[ In the grey of their new home, Sharon stands out like a sore thumb. The bright orange of her hoodie is pulled up, covering her mop of bleached, tangled hair. She's got a vividly pink and black striped knit sweater pulled over said hoodie, paired with dark purple leggings that look too thin to provide much warmth. It's not like she's just out wandering. She's got a destination in mind and layering up isn't necessary when she's going to be inside.
But that doesn't stop her from regretting not slipping on another sweater and maybe that beanie she found.
She trudges onward, stomping a little. Her cheeks and nose are rosy. She blows into her cupped, ungloved hands in an attempt to warm them before she realizes the futility of it—or that she was capable of creating warmth on her own. She stops suddenly, palms open and up.
One breath, two, and then a flame blooms in her hands. It's not a perfect ball and the fire flicks and whips. She lacks in control but a small satisfactory grin blossoms across her often sour face. Her fingers aren't cold anymore. ]
NIGHT | 27th
[ The sky is beautiful and in the cool air of the night, the stars seem brighter. She watches as she leans up against one of the apartment spires, arms crossed tightly. She breathes in deeply, somewhat at peace with the knowledge that the gods weren't here. When she hears someone nearby, entering or exiting the spire, she speaks up. ]
Isn't it the prettiest thing you've ever fucking seen? [ It seems like such a stupid statement but, in this newfound feeling of hope for freedom, it's the most amazing thing she's seen. ]
Sharon da Silva | OTA
[ In the grey of their new home, Sharon stands out like a sore thumb. The bright orange of her hoodie is pulled up, covering her mop of bleached, tangled hair. She's got a vividly pink and black striped knit sweater pulled over said hoodie, paired with dark purple leggings that look too thin to provide much warmth. It's not like she's just out wandering. She's got a destination in mind and layering up isn't necessary when she's going to be inside.
But that doesn't stop her from regretting not slipping on another sweater and maybe that beanie she found.
She trudges onward, stomping a little. Her cheeks and nose are rosy. She blows into her cupped, ungloved hands in an attempt to warm them before she realizes the futility of it—or that she was capable of creating warmth on her own. She stops suddenly, palms open and up.
One breath, two, and then a flame blooms in her hands. It's not a perfect ball and the fire flicks and whips. She lacks in control but a small satisfactory grin blossoms across her often sour face. Her fingers aren't cold anymore. ]
NIGHT | 27th
[ The sky is beautiful and in the cool air of the night, the stars seem brighter. She watches as she leans up against one of the apartment spires, arms crossed tightly. She breathes in deeply, somewhat at peace with the knowledge that the gods weren't here. When she hears someone nearby, entering or exiting the spire, she speaks up. ]
Isn't it the prettiest thing you've ever fucking seen? [ It seems like such a stupid statement but, in this newfound feeling of hope for freedom, it's the most amazing thing she's seen. ]