poetry in life [Heather]

ooc. it's short, I'm sorry D:

Attention stolen from the trees, the dame turned to look upon the visage of whoever had addressed her. A smaller femme, with a dappled pelt and brilliant eyes. This was a young one, but she held herself with pride. Ah, an important girl, she must have been. The ghost smiled softly, barely more than a gentle curve to her inky lips. Perhaps this one would get her a snack?

"That it is, love." Soft vocals would croon, tongue curving around a heavy accent of Russian origin. Limbs would twist as she swivelled to face the stranger. The shift in direction disturbed the feathers from their place at her breast, and they twirled briefly in the draft. "And, pray tell, what might have drawn you here at such an hour?" She questioned, raising one delicate brow.