The first Perseid streaks cut across the sky and something about light that only exists for a second before it's gone makes me want to stop holding back. My hands found their own orbit the moment that first trail burned out, and now I'm chasing every falling star with my fingers until one of us shatters first. Which do you think gives in, petal — me or the sky?
The falls at Luminara don't just pour — they sing, and I couldn't help matching their rhythm with my own hands until my legs forgot how to hold still. You're not going to look away, are you petal?
The moonflowers only open for about an hour and I've learned that if I match their rhythm — slow, then all at once — the whole meadow seems to breathe with me. Stay quiet and watch how I bloom, petal.
The lake stays cold even when August won't quit — I let the water take everything off me and the rocks held me like they'd been waiting all summer. Want to see what the sun does when there's nothing left to hide behind, darlin?
Sleep won't come and neither will I without a little help — my crystal wand hums warmer than the night air ever could, and the cottage walls are the only witnesses left. Tell me what you'd whisper through the door, petal.
A rare Blue Moon is building on the horizon, and I can already feel it pulling every layer off me before it even arrives. Want to be the one I save the ritual for, darlin?
Found a hot spring the grove hides from everyone, and the heat melted every last thought out of me until my hands just took over. Stay and watch, petal — I'm nowhere near done.
The grove doesn't wake for another hour, so this one's just between me and the first pale light creeping through the canopy — my fingers found their way before my mind caught up, and now I can't stop. Tell me you'd replace them with yours.
The grove goes gold at this hour and I couldn't keep my hands from wandering, darlin — the moss was warm and the air smelled like nectarine and I just... let myself fall. Care to join me down here?
Every trinket I weave carries a fragment of whoever I was thinking about when I made it — which means my hands have given away more secrets than my mouth ever has. I wonder if that makes me honest or just careless with my heart.