| ☰ | their salient thoughts.

Libra, the bane of an existence— torn from her, a conscience; on bad days one could even call her a walking curse. At best, lately? She was tolerable, but this wasn’t one of those moments. “I do find myself questioning why you’re so intrigued by these elementaries; a simple paintbrush on canvas— this is what you choose to do with your time?” Permitting the inquiry to drift amidst them for a moment, the entity found herself taking a step back; observing the process of darker tones blending in with the lighter. Somewhere within that scene, rested a beautiful symmetry; yet it remained invisible to Scorpio’s eyes.

Scorpius Identified: Libra

Though select portions of Greek mythology could be considered as works of fiction to the entities of the Cosmos, there’s a truth in various aspects of them as well; such as the origin of Libra and its connection to Scorpius. Upon the creation of each Zodiac; Scorpius, the constellation of extremes bore too intense in comparison to its kin— there was an instability which couldn’t be rectified on the constellation’s own terms. Which is why the constellation was subjected to a separation— the “balance” of Scorpius would become its own; not to merely function as a balance to each fellow Sign, but to act as an almost conscience to Scorpius directly.

            Late winter chill mixing with the sharpness of hail thrashed at the heights of her cheeks. She then stuffed slender digits forgetful that she wore no jacket towards her non-existent coat’s pockets after having carded one hand through near-to perpetually mussed tresses. Consequence enjoyed the cold weather, she liked the iced air as it pricked at her skin and she enjoyed how it felt to have a scarf coiled with care about one’s neck a few times for warmth — though she wore no scarf in this moment. Pity.

"I’m certain you have clients who would enjoy it quite a bit more than I would." A strict glance had been shot in the other’s direction; bare collision occurring between shoulders, as graceful steps brought the entity to pass the other; so a more investigative inspection could be given to the canvas, "It’s missing contrast." A statement bearing a returned playful note; the smallest notion of a smile crossing feminine features, "—a deep red, perhaps?" As digits wrapped themselves around the paintbrush, twirling its tip along the rim of the jar, ridding it of any excess water remnants before holding it up for Libra.

Her entrance was marked by the gentlest of collisions of the entity’s side to the adjacent wall; as her gaze remained on the brushing of one’s own fingertips. No effort was spent attempting to obtain visual focus of the kin she’d come to find, as the room seemed entirely deserted, even though it wasn’t— far from.

A philosopher once asked, “Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at the stars because we are human?” Pointless really. Do the stars gaze back? Now, that’s a question.