draped in nothing but silk & wistfulness stood a woman in the center of a bookstall , reading secondhand scriptures like it was man’s greatest discovery . on the spread of a magazine was the flourishing gaze of a memory long repressed . heartwarmingly brown & eternally embellished with a million tales only the brave dared to fathom . a scoff . torn somewhere between the lines of revolt & delight .hysteria is quick to sheathe her movements , making her slam the magazine back with the rest , surface crinkled from just how tightly she held on . turning to move far from the picturesque gaze of her so called father ( the mortal one ) , the young woman accidentally stumbled into a figure , a customer , startling her to bits . “ oh , crap . i’m so sorry .. it was my fault & i— ” a pause . upon exchanging looks with the other , the bitterness in her eyes transmutes into roguishness , mind tentatively trailing away from the bitter stab of her life back in the real world . “cute store , huh ? .. the owner said some dryads donated wood to build this place . ”











