkened maiden stopped short as the faint, light scent of pine, mingling with those of crushed herbs, drying on the stand above the lilac dove's head. One ear rose while the other continued to droop, flopped over itself permanently from birth. No sound reached the yearling beyond the symphony of the creaking building, the chilled zephyr dancing through its cracked rooms and leaf-filled yard. Summoning her courage, Sylvie took to the leaning staircase, dodging a memorized creaking stair.
She slipped a bit on the rug atop the landing, claws scrabbling only a little to regain their purchase in the floor. Creamy fairy maw swiveled side to side as chocolate nose sought out the source of the ever-strengthening scent, leading her up and down the hall to the ajar gateway that was Alaine's room. As if she was stepping into a shadow realm, Sylvie gently pushed the door completely open, dodging the shaded shapes that seemed to grab at tender feet. "Al... Alaine?" Came a concerned tone, marked by that familiar french lilt, that soft trademark whisper. Sylvie stared agape at what had become of her adopted mother, her guardian angel. Sitting in a mass of tangled sheets, it was obvious something was amiss with the creamy woman, something beyond her son's apparently similar vanishing act. "Are you alright... mother?"
Could she do anything to help?
Speak. Think. Walk.
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