Like the breeze skimming over the lake.

The young woman danced before the assembly, her movements gentle, graceful, light. She let herself be carried away by the music, letting it dictate her instead of the other way around. Ah! Here was an unexpected dip, and she went with it, her body moving easily and naturally. Her body expressed a longing but not a desire. She could do without this need being fulfilled, but it would be nice to have it done.

Still, she was a servant to higher forces, a destiny she carved out for herself. This was something that she had chosen to do, something no one could force her. As the music came to a stop, so did her dance, and it ended with her trademark bow before the Head of the court she was dancing.

There was a silent moment of appreciation when she stopped, and soon the musicians began to play again, a song of falling flowers, a song of innocent love. A song of melancholic tunes. She began dancing again, but this time her dance had a heavier step. This time, she dictated the tunes. The winter had been cold and harsh, but there was still beauty to be found. There was still a bit of hope left, found in the white, almost invisible flowers that populated the hillside.

Snow flowers were rare, but they were the symbol of hope. They were the representations of dreams left unspoken, dreams to be born into reality when the time came…


He walked briskly into the hallway, his red robes flaring out behind him. His stance was arrogant, demanding, and definately haughty. There was something about him that would irritate you, but at the same time there was also an aura of power and control. The little sprite looked very uncomfortable on his shoulder, almost hiding behind her master.

It wa a small little thing, about the length of the tip of her master’s ear to his shoulder. She was dressed in an elaborate red kimono, the short kind that dictated either a lady of the night, or a trained assassin. Either way, she seemed more like a novice rather than a threat.

He stood in the center of the room, right on the flameburst. Against a backdrop of black obsidian, he looked like a bloodstain. One that might not go away.

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