Own nothing.
They wonder why she climbs the rough trail, the fragile princess of green.
~It's a hard mountain to climb, are you sure?~
But climb she does, and not in the hiking clothes of the people around her. No, she's in the floor-length skirt and modest cardigan, heavy clothes that soak through with sweat near the top. Beads of moisture gather at her brow, her neck, her hands, legs, torso, back…
They gather, and she's the picture of a spirit of wood and water, labouring to finish what cruel punishment was given to her.
But climb she does, labouring and feeling the burn in her legs and back and knees and calf. Stumbling, she's going higher and higher, tripping and bruising those pale legs with missteps. One step, two step, three step, four…
They fade eventually.
She climbs, climbs so slowly and watches hundreds pass before she is at the top, but that satisfaction is lovely.
~At least wear something lighter~
She smiles, but Cheryl is always dressed in the same clothes.
There's a man.
He's a beautiful man, always catching the attention of both genders with his deep azure hair, the sapphire orbs behind lazy eyelids that show the world only a fraction of the gems, the formal clothes…
Even Cheryl feels the seeds of love sprouting towards the sun god in blue. But 'tis only infatuation, and she continues to climb that mountain, lets physical exhaustion distract her until that infatuation wears off.
He may not know her, but he finds himself admiring her humbleness and her hidden will, strong as iron.
He likes iron.
"Hello, my name is Riley."
"…Cheryl."
The next time she climbs, he's there with her, helping her recover those stumbles and get back up.
It's a nice feeling, even if they don't talk, even if the embers of infatuation are being stirred into a bigger blaze.