𝕃𝕚𝕒𝕣

         poutpoutpoutpout -- *          For one reason or another, terrible sensations alerted the little lady, convincing her that this woman was a bad person to be talking to. Pardon her for such impulsive reactions; the teachings of her parents came into play as soon as her mind smoothed over those rash instincts.          Don’t talk to strangers, Ib, said once her very stern and over-protective father. She would ask forgiveness from him later after returning home that day. For now, she chose to swing around, chocolate hair swaying sharply to her left before falling gracefully over her shoulder. Heels clack loudly against cobblestone with her chin held up high. Hurried child steps go far as to leave the unknown woman behind her trails.

Ib’s parents had sheltered her more so than she would have liked to admit. Bathing in sunlight nearby the sea and traversing a forested land surrounded by inhabiting creatures were experiences she never had the chance to indulge. Not that she disliked the opportunity, rather it never came to mind. In response, Ib shook her head. Her brows crinkled and her eyes hardened against the carpeted floor. A sense of guilt brought a burden upon her shoulders for not being able to describe this much for someone who had been equally as confined as herself. In a small voice she said, “I’ll ask my parents, next time.” It was her goal.

              no.

          She presents to thee, a flower !     unsure of it being genuine in life or pale in existence--      but provided nonetheless, for a sad, sad looking old man(?)

           feels just like ギャリー                   feels just like 𝕙 𝕠 𝕞 𝕖

         *** spits on u