- Messages
- 278
- Wand
- Holly Wand 11" Essence of Phoenix Feather
fear is a friend that you misunderstood
BUT I KNOW THE HEART OF LIFE IS GOOD
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The dappled sunlight fell in rays over Indianna Grace as she perched beneath a willow tree,
marvellously hidden from the world behind the evergreen waterfall of leaves that tumbled
effortlessly from its branches. But even if it were that some busybody student was taking
peeps at her through her leafy fortress, the raven-haired girl would never have been any
wiser. Her honey and grass green eyes were working in some sort of silent cha cha, just
taking and giving, taking and giving as she leant breaths of her memory to the pages of
the leather bound notebook that had been propped up in her lap. Her lead pencil worked
steadily at recreating the age-old magic of the shingles that adorned the castles conical
roof, tracing each fragment, knot and imperfection from memory before stealing another
glance of the scenic foreground and tying it once again to the visual tale her hand drew.
The colours mattered not to the fifteen year old, at least not in the way they should. For
although she had confidence in the precision of her hand, not even the greatest palette
of colours would ever be able to do such a sight justice. The sun, as it inched closer and
closer to the hill-swallowed horizon, seemed intent on spitting out a rainbow of colours
as it heaved its last dying breaths of the day. And they were magnificent; periwinkle and
seashell, fiery shades of amber and a vermillion red, and she knew what came next, her
most favourite of all. That astonishing coral pink that seemed to stain the white clouds.
For now, her work was done. A stroke of lead at the castles eave to which shed return
to in the morning was all that the girl could make once the structure had been silhouetted
in the twilight. For now, the peace was done and it was back to the Transfiguration paper
that seemed to hang around like a bad smell on her desk. Back to the lonely thoughts of
home back in London, her pony, her own bedroom, her studio but most of all her mother.
There was no one that she quite missed more. Sighing, the arty girl flipped her notebook
shut and tied its bursting contents back up with the ribbon of pretty fabric. Indi had told
herself that shed not fall into this trap again, the next two years would be made all that
more worse if she tackled them with such a downer attitude. But it was hard, it was just
so hard for her to break from those shadows, to speak up and out, and throw herself in
to the world. Having been witness to the consequences, it was a risk that she was ever
anxious to take. The Autumn breeze rippled through the willow then, brushing against
the skin that lay bare and uncovered on her arms thanks to the spaghettified straps of
her floral patterned dress. And for the first time in a very long time, she all of a sudden
wished for a friend she could snuggle up to a jumper they might lend her. And not for the
first time, Indianna found herself wishing that she was different and better and braver.
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ICON; HURR
QUOTE; HEART OF LIFE-JOHN MAYER
TEMPLATE; MINE BICHAS
<i></i>The dappled sunlight fell in rays over Indianna Grace as she perched beneath a willow tree,
marvellously hidden from the world behind the evergreen waterfall of leaves that tumbled
effortlessly from its branches. But even if it were that some busybody student was taking
peeps at her through her leafy fortress, the raven-haired girl would never have been any
wiser. Her honey and grass green eyes were working in some sort of silent cha cha, just
taking and giving, taking and giving as she leant breaths of her memory to the pages of
the leather bound notebook that had been propped up in her lap. Her lead pencil worked
steadily at recreating the age-old magic of the shingles that adorned the castles conical
roof, tracing each fragment, knot and imperfection from memory before stealing another
glance of the scenic foreground and tying it once again to the visual tale her hand drew.
The colours mattered not to the fifteen year old, at least not in the way they should. For
although she had confidence in the precision of her hand, not even the greatest palette
of colours would ever be able to do such a sight justice. The sun, as it inched closer and
closer to the hill-swallowed horizon, seemed intent on spitting out a rainbow of colours
as it heaved its last dying breaths of the day. And they were magnificent; periwinkle and
seashell, fiery shades of amber and a vermillion red, and she knew what came next, her
most favourite of all. That astonishing coral pink that seemed to stain the white clouds.
For now, her work was done. A stroke of lead at the castles eave to which shed return
to in the morning was all that the girl could make once the structure had been silhouetted
in the twilight. For now, the peace was done and it was back to the Transfiguration paper
that seemed to hang around like a bad smell on her desk. Back to the lonely thoughts of
home back in London, her pony, her own bedroom, her studio but most of all her mother.
There was no one that she quite missed more. Sighing, the arty girl flipped her notebook
shut and tied its bursting contents back up with the ribbon of pretty fabric. Indi had told
herself that shed not fall into this trap again, the next two years would be made all that
more worse if she tackled them with such a downer attitude. But it was hard, it was just
so hard for her to break from those shadows, to speak up and out, and throw herself in
to the world. Having been witness to the consequences, it was a risk that she was ever
anxious to take. The Autumn breeze rippled through the willow then, brushing against
the skin that lay bare and uncovered on her arms thanks to the spaghettified straps of
her floral patterned dress. And for the first time in a very long time, she all of a sudden
wished for a friend she could snuggle up to a jumper they might lend her. And not for the
first time, Indianna found herself wishing that she was different and better and braver.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
ICON; HURR
QUOTE; HEART OF LIFE-JOHN MAYER
TEMPLATE; MINE BICHAS