Uncharted
Micaiah stared at the woman in the mirror, silver adornments against her robed body shimmering prettily as she turned this way and that—dress of silk heavy yet shapely and cut to accentuate even the smallest of her curves. It was a strange feeling to be looking at herself and seeing the golden eyes of a woman looking back and not those of a little girl like she typically saw herself to be.
I hardly look like the same person.
She was used to seeing some form of dirt or mud splattered on her face, and yet for once, her skin was pale and clean, and the light smell of lilies periodically wafted as she moved, silk trailing in her bare footsteps as she strode about the Keep's back corridors, loud and filled with the sounds of people seating themselves for the display that was to come. Lightly, she slapped her face and blood rushed to her cheeks, a warm glow contradictory to the pale skin that came with being part heron. If she knew she could have looked like this all the time, she probably would have locked herself away from mere embarrassment, the prospect of people staring at her making her feel as timid as a child, despite the age her looks belied.
It's not as if I haven't been mistaken for one before though, either. This isn't anything compared to what's happened before. It's just... another step that needs taken in life. That's all.
Even with all her friends gathered together for the first time in months, and Pelleas down the hall, waiting, waiting for her—the calmness that came from reassurances she sought was not being as near as compliant as she would have hoped. Yune was gone, Sothe occupied, and her future uncharted.
"Breathe, Micaiah," she whispered to herself. "It's alright. Change isn't always a bad thing."
Everything's alright.