silence is golden

     empty streets, sloshing with accumulated      raindrops,     and    storefronts    declaring      ’closed’  with  metal  blinds  or  big,  black      fonts.  that’s what  the  town looks like  on      the day when a storm is supposed to hit.

     he walks alone, struggling to walk as fast      as humanly possible and hoping against      hope   that   he  can  arrive  to  the  dorms      before the storm reaches its peak.

     alone—that is, until someone bumps into      him.    hands   extend  to  grip  the  other’s      shoulders,   with  the  intention  to  steady      them.   it’s  too  difficult  to  see  their  face      properly,  but by the voice and the slender      shoulders he concludes that the stranger      is a girl.

a soaked coco chanel dress would've been the end result of the tumble. yet a man in  good  physique served  his purpose in catching falling women. trying to get her dignity together she spoke.

   ❛ I'm fine, thank you ❜ she looks up upon her savior's face, he had a look that kept on thinking, and eyes full of wonder and thought. this man was simply perfect. misfortune was inevitable,and it rained down   on   her   like  the  precipitation that  dampened  her  body and mood. but this guy was her good fortune for the day, as soon as she met the man, the rain started to dwindle.

   Whatever Elsa had been expecting, it wasn’t this. Her feet took her an involuntary step backwards, the tell tale sound of ice cracking beneath her heel. She’d needed to get herself together. She had to. Or she might never be rid of her curse. Oh, she’d been born with it, but it was a curse nonetheless. What good had ever come from it, besides those few short years as a child?

   ”It’s less what I want bestowing upon me,” she replied, hesitant in her words. “And more what I want taken away.

   Nerves were making her breathing shaky, and she curled her hands into fists, fingernails digging into her skin. Eyes closed, she took a moment, before moving forward. It was dark, and Elsa got a bad feeling. A feeling she was forced to ignore. She had to do this. She had to.

   Northern winds were frequent on shore. on shore. not a thousand nautical miles under the sea, The air packet of where Ursula's domain resided, was rather chilly though it had no glacial zephyrs. But a client came in, with a hypothermic aura, a frigid wind. Tentacles chilled to the nonexistent bone, yet the aqueous harpy carried on with the deal.

                 tentacles hastily moved forward one slither                forward. unnatural  swiftness  granted  by                arcane arts on land,  had made her seem like                a bulbous shaded apparition, spontaneous                and  instantaneous,   the   rotund   framed                        anomaly formed behind the child. yearning                for the quintessential properties of the sun-                blessed locks.