‘passion’ and ‘passive’ share the same root in the latin word for ‘suffering'

 

@Rafferty <3

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the three tines had long set put for their journey, rohesia's throat was lodged with choler at what she thought was, for lack of a better word, a fleeting infatuation with the glory of adventure when really she wanted to indulge in it too. rohesia let her mother know she was leaving the forest only for the day, and wondered absently if she missed her at all. maybe the way she missed blockbuster stores but accepted it with time, or ghost of an item on her desk but resigned to just buy another pen. she moved in whatever pockets of darkness she could see in fear of something spotting her. as anselm kiefer would say, there was no such thing as an innocent landscape.

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treading through the copse, rohesia was piqued by a colorful sunlit clearing with flowers she hadn't seen before and some she was vaguely familiar with. in the middle, there were the crumbling walls of a small hut, moss poking through the creases of cobblestone and rotting wood littered with miscellaneous mushrooms. she approached cautiously, as the structure somehow reminded her of the stone throne she admired back in elkshire. sighing with a sad air hung over head, she pawed a loose stone unaware of who was near.

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the columbine whipped her head around, chagrined now that she was caught off-guard and totally surprised by the character who'd entered stage left. he was the first stranger she'd met, not counting her supposed father who'd she met, or rather smelt, only once. he was an accidentally aesthetic object, from his voice and colors, who persisted in her memory as maral's markings in slight.
  here he was, a boy who was close to her age and not one of her brothers, greeting her. what was she supposed to do again? she surveyed what a woman's image should be in her head: avoid the misusage of language, watch yourself being looked at, and ... she forgets."hello."

  she had shaken herself from her dumbfoundedness suddenly realizing the situation and who he was, someone she didn't know. well, it was okay, right? he'd revealed himself with no intentions that should prompt her tread with caution, so what harm could jostling a seemingly abandoned beehive do? "do you haunt girls all the time as a hobby?"
  and would he sting her or offer honeycombs from his pockets? it was uncharacteristic of her and dangerous, and maybe she liked that it was because she was being given someone's attention.

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 she could feel herself press against the tilted stone as jack the ripper paid his riposte. "good for you," she muttered under her breath, off-kilter. not so much because of what he said, but sunken pit where his eye should have been.

 if need be, if she needed to take advantage of the tercel's impediment to escape, she pasted it onto him like a footnote. "yeah, but i'm not so sure you wouldn't come to my home and kill me."

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 it was an art, she guessed, to drop in on someone and muscle the air apart with such an exaggerated confidence it tricked the other person into thinking they faltered. "fine. i live near a red wisteria forest, you'll know when you start seeing elk herds. and for the record, i could totally take you anyway."

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