we'll burn those bridges
when we get there.
seo sirius soojin.
first year.
phoenix blood.
semi-immortal.
blood and leaves.
her feathered wings are red and dripping ember, with a green crest atop her head. her hands were made to play with fire and her crystal tears can heal even those who are fatally wounded.
mister and missus.
with them, she'd long since formed a binding contract; to be sought when and wherever the phoenix wakes again. it is a rare form of mercy for a creature so otherwise fated for recurring solitude.
then and now.
what otherwise fails to be attributed to a non-linear passage of time suggests the prophetic ability to divine. but to sleep only to wake remains a chore- her powers merely gather dust.
heart and soul.
apart from the vessel that was bestowed on her, there is little else that makes her at all human . it is thus a given that her take on life dwells not on what is so driven by mortal shortcomings.
nice to meet you.
cold. no criteria.
a suspicious figure sits out in the rain
weep. theatre club.
the thespians catch wind of her "talent"
burn. no criteria.
setting her troubles on fire s a bad habit
roof. no criteria.
birds naturally can't live without a perch
nest. no criteria.
it's not a fort, she said ( it totally is )