Perfectly Misaligned [Hearth Day] (Private)
Feb 16, 2023 3:30:54 GMT -5
Post by Lachesis Calyptra on Feb 16, 2023 3:30:54 GMT -5
She's never quite cared for winter.
The night lingers so long in those frigid months; the sun rises so late in the morning and is in such a race to set, as though the sky itself abhors the very idea of holding onto the brilliance of daylight for a moment longer than it must, ushering in the stark shadows of night as quickly as it can. The chill is so bitter and seeps into your skin, sinking down past muscle and blood and sinew until it wraps around bone, making a home in the hollows of your skeleton so that no furs or fabric can chase it away. It's wretched, utterly wretched, and Lachesis would be far happier if there was a gaping chasm left behind where the season that follows autumn once was.
But oh, it isn't... so bad, really. For such a brittle and dreadful season, mankind certainly loves to find a way to brighten it up-- there's Winter's Crown, the celebration of the new year, and, of course, Hearth Day. A celebration of love and togetherness and the warmth kindled by personal connection--
And an absolutely wonderful excuse to go knocking on the door of old acquaintances for the noble purpose of annoying the living hell out of them.
So even though the cold kisses her pale skin relentlessly, even though she detests how quick the sun is to flee from sight, even though winter is the manifestation of all she loathes most, Lachesis Calyptra could not be in a better mood as she saunters across the Hauntwood, a vision all in sparkling scarlet, a box of chocolates held securely against her chest. Really, she's quite overdressed-- she's twisted her flaxen tresses up into some ribbon-adorned updo, donned a sparkling vermilion and black gown, draped a shawl over her shoulders and slipped into gloves and heels like she's going out to see a play instead of to pay a visit to someone in the depths of the murky woods-- but she hardly cares. It's so much more fun to overdo it.
And, mercifully, she does not have to wonder over logistics for too long-- the gnarled trees and heavy mist and the frost-kissed earth yields, soon enough, to desolation, to a more familiar darkness than the mere shadows of the night. Oh, she would know the energy thrumming in the air anywhere-- excitement flutters in her heart as soon as the shape of a house appears in the distance, deceptively unassuming in appearance.
Not a ward in sight, too-- it seems Aspen isn't expecting her.
Perfect.
Lachesis hums to herself as she approaches the door, scarlet-painted lips twisting up into a smile as she raps her knuckles against the wood, twice and no more, before letting her hand come back to settle on the lid of the box of chocolates. Oh, this is going to be such fun.
"Ahem... Miss Hag of the Hauntwoooooood, are you home?"