I'm really sorry to all those involved in the plush toy collaboration. I just can't think of what to write – my life isn't exactly interesting, elf or no elf. Please accept this as my humble apology. I'm thinking of writing a few of these. They're fun!
Enjoy!
She has her face. She has the same eyes, the same smile. A smile long dead.
'Itarille!'
'Elenwe!'
A grinding screech. The gap widens. And then she is falling. Falling through the cruel ice, a ray of light in the cold mist. Falling…. Dead…. Gone….
She is her mother's image. Golden hair, like Laurelin, blue eyes like the sea. Laughter – bubbling up like a spring – contagious and beautiful. A reminder of happier times. Dancing, bare feet against the cold stone floor, rhythmic and elegant. Celebrindal. Silver feet. Her mother's image.
So yeah…. No prizes for guessing who is telling this.
Randomness ahoy!
My hair is now about 2 inches shorter
WE BEAT THE VIKINGS, WE BEAT THE VIKINGS!LALALALALA!
Don't ask. Or if you do, don't expect to get an answer that makes any sense.