She's such a little girl. Sixteen, but short. Tiny really. She can't weigh more than eight-five pounds. Her hair is dark, but not quite black. The light glances off red instead of blue. Her nose looks too long, but that might be because of how thin it is. Her cheekbones are high, but too prominent. They divide her face in half, making it angular. Her eyes are large for her face and spaced wide. They aren't light, they're dark, but not brown. The rest of her face is sharp, but her eyes are soft and gentle. She sees the world through panes of blue that are misted over with tears.
She's holding a basket, holding it like it's heavy, back bending under it's weight. But it's not the basket that's heavy. She's carrying something else. Sadness. You can see it in the blue eyes, and in the clenched jaw. Her nose is red.
Ah Dulcia. Her name says "sweet" but her tight fists and bruised knuckles say something else. She's innocent and alone, but she fought her way here and she'll fight her way back. She might he sad, but she's not afraid. Not yet. She's charmed her way onto river boats and off with a twitch of her lips and ran when she thought she'd be followed, spreading tales of a father who's waiting for her. She has no father. He's long gone. She has no mother either. All she has a basket.
She's alone--or is she? The basket moves sometimes of it's own accord. What sort of creature's inside? A defender? Or mearly a soft beasty scared of its own shadow? A cat perhaps? Orange yellow and striped. A gift given her by an enemy. A hunter for the hunted, a blessing and a curse. Something to love and something to worry about: cats don't stay with an owner like a dog will. Cat's leave, sometimes they come back, but sometimes they're too late. Dulcia's hiding from someone and she can't stay in one place. So she carries her cat in a basket and worries about whether he can breathe.
She's holding a basket, holding it like it's heavy, back bending under it's weight. But it's not the basket that's heavy. She's carrying something else. Sadness. You can see it in the blue eyes, and in the clenched jaw. Her nose is red.
Ah Dulcia. Her name says "sweet" but her tight fists and bruised knuckles say something else. She's innocent and alone, but she fought her way here and she'll fight her way back. She might he sad, but she's not afraid. Not yet. She's charmed her way onto river boats and off with a twitch of her lips and ran when she thought she'd be followed, spreading tales of a father who's waiting for her. She has no father. He's long gone. She has no mother either. All she has a basket.
She's alone--or is she? The basket moves sometimes of it's own accord. What sort of creature's inside? A defender? Or mearly a soft beasty scared of its own shadow? A cat perhaps? Orange yellow and striped. A gift given her by an enemy. A hunter for the hunted, a blessing and a curse. Something to love and something to worry about: cats don't stay with an owner like a dog will. Cat's leave, sometimes they come back, but sometimes they're too late. Dulcia's hiding from someone and she can't stay in one place. So she carries her cat in a basket and worries about whether he can breathe.