[welcome, wanderer, to ... well, to a podunk village that is most easily called "run down" and "out of the way". actually, it's so far out of the way, it's practically the middle of nowhere. the handful of buildings that make up the village are scattered around a half dozen docks, running out into the dark sea. everything is wooden, old, and scarred by sea water, storm, and time. the people are bent backed and ragged, and tend to mind their own damn business. "tend to" - there's a few who stop and stare at anyone new or different.
even though that sign on the largest pier reads FERRY, and the newest (still old) galley ship is harbored and waiting paying customers to take across the open water, there don't appear to be many visitors.
but there is a girl who is very out of place. sitting in an old wheelbarrow, in a tea party length dress in pastel pink lace, with a charm bracelet on each wrist, sits she.
she is also barefoot, and wrinkling her nose at the mud, and I'm tired of writing so stealing your verbal response to hook on]
The next you? Is that so... ? How intriguing. I didn't know anyone could be more than themselves.
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even though that sign on the largest pier reads FERRY, and the newest (still old) galley ship is harbored and waiting paying customers to take across the open water, there don't appear to be many visitors.
but there is a girl who is very out of place. sitting in an old wheelbarrow, in a tea party length dress in pastel pink lace, with a charm bracelet on each wrist, sits she.
she is also barefoot, and wrinkling her nose at the mud, and I'm tired of writing so stealing your verbal response to hook on]
The next you? Is that so... ? How intriguing. I didn't know anyone could be more than themselves.