Post by kelda on Feb 28, 2012 17:04:49 GMT -4
Colorado has some very beautiful country side if you care to stop and look at it. Mountains stretch from one end to the other and on clear days, when you're along on a cliff face with nothing but a soft breeze and slight cloud cover for company, it feels like you're touching heaven.
Kelda makes it a regular habit of being out in the middle of no where. She enjoys watching humans, but large cities bother her. The dirt and grime are just the start, the pushing and shoving, the selfishness and green. The crime and poverty. They're the worst things humanity has to offer. So she comes to places like these, to see the best that nature has to offer, to remind her of the beauty in the world. To clear her head.
She's wearing a robe that wraps losely at her frame and nothing else, it barely covers her. Her hips and breasts are mostly visible, her sides, parts of her stomach. It's more a sheet that's been haphazardly wrapped around her. Bare feet and a passive look on her face. Half lidded eyes stare over the country side. Below her a small town, about a hundred thousand people in it, living in the shadow of a small mountain.
It's serene, just how Kelda likes it.
"What come of a world with no memory. Can it go on clinging desperately to the present, with hope for the future, or will the past swallow it in a void...
Her voice is as beautiful as she is. Kelda whispers this to herself as she laments her mind. It is unable to recall her past in any capacity and so much time has gone on that it's impossible to know. There are no records, no books, no possessions. She is faceless, she is nameless.
She has chosen to cope with the retroactive loss by burying herself in human affairs. She's made a slight name for herself as the Scion of Weather. Born of the storms and the spring rain, the love child of a passionless winter and a scotching hot summer. She is as beautiful and aloof as autumn and as giving as spring.
She has begun to learn the english language and reads in the humans news paper about herself, what they say about her heroic deeds. How she is compared to other heroes. Heroes with names that mean nothing to her, save Thor. The syllables and pronunciation of that name have a vague familiarity. As does this land of Asgard, the realm in the heavens. She has traveled there in secret via her innate ability to do so. It is yet another place she feels no connection to. She has no desire to return.
Not yet at least.
Kelda makes it a regular habit of being out in the middle of no where. She enjoys watching humans, but large cities bother her. The dirt and grime are just the start, the pushing and shoving, the selfishness and green. The crime and poverty. They're the worst things humanity has to offer. So she comes to places like these, to see the best that nature has to offer, to remind her of the beauty in the world. To clear her head.
She's wearing a robe that wraps losely at her frame and nothing else, it barely covers her. Her hips and breasts are mostly visible, her sides, parts of her stomach. It's more a sheet that's been haphazardly wrapped around her. Bare feet and a passive look on her face. Half lidded eyes stare over the country side. Below her a small town, about a hundred thousand people in it, living in the shadow of a small mountain.
It's serene, just how Kelda likes it.
"What come of a world with no memory. Can it go on clinging desperately to the present, with hope for the future, or will the past swallow it in a void...
Her voice is as beautiful as she is. Kelda whispers this to herself as she laments her mind. It is unable to recall her past in any capacity and so much time has gone on that it's impossible to know. There are no records, no books, no possessions. She is faceless, she is nameless.
She has chosen to cope with the retroactive loss by burying herself in human affairs. She's made a slight name for herself as the Scion of Weather. Born of the storms and the spring rain, the love child of a passionless winter and a scotching hot summer. She is as beautiful and aloof as autumn and as giving as spring.
She has begun to learn the english language and reads in the humans news paper about herself, what they say about her heroic deeds. How she is compared to other heroes. Heroes with names that mean nothing to her, save Thor. The syllables and pronunciation of that name have a vague familiarity. As does this land of Asgard, the realm in the heavens. She has traveled there in secret via her innate ability to do so. It is yet another place she feels no connection to. She has no desire to return.
Not yet at least.