Leathery fingers reach to swipe stray hairs clinging to her moist forehead.
Her knuckles oddly pertrude, like triangles from her hand.
It looks like the skin surrounding them could rip or peel cleanly apart at any given moment.
In the waxy tissue crawls streams of ocean.
They look as cloudless as her eyes.
Her nails are a sour gold.
She has a sagging tattoo of a dainty fairy on her wrist.
The old woman starts to scratch a filmy substance off of her front teeth, and pauses tensly when she sees me darting strange expressions her way.
I sense a strange aura tracing her bulgy body, almost magical.
I imagine she is an enchantress with a dragon spiraling her ankle and viles of unicorn saliva in her purse.
She stays in a cottage made of smooth brown sand stones...
or maybe a cave with gleaming blue goo dripping from the walls.
She has countless reaserch papers among books and samples and poitions and instruction manuals piled... wherever she lives.
The enchantress must hide in this aged avatar(in fear of being seen as a "witch"), wearing the cloth of the enemy:
A purple silk skirt, green cotton cami, and obviously faux leather sandles.
Her figure rises, draging with the weight of age, from the chair, sharply waves to a lady who could be my mother's age, and follows her. She has taken her dragon hoisted onto her leg, her purse with viles of unicorn saliva, her colorful aura... and the enchantress.
Her knuckles oddly pertrude, like triangles from her hand.
It looks like the skin surrounding them could rip or peel cleanly apart at any given moment.
In the waxy tissue crawls streams of ocean.
They look as cloudless as her eyes.
Her nails are a sour gold.
She has a sagging tattoo of a dainty fairy on her wrist.
The old woman starts to scratch a filmy substance off of her front teeth, and pauses tensly when she sees me darting strange expressions her way.
I sense a strange aura tracing her bulgy body, almost magical.
I imagine she is an enchantress with a dragon spiraling her ankle and viles of unicorn saliva in her purse.
She stays in a cottage made of smooth brown sand stones...
or maybe a cave with gleaming blue goo dripping from the walls.
She has countless reaserch papers among books and samples and poitions and instruction manuals piled... wherever she lives.
The enchantress must hide in this aged avatar(in fear of being seen as a "witch"), wearing the cloth of the enemy:
A purple silk skirt, green cotton cami, and obviously faux leather sandles.
Her figure rises, draging with the weight of age, from the chair, sharply waves to a lady who could be my mother's age, and follows her. She has taken her dragon hoisted onto her leg, her purse with viles of unicorn saliva, her colorful aura... and the enchantress.
