Viola papilionacea
By UminoIruka
It was an ordinary night in an ordinary town. But of course, a scholar would argue that no
night would ever be the same as the next, and every town held its own unique history. For
example, tonight, the people of this town, who slumbered quietly under their covers as they
had done previous nights, would be forever changed.
If the traveler had listen carefully as he treaded along the tinkling brook that nourished
the town, he would have heard that, from the usually quiet forest that rested on the other
bank, there were faint sounds of breathing. It rose and fell deeply in rhythmic beats,
almost as if the creature was in a state of dreams. And if the curious traveler had
followed the soft sound to the source, he would be surprised that, in front of his eyes,
the sight was not ominous at all like a menacing dragon or an angry giant. But rather, the
creature seemed perfectly harmless, peaceful, the embodiment of grace. Dark blue tresses
of hair spread evenly as if a deep pool of water; milk chocolate skin, smooth and flawless;
fine silk that wrapped seductively, yet innocently around the torso, too warm to be called
blue, yet too cool to seem violet. The curves that could be distinguished under the soft,
silvery mist of the moon proclaimed the youth of the woman, or rather maiden.
If the traveler had indeed discovered this awesome display of femininity, perhaps the story
would have been different, and the town would have approached the future with the same firm
grasp of its rigid custom. But, the traveler had been distracted by the urgency to be home
after years away at business, and thus the breathing was masked by his hurried footsteps and
the soft breeze that caressed his ears, and the mysterious maiden was left untouched.
By UminoIruka
It was an ordinary night in an ordinary town. But of course, a scholar would argue that no
night would ever be the same as the next, and every town held its own unique history. For
example, tonight, the people of this town, who slumbered quietly under their covers as they
had done previous nights, would be forever changed.
If the traveler had listen carefully as he treaded along the tinkling brook that nourished
the town, he would have heard that, from the usually quiet forest that rested on the other
bank, there were faint sounds of breathing. It rose and fell deeply in rhythmic beats,
almost as if the creature was in a state of dreams. And if the curious traveler had
followed the soft sound to the source, he would be surprised that, in front of his eyes,
the sight was not ominous at all like a menacing dragon or an angry giant. But rather, the
creature seemed perfectly harmless, peaceful, the embodiment of grace. Dark blue tresses
of hair spread evenly as if a deep pool of water; milk chocolate skin, smooth and flawless;
fine silk that wrapped seductively, yet innocently around the torso, too warm to be called
blue, yet too cool to seem violet. The curves that could be distinguished under the soft,
silvery mist of the moon proclaimed the youth of the woman, or rather maiden.
If the traveler had indeed discovered this awesome display of femininity, perhaps the story
would have been different, and the town would have approached the future with the same firm
grasp of its rigid custom. But, the traveler had been distracted by the urgency to be home
after years away at business, and thus the breathing was masked by his hurried footsteps and
the soft breeze that caressed his ears, and the mysterious maiden was left untouched.