Annals of Roselyn Ravenblade. A quiet artist with an affinity for the natural world, Kul Tiras holds the secrets of her mixed lineage. {WoW OC} | Follows from @safrona-shadowsun
Speaking of willows. There's a species of willow. Salix herbacea. Known as the Dwarf Willow. And this thing. IT ONLY GROWS 1-6 CENTIMETERS TALL. IT'S KNOWN AS "ONE OF THE SMALLEST WOODY PLANTS" BECAUSE ITS A TREE THAT DECIDED TO BE 1 CENTIMETER HEIGHT
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A raven-haired, elven individual was seen sitting in a curling, wooden chair. Before him lied a canvas where he had progressed on a painting of a bird's nest. Said nest was nestled with three, vibrant blue bird eggs awaiting the care of their mother. However, it would seem the individual was having some trouble picking out the right shade and tint of blue paint as he thoroughly examined the two through his eyeglasses with a bemused stare. " This will not do... " A calm, low voice exited his lungs in the form of a vocal sigh.
A giant moth glided by on large, soft, silent wings, far above the elven artist and his quandry. It had seemed on a dutiful trajectory, but the hungry chirping of the tiny blue birds in their nest had seemingly drawn its attention. Another silent flutter of its wings, and the moth directed itself to hover near the nest, observing. The shadow of its form at first rose the hatchlings to an expectant frenzy of chirps, but as the shadow grew larger in its nearing, the baby birds shrunk down into their nest and quieted considerably, sensing it was not their mother they had drawn the attention of.
The gentle creature of course was no predator of baby birds, floating on down instead in curiosity of the reclined elf as it took full notice of him. The moth hesitated in its approach, though close enough to be observed of the shimmering silver and blue hues that marked its wings. The beautiful patterns took on a subtle glow that could mark the giant moth as a magical creature of some sort. More surprisingly - it spoke: "Ohh....you an artist?"
It was no ethereal, mellifluous voice one might have expected from a otherwordly moth. It was quite a humble woman's voice in fact, in Common, and ended in a doubtful tone as she realized the elf might not even speak the same language. "...I mean...can you...ehm..."
“I hope that someday, somebody wants to hold you for twenty minutes straight, and that’s all they do. They don’t pull away. They don’t look at your face. They don’t try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms, without an ounce of selfishness in it.”