It never agreed with her, but all the same - she's never felt the cold, not really, not in anything more than some snowball-play outside the bar.
The closest she's come to this sort of cold was the storm on Midwinter's Eve. But that storm wasn't aimed at her, and this one is; and Mary is a child of the heat.
She wraps her arms tightly around herself, and tilts her chin high, but it's not enough, not near enough -
- until her fingers brush the stem of the the apple blossom pinned to her dress.
The silvery flower blazes up, shining brightly; and in the middle of cold and winter and fear is an apple sapling covered in blossoms
(silver on the tree)
and that means spring; and spring is warmth, and Mary's gaze jerks away from the Dark Rider's.
They're at a party, that's all; and all around them are people laughing, and the room is full of light.
(But the blossom on Mary's chest has withered and died.)
Re: The Guests Mingle Here
It never agreed with her, but all the same - she's never felt the cold, not really, not in anything more than some snowball-play outside the bar.
The closest she's come to this sort of cold was the storm on Midwinter's Eve. But that storm wasn't aimed at her, and this one is; and Mary is a child of the heat.
She wraps her arms tightly around herself, and tilts her chin high, but it's not enough, not near enough -
- until her fingers brush the stem of the the apple blossom pinned to her dress.
The silvery flower blazes up, shining brightly; and in the middle of cold and winter and fear is an apple sapling covered in blossoms
(silver on the tree)
and that means spring; and spring is warmth, and Mary's gaze jerks away from the Dark Rider's.
They're at a party, that's all; and all around them are people laughing, and the room is full of light.
(But the blossom on Mary's chest has withered and died.)