Late 20s tgirl. Elf ear pervert. Some say hemipenis girl. Writing mostly original F/F. Stories will frequently be horny so if you're under 18 you're getting blocked.



caffeinatedOtter
@caffeinatedOtter

Spring Flowers

In the side of the spire clockwise from facing the unravelling void, a view along the edge of the world, time and decay have holed the tower's skin. A once-grand chamber — some kind of sun-warmed ballroom, perhaps — has bleached for unprotected ages under the sun and salt air, no great crystal windows to hold them back.

Ser Glorie rises in the dark, drills sword forms and physical condition, wipes down her sweat-streaming face, and takes a stolen moment for herself: in these ruined rooms, she simply stretches and breathes, and contemplates the gentle persistence of small green things, shoots unfurling from between the warped edges of once-perfect dancefloor boards.

In some quiet, aching place she wishes she were any gardener, could coax these tiny survivors forth, give them richer soil and care, nurture them to greater life. Between blinks of her eyes, she sees her hands shyly holding petalled gifts, extended to — and the fantasy evaporates. To the princess? To the Fool?

She breathes and stretches, creeps back from her thieved private moments. Returns to her duty, dutifully wanting nothing.


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