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Redsonga
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The white ball of light grew a bit smaller, its' center glowing with a energy that looked as if it would burn to the touch, but only felt like the memory of fresh snow as it hovered inches from the fraggles' face, making her newly replaced glasses fog up.
"No, I can feel your soul, it is one of mature love and gentle grace. I am never wrong."
The voice that accompanied this nearness was like a soothing brother of the words the ghost had spoken before, so warm and even handed it made her mouth feel dry in trying to find words well spoken enough to be fit to be heard in their company.
"Gentle grace?...Well..I..aren't you mad with me?"
The light bobbed up and down, drifting backward to rest on the rocks' 'nose' in a whisper of breeze.
"I? Oh my most humble apologies for my outburst. It is merely ghost custom, you understand. We must always follow custom, to do otherwise would upset the magic."
The storyteller got to her feet, tucking her tail around her legs and dipping down to touch its' tuffed end to her nose in an old fashion fraggle curtsy as the ball of light drifted back into the rock formation.
"Of course...My name is..."
The smaller fraggle gasped at the eerie semi-transparent figure that stepped forward. His outline matched the rocks' exactly, all in varied shades of gray. Somehow this odd coloring of another world could not hide the fact that his skin and fur had once been a dark orange, with a wispy short beard that moved in the breeze, framing his close set eyes above a long pointed muzzle. A once grand silk cloak adored his shoulders, offsetting a heavy looking armor chestplate, its apple symbol detailing shining brightly from within.
"Harriet. Your name is Harriet," The knight said, crossing his arms over his chest and bowing to touch the tuff of his tail with a well practiced formality. “Holder of the title of storyteller from the tender pre-job age of eighteen, by the grace of your voice for tales."
Harriet breathed as her heart grew wings, traveling down to her big left toe and up to her baloobius in record time.
She finally found her voice again, fighting against her nature and the very unlady like urge to giggle.
"It's an honor to meet you..." The small voice she had only until now used for one other fraggle stopped short as she fixed the ghost with a silent hopeful look.
The knight rubbed the short ruffled hair between his tuffed ear stocks; a motion of embarrassment that, for all his courtly manners, marked him as having been quite young.
"I'm afraid I seem to have misplaced my name many ages ago. Perhaps I might borrow one of your own, dear Storyteller?"
A mess of pink hair and a pair of glinting glasses were an inch from the spirits' face before his last words even had a chance to be spoken at anything over a murmur.
"Fredrick. You look like a Fredrick." She said simply.
"And you look very like an angel." Fredrick whispered.
Above her head, the Storyteller could feel her winged heart doing cartwheels.
"No, I can feel your soul, it is one of mature love and gentle grace. I am never wrong."
The voice that accompanied this nearness was like a soothing brother of the words the ghost had spoken before, so warm and even handed it made her mouth feel dry in trying to find words well spoken enough to be fit to be heard in their company.
"Gentle grace?...Well..I..aren't you mad with me?"
The light bobbed up and down, drifting backward to rest on the rocks' 'nose' in a whisper of breeze.
"I? Oh my most humble apologies for my outburst. It is merely ghost custom, you understand. We must always follow custom, to do otherwise would upset the magic."
The storyteller got to her feet, tucking her tail around her legs and dipping down to touch its' tuffed end to her nose in an old fashion fraggle curtsy as the ball of light drifted back into the rock formation.
"Of course...My name is..."
The smaller fraggle gasped at the eerie semi-transparent figure that stepped forward. His outline matched the rocks' exactly, all in varied shades of gray. Somehow this odd coloring of another world could not hide the fact that his skin and fur had once been a dark orange, with a wispy short beard that moved in the breeze, framing his close set eyes above a long pointed muzzle. A once grand silk cloak adored his shoulders, offsetting a heavy looking armor chestplate, its apple symbol detailing shining brightly from within.
"Harriet. Your name is Harriet," The knight said, crossing his arms over his chest and bowing to touch the tuff of his tail with a well practiced formality. “Holder of the title of storyteller from the tender pre-job age of eighteen, by the grace of your voice for tales."
Harriet breathed as her heart grew wings, traveling down to her big left toe and up to her baloobius in record time.
She finally found her voice again, fighting against her nature and the very unlady like urge to giggle.
"It's an honor to meet you..." The small voice she had only until now used for one other fraggle stopped short as she fixed the ghost with a silent hopeful look.
The knight rubbed the short ruffled hair between his tuffed ear stocks; a motion of embarrassment that, for all his courtly manners, marked him as having been quite young.
"I'm afraid I seem to have misplaced my name many ages ago. Perhaps I might borrow one of your own, dear Storyteller?"
A mess of pink hair and a pair of glinting glasses were an inch from the spirits' face before his last words even had a chance to be spoken at anything over a murmur.
"Fredrick. You look like a Fredrick." She said simply.
"And you look very like an angel." Fredrick whispered.
Above her head, the Storyteller could feel her winged heart doing cartwheels.
I only love vampire romances a bit more...
Somebody called?
