Waking.

Jul. 13th, 2011 09:19 am
museworks: (Lucrezia)
My sleep was not as peaceful as I had hoped, and when I woke in the middle of the night there were glowing eyes above me in the dark. It is fortunate for Ches that I was not sleeping with a dagger under my pillow, as I have been most of the time otherwise; the eyes were his, and he had woken up because of me and had only been showing concern. I had moved instinctively when seeing his eyes, as if I had that dagger in my hand-- it would have gone across his throat. He realized this, as did I; I think it was a combination of the nightmare, that strange time of night when one's thoughts seem amplified, the dark, and his presence above it all, but I ended up crying myself to sleep on his shoulder.

I woke again this morning with him holding me as he had sometimes when we were children. He did not ask me about my nightmare, and I did not tell him. I know he was curious, though. I will have to continue writing some memories and let him read. As it was, I asked him only to please never stand over me like that again.

I am fortunate he does not ask questions. He has them, I can see it in his eyes, but he does not ask. I regret feeling as though he did not care, or only vaguely cared, at one point; I know now that he has, but was restrained by circumstance and misinformation (or simply lack of information).

Sleep.

Jul. 13th, 2011 12:43 am
museworks: (Lucrezia)
Outside is quiet, just the sound of crickets, water on the shore, rustling leaves. Inside is the sound of Ches' shallow, steady breathing in the next bed over. The sound of my pen on the page of this personal journal. It is relaxing; I forgot to pick up the materials for another dreamless potion, or even the potion itself, so I hope the night's relaxing quality will help me sleep without incident. I have been making use of the potion the past few nights, because I do not wish to worry my brother.

Hopefully this night will be fine as well, because it's so peaceful and it's just us here.
museworks: (Default)
On my new computer, anyway, right now. And was waiting for servers to come up because I also didn't have City of Heroes installed.

Behold, a masterpiece made in MS Paint.



Now the servers are back up. Hurrah!

A letter.

Jul. 12th, 2011 09:27 am
museworks: (Lucrezia)
((Because I am bored this morning, the correspondence turn-around is Supah Fast! >.>))

Lucrezia looked at the small package she held; very inconspicuous, plain brown paper around oilcloth, tied with sturdy string and addressed to one Vorrick Longshadow in Orgrimmar. The identity of "Dubs the Peculiar Gardener," as she had considered him up until that point. Interesting. She wondered if Ches would try to look up information on the odd man, or if he would even find anything if he did.

Within the package was a small box; simple, unfinished wood, nothing special. Its contents were well-cushioned to neither shift nor make noise, as its sender did not particularly care for it to be lost or stolen. Upon opening said box the recipient would find a small linen pouch containing 20 gold coins, and a ring.

Her business in the village was brief; she put the package, with appropriate postage, in the mail. She did not wish to remain there any longer than absolutely necessary; send a package, pick up a few essentials, then leave. She was already nervous enough having given a proper name to someone unknown, but a peculiar sense of fairness dictated such. Besides, should it fall into undesirable hands, it might still be turned to her advantage. She would see.

A letter for Vorrick Longshadow. )

Home.

Jul. 10th, 2011 09:56 am
museworks: (Lucrezia)
I have a home.

I would have gone for a room in Orgrimmar, given the choice on my own. Orgrimmar feels safer to me; the Durotar sun is bright and harsh like the land. I have slept in hammocks, on furs and hides, in my own simple bedroll. I am accustomed to life in Orgrimmar, even the endless dubious looks, sometimes bordering on hostile, that I've gotten for being an elf.

But this new home is in Quel'thalas. I would not have chosen it. It was my brother's doing. It is our home, I should say; he intends on sharing it with me. That is the only reason I would even consent to live in Quel'thalas again until Jovan is dead, and at least it is not Silvermoon. Rather, it is located near the coastline, south of Sunsail Anchorage. Near the Scorched Grove. Within sight of the darker Ghostlands, and I think Ches would have possibly even opted for something there, but he knew I preferred sunnier locations. Even the filtered sunlight and temperate temperatures of non-Ghostlands Quel'thalas are preferable to the unnatural twilight of the Ghostlands.

It is small, of course; two rooms and a loft area. The rooms are the main room and the washroom; the cooking area is part of the main room. I would not call it a kitchen. The loft is for sleeping, and has two small beds beside each other, a lamp-table between, a dresser nearby. There is barely enough room for those plus a couple of stands for our armor and weaponry. Strange to think of it; of the two of us, Ches was always more for luxurious surroundings and endless amenities, but he opted for this small, previously abandoned home at the edges. I suppose it was for my sake rather than his own, but he insists on sharing it. He knows my misgivings about being in this land, but he insists it is the best way for me to overcome that because he says it is not right that I be kept from my home. I suppose he is right, and even as simple as this home is, it is within the land where we grew up. And, perhaps, I can attempt to cultivate a garden of sorts.

I asked Ches if he knew any spellcasters who might put wards on our home for us. He said he would see who he could find who might be trustworthy enough for such.

I have a home, and it has a potted plant on the windowsill.
museworks: (Alinor)
I've been going to the Firelands to help the general war effort there. I'm not on the front lines like Lohen and his guild, but they need help otherwise. Someone to help fight the swarm, help others who fall, etcetera. I'm a good support fighter. Not a shining hero but background support. I've grown to accept that fact, that I'll never get a parade or be hailed as a hero for anything. And I don't go into battle expecting it anyhow; it's one of those things that'd be nice but when all's said and done, I want to help because I want to help. I like knowing I helped things even a little for the greater good. And I don't really think I like the direction the Horde's going so I like helping neutral factions.

In which Our Heroine becomes a hottie. Literally. )
museworks: (Lucrezia)
Sometimes I look back on what I wrote previously; even on things that are difficult to read, still. I started writing in this at the recommendation of a Tauren priest, the only individual to have even a remote idea of things going through my mind. She said it would be therapeutic and that putting my thoughts down would help me organize them as well as come to terms with them and with my personal history. And my feelings. I believe I am repeating myself from writing before but they are my thoughts.

I started writing almost flippantly. I now think it was because I did not take her seriously, did not believe a rather minor act would really, truly help. Maybe it's different for someone who is a writer or artist or musician or some such but I could not understand how words and thoughts would feel any differently on paper as they did in my mind. So I started writing with the notion of perhaps changing, or at least making light of, my thoughts and experiences. It seemed to make sense at the time-- if I wrote things with the edges dulled they would not hurt as much and maybe I could convince myself of that so that they would loosen their hold. That I would not be as helpless in reality as I had felt then. Helpless and terrified. I despise those traits when they start to nudge back into my mind, and I do not-- did not-- want to think about them defining me before. So I tried to gloss over it somewhat.

I realized that was a mistaken approach, though. It did not make me feel better to try and fog the past a touch, and I started writing as I remembered. As plainly as I could. I do not understand why, but it truly does seem to help. There is a long way to go, but I feel like perhaps there is a light at the end of the path. And I still intend on showing these to my brother. I do not know when, whether I will wait until I have written through the time he helped me or shove the journal at him when I see him next, but I will. I do not even know what I will accomplish in doing so. I wonder if it would only make him feel awkward; but he did know some of what happened, else he would not have stepped in.

Even now I do not know how I feel about that. Grateful, yes; I do not think I could have escaped before losing my mind. Beneath it all, though, there is a strange feeling of something…I would not say resentment, but that is close. No resentment for Chesric, but toward myself. For being in that situation and being unable to get myself out. For being too afraid. I needed my brother and though I do love him, I hated needing someone. It meant weakness, and did I not kill Pryderi because he had been weak? What does that mean for me?

I tried drawing myself. I used to draw and paint; I was never an artist, but I had proper lessons as a young lady in ladylike things such as watercolors and music. I have a good singing voice but I have no reason to sing, so that has been dormant. But I tried to draw, to exercise my very limited skill, and what was to have been a self portrait somehow turned into a picture of Ches. We do look like each other, at least, though I would say he is more handsome than I am pretty. Or perhaps the qualities that make him above average are what make me average. I am not delicate, even if I am shorter than some. My weapon training and metalworking ensured that, even if before then-- even when wasting away in the dark-- I was not so dainty of build.

It has been so long since I've tried drawing something living, instead of sketching out armor plans. A child could do better. But it is something, and perhaps with practice… (A sketch is at the bottom of the page.)

((OOC: I tried sketching Lucy. It ended up looking too masculine. And I was too lazy to color or even clean it up and refine it. :) ))
museworks: (Lucrezia)
((Warning for possibly disturbing content under the cut.))

Oh, Pryderi Skyblaze. You had potential, once, I am certain. You could have been a genuinely decent man instead of a half-heartedly decent one. I do not consider you bad, nor did I truly even before you lay lifeless before me. Please understand that you still had to die, though. I could not allow you to live when I found you. But I did make certain your death was painless and without the humiliation I made Alamir endure. I think you understood.

You died because you were weak. )
museworks: (Alinor)
Why why WHY do I let her get under my skin like that. I grew up with her, I should know better. I know her, I started calling her "Mal" not because her name is Malinde but because she is malicious. But she somehow knows the exact thing to say to get to me, and she knows how to say it in the most perfectly defensible ways. She says it and Leania calls her on it but she pretends to have been only 'concerned'. At least she doesn't pretend to be concerned as a sister, just for the family name.

I still have a hard time ignoring what she says, and I usually fail at that. What might have been a nice dinner with my family was ended too soon because I couldn't handle it. Especially when I happened to see Lohendrin giving her a slight smile. Now I know what that was about, but at the time it hit the wrong note and just…I almost lost it.

I did lose it when we got home-- my home, anyhow. I didn't want Lohen to see me like that. I hate crying, and I especially hate crying in front of others; it was even worse in front of him, because he has a lot worse to worry about. He went through worse. I didn't really have the right to cry about just some words, but I couldn't help it.

I know I should be grateful that it was sheer dumb luck that put my family out at Sunstrider Isle when the Scourge attacked; I know I'm lucky to still have a family, when some have lost all they held dear. Lohen only has Marbas, and he's only known his twin for a short period of time. They don't really know where their father is. Other people lost everyone, but by the Sunwell, I wish my older sister did not exist, period. And I feel terrible for wishing that. But I do.

At least he was comforting.
museworks: (Default)
Last night I dreamt that I was getting together with a few people from here/Twitter-- the only ones I actually remember namewise were [livejournal.com profile] aliceinazeroth, [livejournal.com profile] alaias_stories, and [livejournal.com profile] lohendrin-- IRL and we were forming the real life Gilneas Knitting Circle and Tea-rrorist Society. We weren't the only ones, but as I said, I only remember those names, and the faces with the names in my dream weren't really defined as I obviously don't know what those lovely ladies look like!

But we were having a get-together at my home, and I was fretting about there being enough seating and enough mini-sandwiches for everyone. Chris had absented himself for this, saying he'd found a new route to take when walking to the library that went through the "Ottawa Animal Preserve" (which does not exist in reality, btw), so he was going to go look at the bison to see if there was a white one.

I don't remember many details of what the group plotted, other than discussing yarn-bombing Ottawa and Gilneas (which apparently was just outside Ottawa in my dream), and that the phrase "Knits or GTFO" kept coming up. I think that'd make a pretty awesome t-shirt, or at least userpic...
museworks: (Lucrezia)
My peacebloom plant is growing rapidly. Like a weed. Heh. The peculiar gardener did say it was a weed, after all. It seems to be thriving. I like looking at it. I hope the gardener is healing well of his broken fingers; I hope he received my letter on the tome page.

Lately I've been in Hyjal and the Firelands a lot; the fire-things have apparently redoubled their campaign to see the world burn, including the appearance of 'druids of the flame' or whatever they call themselves. Tried to destroy Thrall. It did not go as they probably would have wished. Pity. Really.

If nothing else, the Firelands reminds one of where they need more armor padding, at least if one's armor is metal. Ordinarily I value my plate armor, but I think I will need more sets of padding for underneath, as this will need to soak for a good while to get the smell out. I am almost fanatically clean, but after just a few tasks for the Cenarions I smelled like something that had been set on fire in Murder Row. It is not a smell of which I am fond. Sustained some burns, both from elementals and from heated armor where there was a gap or weakness in my padding. Fortunately, I acquired this swiftthistle salve from a Gilnean woman at the inn by Nordrassil. It was acknowledged that while this was a good temporary arrangement of goods and sales, it was not necessarily something that would last over time. Faction matters, after all. It is a reality of life even when faced with greater threats, it would seem. For now, though, I will continue to help the battle there. They pay decently, and I have some stirring of conscience.

For now, though, I think I will rest. My tent has been set up, bedroll laid out. It is within a Horde settlement where they permit travelers to camp; I will be safe there. At least, safe as Lucrezia; safety as simply another Horde fighter is a bit more relative, but none who seek me for myself should get to me.

My mote-jar to one side, peacebloom pot to the other. I have a potion that is said to drive away dreams. I hope to sleep deeply.
museworks: (Default)
Because I want to be one of the cool kids. :D

Alinor

Thomas Dolby, "She Blinded Me With Science" - A bit silly, perhaps, but this has long been a song that's put in mind of Alinor. :D

David Bowie, "As the World Falls Down (from Labyrinth) - This has long been one of my favorite songs anyway, but it kind of makes me think of Alinor and Lohendrin, especially when she thinks of what she knows of his last relationship. She wants to make him happy after that, so it's kind of sweet and sad.

The Mamas and the Papas, "Dedicated to the One I Love" - When Lohen's away for battle and she worries for him, and misses him. She's a little neurotic, with it being her first relationship.

David Holsinger (composer), "To Tame the Perilous Skies" - This is actually a song I played in band class in high school (though the link is the Air Force Band performing it). Alinor has loved flying ever since she was first able to do so, and especially after she built her first flying machine. I always loved doing flying quests on her, whether bombing or rescuing or whatever, because I knew my character felt a particular exhilaration when up in the sky. Apart from the obvious "Ride of the Valkyries" when in her copter (heh), this song is for Al in flight, whether soaring high in the sky above it all, as the quiet beginning might suggest, or dodging cannon blasts and other enemy fire in the faster, more 'driving' parts, especially at 9:51 (I remember that subsection being titled "Snarley" on the sheet music). The slightly dissonant trumpets at 9:54 and such make me think of the felfire cannon blasts barely missing someone in the air.

I'm amused by my longest description for Alinor being in relation to a song I played in band class, rather than the delightful RP with Lohendrin… *L* But I suppose for those songs, the lyrics help tell the tale, versus something more instrumental.

Lucrezia

Poe, "Control" (suggested by [livejournal.com profile] lohendrin). Just look up the lyrics, listen to the song. This is Lucy.

Emmylou Harris, "Deeper Well" - This has been one of my favorite songs ever since I heard her perform it at Lilith Fair in 1997, and Lucy isn't the first character for whom it works; but she's my only WoW character it fits, really. The feeling of determination and desperation, looking for something, and that someday when she finds it, it'll more than likely be a sort of pyrrhic victory for her.

Bjork, "Army of Me" - Lucy's general attitude in dealing with most people. Also, like the previous, it has a good overall beat for a determined warrior.

Enigma, "I Love You, I'll Kill You" - This definitely fits her marriage, and perhaps could be said to be more of her husband's song than hers. His rather obsessive, controlling mindset, his inner demons, etcetera. And the song's overall sound/feel fits the mental image I have of his eyes in the dark.

Duran Duran, "Come Undone" - It makes me think of her and her relationship with her brother, and the way she wants to/will open up to him about everything in the near future.

Jaylie

Emiliana Torrini, "Wednesday's Child" - Fitting right now, because she's feeling very lonely as yet someone else is gone from her life and she still doesn't understand why.

Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, "Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us" - Jaylie is actually a happy character overall, but some songs fit her bouts of sadness like the last one, and this. This to me has a sort of sad hope through the melancholy, which fits.

Caolan
I haven't posted for him here, but this is another character of mine-- Caolan, blood elf priest. I have a couple of songs that make me think of him.

Fleetwood Mac, "Dreams" - Perhaps more something to/about him, rather than something said from his perspective.

Gorillaz, "New Genious (Brother)" - Just 'cause he's a priest, and Holy at that, doesn't mean he's necessarily a good fellow. Nor bad. He's…himself. And this song fits him.

------

Edit to add a suggestion from [livejournal.com profile] lohendrin that I have decided is most definitely Lucy's theme song: Poe, "Control". Thank you for that awesomesauce suggestion!
museworks: (Lucrezia)
((Warning for potentially disturbing content beneath the cut.))

I wrote of the way I sometimes still have nightmares of him. Of how sometimes when I wake in the dark I still imagine seeing his eyes over me. How I crave the sun. I do not know if I mentioned in a past entry-- I do not care to look-- about how I hate total darkness now. One thing I carry with me, wrapped carefully and hidden in one of my packs, is a jar. A glass jar, in which there are several motes captured from various places on Draenor. Bits of energy siphoned from gas clouds and the like, elemental energy, that glow.

I have a nightlight, like a child might.

I'm ashamed of this fact, and maybe someday I can overcome this problem with myself, but for now I cannot handle complete darkness. Even if it means wrapping myself in my bedroll so that no others can see it, if I am supposed to remain hidden in the dark, I have this with me. I am…afraid of the dark. At least some.

The only thing that haunts me more than that is an abuse of the Light. )

I have to keep reminding myself that this is my personal journal, even if I'm also now writing for my brother's eventual enlightenment. I fear that it is turning into just me recounting my husband's trespasses. I will try to write more of me in the present day. Perhaps of my hunt, and as I am successful in finding more than just Alamir.
museworks: (Alinor)
So there's this gnome who lives in Dalaran, who approached me with a commission request. Apparently he had been referred to me by the Engineering shop there; not a surprise, as I work with them often, but the nature of this gnome's request was a little bit…peculiar. It involved many sprung whirlygigs. Now, I've worked with whirlygigs before, of course. I've rewound them and repurposed them and whatever. I generally found them when salvaging mechanical gnomes in Northrend, generally those around Mimiron's Library.

However, this is the first time I think I've ever had someone ask for a piece of clothing made from whirlygigs. How does one even MAKE that? I can sew, but I'm no tailor, at least not one with skills like, say, Marbas. My skills are more in the area of repairing basic tears, replacing buttons, things like that. But Marbas at least let me browse his patterns and make a few sketches of my own, and was nice enough to not ask which ones I sketched. Odds are I wouldn't have heard the end of it.

Now, I don't judge people for odd requests that clearly aren't for the purpose of hurting others. (I don't always judge when it comes to ones meant to cause harm, either, it just tends to depend.) Live and let live, people have their oddities, what consenting adults of any race do behind closed doors is their own business. And this gnome was paying some seriously good gold.

However, I really, really wonder what the deal is with having a sprung whirlygig fetish. To the point of commissioning something that was not only an outfit-- based on female undergarments, mind you, for this male gnome and in his own measurements-- crafted of those, but a fully-functioning, erm, autoerotic stimulation device. And for a special one-of-a-kind commission this required asking some very personal questions. I'm pretty sure my face was bright pink, but Sir Whirlygig was cool as a frozen orb the entire time. I think I have a strange sort of admiration for him for that.

Now, I've made devices like that before. I've never tested them, but I've made them. (Though I must confess; I had never before been that tempted to test any of them, until I started tending to Lohendrin when he was shirtless and wearing tight pants. Oh, my goodness. My goodness. I've resisted, but…my goodness.) There's a store in Dalaran and a couple in Silvermoon City dedicated to selling such things, among other 'intimacy enhancement wares'. From what I understand there's another in Orgrimmar, though I think I'm happy keeping my business limited to Dalaran and Silvermoon. I think there used to be one in Shattrath City but I'm fairly sure it was closed at Aldor request. They're actually pretty interesting to make, and I can usually work with any suggestion offered. I think I may be losing out a touch on not being as…intimate with my knowledge of such devices and their purposes, but I do well enough that I earn a nice bit of gold for myself. Especially from people like Sir Whirlygig.

I must also confess, dear journal, that I did make one device of which I kept one for myself. And that part of me would kind of like to try out someday: a set of restraints, for wrist or ankle, designed to occasionally administer an arcane shock at varying intensity, determined by the one with the control, at the press of a button. They're powered by enchanted gemstones, like batteries. I find them terribly intriguing. And, of course, they're carefully hidden.

Someday, I hope…

*Scribbled at the bottom of the page* I am so silly, I'm now bright pink after writing this, and it's just for my own reading! Bah!
museworks: (Lucrezia)
((Inspired by [livejournal.com profile] lohendrin's writing from Tensuns' perspective, I decided to try to write something from Jovan's perspective and see his mindset.

Warning for some possibly disturbing content.))

He stared down at her as she slept. )
museworks: (Lucrezia)
It would be pointless to say he repeated, and often, that cycle of starving/feeding just like the still-going cycle of darkness/light. Not simply starving of food, but sometimes of magic; I do not know what magic-wielder he employed but there had to have been one who would set and lift wards on command. At that point I was fairly certain I was going mad; the only reason I didn't consider myself mad quite yet was that I still had some self-awareness, and I couldn't just mental retreat from any of it. I'd read of others who face traumatic events or simply 'highly undesirable situations in which they are helpless' and manage to withdraw into their minds, into their own private worlds that either block it out or turn it into something else. I wish I could have done that, but I was raised to be acutely self-aware, and it seemed that I could not turn that off even in this case.

When it was during one of the dark times, I would stare into the blackness. A darkness so complete that I could even see my own hand when I held it to my face, apart from what was the tiniest, faintest sickly glow from my eyes. I stared into it until I could 'see' things. Not images, no pictures, but just those odd little patterns and faint specks that one might see when closing one's eyes. Like after-images except I could not see anything in the first place, so I don't know where they were from. Perhaps my mind. I would try to follow these 'patterns'. I tried to imagine what they might be from, or what they might go with. Some were recurring, such as patches of faint stripes. Vertical stripes, like bars. Appropriate.

Sometimes I imagined there being someone else behind those patterns, and to her I was the imagined person in her own darkness.

I couldn't stare into the darkness forever, though. Not even when it seemed unending. I had the layout of my chambers memorized at that point so I no longer stumbled. It was a small mercy that it had not occurred to Jovan to have the furniture rearranged. Sometimes instead of staring into the dark I would continue my exercises, as I had done since first brought there. I did not wish to be sickly. Rather, some stubborn part of me wanted to resist the slow wasting-away that was inevitable in those conditions. After the exercises the 'sparks' that I saw in the total darkness were more prominent. Another reason for doing them, I suppose.

Sparks and stripes. Feast and famine. Light and dark.

Darkness until I would wake and see his eyes over me.

Is it any wonder I crave the sun now?
museworks: (Default)
From [livejournal.com profile] blindmachine of Thorium Brotherhood, who was and is one of my absolute favorite Forsaken RPers EVER. Actually, she probably IS my favorite, though I still love several Wyrmrest folks too. :D

Anyhow, the post. It tackles the matter of villainous/adversarial/antagonistic RP and characters, and is pretty nifty.

On Jerks and Ne'er Do Wells
museworks: (Lucrezia)
[The handwriting is oddly elegant and graceful, versus the tome's previous more 'generic' script.]

I heard in the tome that you were injured. I'm sorry to hear that. I don't know the situation, but I thought I would send my wishes for your quick healing, as I also was led to understand your injuries would hinder your gardening as well.

I planted the peacebloom seeds in the pot you provided. If need be I'll get a bigger pot, and soil per your recommendation. The kind gesture is still appreciated. I would ask if there is anything I can do to help, but I also am led to believe your writing is somewhat hindered currently. Perhaps you could find an enchant for your tome that records spoken word, if you have no such thing already.

Be well,
L.G.

((Added note: Meant to add-- she doesn't know where he lives, of course, and I assume he didn't put a return address on his letter; consider this to be on a private page in the tome.))

Plants.

Jun. 28th, 2011 09:28 pm
museworks: (Lucrezia)
The peculiar gardener from the tome sent me peacebloom seeds, a bag of dirt, and a metal pot. I honestly wasn't expecting it so soon. I also only expected seeds. I am not complaining, though; I wrote him a private note of thanks in the tome. I appreciate all of it. His letter was odd and rambling but I understood it. I didn't mind the extra information anyhow. I enjoyed reading it. I never thought about the soil from Draenor being that different in composition but I suppose it makes sense. The ore I'd mined was certainly different.

I will try to find a decent place to grow them and be sure they're tended. Perhaps I should establish a home of some kind. I shouldn't run anyhow. I told the gardener that a moving target is harder to hit and it is true, but maybe I want him-- them-- to try.

In the meantime I will try to grow this peacebloom. I hope it survives.
museworks: (Lucrezia)
When I was a little girl I tried to grow flowers. I didn't ask anyone for help, and I didn't do any research on how to grow them. I picked them and put them in my own flowerpots to try and grow. It didn't occur to me the first time that it might have been better to be sure I picked them with roots intact, and my flowers quickly wilted away. The next ones I picked I did keep the roots intact, but they still died off because I still didn't know how to properly care for them. And I still didn't ask, because I knew my parents would tell me little girls didn't play in the dirt unless they were commoners, and I could not ask a servant for help because that too was "something commoners did."

The more I think about it now the more the thought of such a thing is still appealing. I am uncertain as to the logistics of maintaining a garden when I move about as I do and don't maintain a steady home, but perhaps I could find assistance somehow. There is a peculiar-- though he seems nice enough-- man in the tome who gardens for a living, and is sending me seeds for some hardier varieties of flower. I believed there was no harm in having him send them to me in Orgrimmar, a general delivery to my name.

I like the idea of spending time in the sun to grow something. If I were a more poetic soul perhaps I would think of reasons for it being appropriate. Symbolic or some other such. Maybe. I don't know.

Maybe I want to keep a small part of me for something other than vengeance or killing, now that I've seen my brother again.
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 09:18 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios