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Slowly, Mila walked out to the courtyard, sheathing her sword as she did so. Sighing, she made her way over to a corner. A fountain stood there. It no longer worked, so the water was still, and glassy. The elf sat down beside it, and trailed her slender, pale fingers over the surface, making ripples on the water.
Mila had short, crimson red hair, that contrasted with her almost white skin. Deep green eyes added to that. She wore a necklace around her neck that was in the shape of a flame. No one ever knew why she always had that on. There was even a legend from her people that she was born wearing it.
This girl, young as she was, at a mere age of 89, a very young age according to her people, she was the Queen of her country. Yvëttäsiä, as it was called. Her father had died a couple of years ago, her brother had run off into the mountains; he didn't want to rule either. And her mother died. That only left her, the last eligible one in her bloodline. But, she had run away. Well, chased, really. Her own protectors chased her out.
Mila loved her people, she really did. But, she needed to be free. To run, where no crowds were. She was a gentle, kind, and caring woman, when called upon. But, then again, she was warlike, and merciless when fighting. She only really fought when her life, or someone close to her, was in danger. Aowin was a nonconformist. She never followed the way things were supposed to be. However, she did get the job done, no matter what. All in all, the one word that could describe Aowin was: Determined. Nothing could stop her once she set her mind to it.
 Queen-of-the-dark911 · Wed Jan 31, 2007 @ 08:05pm · 2 Comments |
