#RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH HI MICHALIS

[amiterum]

‧ ₊˚  @reverenceofmacedon asked:

Her visage is ruby and emerald and alabaster: these many colors familiar to him ; they relay of ruby Macedon, its emerald mountains just ere where their rock pierced earth, and its dominion upon white skies of fluffed clouds and glittering sunshine ( how fitting, for her impression is glittering and charming akin to fluffed clouds. ) “Lady Priscilla,” With whom he had outlasted death and learned again the cleric’s benignity ( and thought fond is the memory, the baritone of his voice persists to rumble. ) “For you.” Her gift: six tassels, two of each colors reflective of her ruby-emerald-alabaster visage. Oft, it was amicable of a flier to decorate their bridle and saddle with such, pampering their steed as one would a child. Who would deny a renewal in attire? Most certainly not a vain stallion. “It is commonplace from whence I hail to spoil one’s steed. I found that the Pegasi fliers of my kingdom oft had woven ribbons and braids to their bridles and saddles. Be it whether you flock to the skies or remain earth-bound, you may use these for your steed. . . Happy birthday.”

The familiar face softens her expression into a smile. Priscilla blinks up at him for a moment before turning her gaze to her hands. They rest delicately in her palm, silk glittering in the morning's light.

"Oh... these are lovely..."

A thumb brushes gentle over strands as though they are made of porcelain, no touch quite delicate enough. Admiration sparkles in the emerald of her eyes, raising to find the man's face before her.

"I can hardly accept such a beautiful gift," her head shakes, though her smile remains, "but I know my mare will be pleased."

With hands trained in caring for even the most fragile of things, Priscilla curls her fingers around the tassels and holds them to her chest. With the opposite hand she tucks stray strands of russet behind her ear.

"Truly... I cannot thank you enough."