Irony

it is the north she comes; the rising that brings her in its cold breeze. touching her cheeks;stroking the soft pink burn onto the apples of and it is a time where she enjoys the dance of pain. how it feels upon the arch of her bare feet; how her toes slide within the moist contraption that only she in this time can feel at home to and with realization she learns that the north is all that she is. not the warm pools of the east and the sea that coos under a embracing muscle. the brunette babe moved in slow step; eyes in searching for all but nothing in particular when the touch of dark fibers rose out of the ground as if a very mountain rose in this odd place. (and the gods said rise! in your mercy, rise!)

slick nose; creature of time does she softly aboard the vessel in his frozen place of time. footing slick; wet callings of iron and steel under her toes in a way that dance in her mind. (what had this been, what could this been?) the soft tapping of melting snow; slick in its steps do taping of another feature rise and it is lisbeth who lets out a growl of fixed emotion. who is there, show yourself she is quiet in her stance; an arched neck that angled her chin to her chest in protection of her sthroat and a wide hip that kept her stance with balance and fix. toes digging within the snow only to touch a slippery base.