(no subject)
Someone stole the blueprint of the Nether and with it, they built the proud city known as Stormwind. Those were Tanishia's thoughts as she walked down the bumpy cobbles. The sun was getting in her eyes and it was hours ago that she'd last gotten some of the exquisite violet powder. The corset, laced tightly under her dress to give her twiggy body something resembling curves, was beginning to dig uncomfortably into her rib. She hadn't noticed it till then, but as she turned into the alley and pulled her dress aside, she noticed that the boning in the front had worked its way through the fabric and was now sticking out, creating a nasty red mark on her torso. She carelessly stuffed the long metal bone back into place and adjusted her dress before she walked back into the streets. Near the Cathedral, a paladin whose name Tanishia had long forgotten was preaching on a street corner. She had gathered a small crowd and it struck her, in her hazy little peacebloom cloud, that they saw her stupidity as profoundity. She spoke passionately about everything from the Pig to the reign, her words like the turn on the seasons, only much, much quicker. The weary elf couldn't focus on the speech but stayed around nonetheless, lost in her own little word as she ignorantly began to criticise the paladin in her mind. The paladin, she thought, took to exposure like a fish took to water. She must be the lowest of common being with whom the masses can identify, whatwith her naive, utopia-like dreams.