She sighs out quietly, several curls fluttering away from her bright eyes. She lays there, splayed out upon the hill, with the wind ruffling her hair and clothes. Her body hurt, having slipped while hunting, and hit her back firmly. The scarf she normally wore lay beside her, one end tucked beneath her to keep it from being strung away by the wind; Where the cloth had been, faint bruises showing there, once purple finger prints tell-tale, now turned yellow, near to vanishing entirely. She was so tired of wearing that scarf.
Thoughts spin through her mind, blinding and enlightening her at once, it seemed. She had become so self aware that she was aware of nothing. Lost in the labyrinth of an ignored reality.
There was such longing and hate and love for her, towards life in general, towards notable peoples, towards her own actions.
She was used to such complete and total freedom. How is it that that freedom was now trapping her, because she had to choose her path? Why could she not bring herself to do as she always did? To run blindfolded through life, smiling gleefully, ready to laugh through each pitfall, rejoice through each hidden treasure.
Discontentment is, of course, the absolute bane of any person, she does reason. It is only natural that upon some occasion it should cease her once more, dragging her down to it's depths by the twining of it's carrion encrusted fingertips.
She had freed herself before. She would not surrender this time, and she would never ask for aid or consolation...comfort, even.
No, for that might worry someone.
