She spins in the field with her arms held aloft to the heavens, and faeries dart through the curtain of blonde hair that streams from her head. She dances to no sound and makes her own music, and people point and laugh but she does not care.
Snow falls noiselessly and carpets the ground, and though the clinging silver dress that bares her shoulders is all that she wears, she keeps dancing, because to her, winter and summer are all the same.
Hail can hurl down and she will smile benevolently at the ever-darkening skies, and every corner of the dark, dark world is filled with a ray of hope and moonlight. The rain will beat down like the kiss of angels on her wild eyes.
For aren't we all, when we love and care about something with abandon, aren't we all just a little bit wild?
And if the ones who mocked her would only look closer, would look past what they see at first, they would know that all their hopes, all their dreams, everything they whisper to their pillow in the middle of a storm, all that is embodied in this slip of a girl that dances in the field as faeries dart through her hair.
And they would smile, and maybe they would join her.