~;so simple (open)

[liluth]

Chemistry like apple and cinnamon

Like apple and cinnamon, like apple and cinnamon, like apple and cinnamon...

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so simple and innocent, so simple and innocent, so simple an innocent...

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Liluth had always been a quiet girl, keeping to herself or her sister, the trees, or her loom. But the quiet girl had never really been silent. She had always spoken to herself, mostly about this or that, comparing threads, or simply commenting on the weather. But in the week since her return to her safe haven, her home, the girl had been silent. Silent on her walks through the trees, silent as she worked at her loom, and silent around her sister. It wasn't a sad silence, except when she saw her sisters tree. She didn't know what it was that had turned the tree, almost overnight, from joyous and vibrant to withered dying. Perhaps it was related to the secrets that had made her sister smile at nothing. It was the only explanation Liluth could think for it. That night something had happened to Lailah, and it took away her smile.

It only gave Liluth more to think about now, as she worked at her loom. So many thoughts, of her, of her sister, and of Savan. He was the reason she was working on this new piece. A cloak made of imperfectly dyed black thread. She had picked this thread on purpose, though it's color varied from dark grays to black and anyone else would have thrown it out, like the older elf who had been doing just that when Liluth snagged it. She remembered the dead boys black cloak, and how it nearly kept him blended in with the shadows of the black forest. But just nearly. Straight black stood out, even in the Black Forest. She'd noticed that even there shadows had layers, dark grays to black and back again. So she worked on this cloak, spending her time at the loom weaving it, taking as great of care as she did when she made fabric for dresses for her sister. It had to be a perfect cloak, just the right size to hide herself in. Then she could go back to the forest to meet with death.

That was the most perplexing thing she thought about. He had led her out, in a way, pushed her to the edge of the forest, and invited her back. Her dead boy, her dead boy? He was a vampire, it wasn't like she could just own him. But he was her death, he had promised that, and said he was waiting for her. “Stupid Savan.” she murmured, frowning and getting back to work, slowly, carefully running the shuttle through the shed. She was taking her time, not moving as quickly as she could, almost sluggish in her completion of the cloth. It was a sign of her reluctance to finish, to go back to that place she was not going to talk about anymore, or even think about.

Except she was thinking about it, which was why the shuttle made its way back and forth, slowly completing the weave. She couldn't seem to stop thinking about it, and she couldn't talk to her sister about it even. Lailah was going through so much, Liluth didn't feel she had a right to tell her about this, to put what might be yet another burden on her sister's shoulders. With a sigh, she pulled back the reed, letting the shuttle be placed aside. It was evening, almost sunset, and too dark to continue without candles or a lantern, neither of which Liluth much cared to light. Instead, she stretched her cramped arms, and stood. She was, despite her best efforts, two-thirds of the way completed with the dappled cloth, and then all she had to do was hem the edges, and add a cord to tie it at the base of the hood. All in all, it would take her perhaps another four days to finish. Even with her best - or was it worst - efforts, the project would be done by the end of the month. Thankfully, she had the holiday in the middle, and celebrating never just came and went with the long lived race. She herself was going to be doing a quiet celebration, just her, perhaps her sister, and Thatulo. Savan and her wretched cloak would be forgotten about for at least a little while.

With a nod of determination not to come back until after the celebration, she left her weaving room, taking a deep breath of evening air and starting her way home.

TAGS: OPEN
WORD COUNT: 742
MUSE: obviously
NOTES: >.< this is what my muse tells me to write when i have other things i should be doing
CREDITS: Template by Taiga of OTE

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