(no subject)
'Dite is in the living room, today, in a rocking chair pulled close to a fire, roaring not because she needs the heat but because she likes the dance of warmth on her skin, and the flicker of light. She's not doing anything, just idly pushing with one toe against the floor, gently tilting the chair back and forth.
On the table beside her is an intricate little carousel, still spinning slowly, the fantastic figures on it rising and falling, catching the light. She'd given it a slight push some time earlier, watching it spin for a while, before all but dozing off.
She's humming to herself in her low, slightly husky alto, something wordless but timeless, nearer to a lullaby than anything else, and just. . . waiting.
On the table beside her is an intricate little carousel, still spinning slowly, the fantastic figures on it rising and falling, catching the light. She'd given it a slight push some time earlier, watching it spin for a while, before all but dozing off.
She's humming to herself in her low, slightly husky alto, something wordless but timeless, nearer to a lullaby than anything else, and just. . . waiting.