ageplot morning!
Sybil had been a restless sleeper when she was young, when all she'd done was posture about and go to school where you were taught to posture about. She tried to do more, of course,but no one made it easy for her; certainly no one ever told her how she might go about doing it, and so she'd struggled (very quietly and very politely), and been a restless sleeper.
Of course, when you spend most of your day wrangling dragons and most of your nights being socially available at a myriad of parties and events, one rather lost the energy to do anything in sleep but sleep, and it had evolved into muscle memory. Sybil slept still and snored quietly, and very little could change that.
Her body was presently faced with a very different, very alien set of muscle memories. Sybil hadn't had her growth spurt until she'd hit 17. Until then, she had been average height and buxom, and the course of a year had bolstered her into being Rather Tall and very buxom, with the added fact of far more muscle than a lady of her breeding a that age ought to possess. Sybil had been a Valkyrie by twenty.
At sixteen, though, she'd been a curvaceous teenager who felt awkward about not knowing what to do with her very long legs and very round hips and a bosom, although she'd been told conspiratorially by the other girls that really, you weren't allowed to have one of those until you were fifty, and she had been a very restless sleeper.
She rolled onto her back, flinging one newly slender-er arm above her head, heaved a sigh that turned into a yawn and moved parts of her that were suddenly both smaller and more independently lifted, and squirmed a little deeper into the mattress. Her body was already not enjoying this. It missed the solidity self-assurance of its normal state. She was sleeping restlessly.
Of course, when you spend most of your day wrangling dragons and most of your nights being socially available at a myriad of parties and events, one rather lost the energy to do anything in sleep but sleep, and it had evolved into muscle memory. Sybil slept still and snored quietly, and very little could change that.
Her body was presently faced with a very different, very alien set of muscle memories. Sybil hadn't had her growth spurt until she'd hit 17. Until then, she had been average height and buxom, and the course of a year had bolstered her into being Rather Tall and very buxom, with the added fact of far more muscle than a lady of her breeding a that age ought to possess. Sybil had been a Valkyrie by twenty.
At sixteen, though, she'd been a curvaceous teenager who felt awkward about not knowing what to do with her very long legs and very round hips and a bosom, although she'd been told conspiratorially by the other girls that really, you weren't allowed to have one of those until you were fifty, and she had been a very restless sleeper.
She rolled onto her back, flinging one newly slender-er arm above her head, heaved a sigh that turned into a yawn and moved parts of her that were suddenly both smaller and more independently lifted, and squirmed a little deeper into the mattress. Her body was already not enjoying this. It missed the solidity self-assurance of its normal state. She was sleeping restlessly.