☀ 04-008 ☀ [Final]
[She sits with her back against a pillar, perched on a rail as she watches the people walking past, or the throng of shoppers on the level below. One foot swings idly as she studies them, her gaze heavy with what might be sleep.
It isn't sleepiness, however. Ammy is looking for something, having filled many of the corridors earlier in a final run, startling the passengers as flowers and grasses sprang up in her passing. They'd wondered aloud where it all came from in their various languages, but no one had noticed the white wolf that had seemed to flicker through the crowds.
Even now, they don't seem to pay much attention to the young woman in white. Some give her a strange glance, and the children stop and stare. There are a few who wonder about the creeper vines that are curling around the pillar, pale blossoms spreading open as Ammy searches the crowds with her eyes.
She'll be leaving soon, but she wants to remember. Committing as much to memory as she possibly can, she pulls a scroll out of her sleeve, unrolling it across her lap. So many portraits, did she have them all? The friends that aren't on it yet will be soon, as ink and watercolor seem to blossom across the paper as if willed into existence. She still has a little bit of room left. Once she's done, she'll go to the gate.]
It isn't sleepiness, however. Ammy is looking for something, having filled many of the corridors earlier in a final run, startling the passengers as flowers and grasses sprang up in her passing. They'd wondered aloud where it all came from in their various languages, but no one had noticed the white wolf that had seemed to flicker through the crowds.
Even now, they don't seem to pay much attention to the young woman in white. Some give her a strange glance, and the children stop and stare. There are a few who wonder about the creeper vines that are curling around the pillar, pale blossoms spreading open as Ammy searches the crowds with her eyes.
She'll be leaving soon, but she wants to remember. Committing as much to memory as she possibly can, she pulls a scroll out of her sleeve, unrolling it across her lap. So many portraits, did she have them all? The friends that aren't on it yet will be soon, as ink and watercolor seem to blossom across the paper as if willed into existence. She still has a little bit of room left. Once she's done, she'll go to the gate.]