[ lost barely begins to describe cora hale, six years stolen from her, a family burned before her own fingers could grasp at them and pull them from the fire, and a brother, whom she had presumed dead, brought back to life by some chance of fate. cora escapes the fire, not out of fear for what had occurred six years before, but from the desire to leap away from the thing that had burned her family and seemed to burn her, too, shattering the walls she had spent the last few years building in a bid to ensure she never was hurt ever again. while that construction had been in the process of the blocks being laid, cora had lost that little girl she used to be along the way. she thinks she spies her in the fire, longing to be released to join with those who laugh and shout and dance to the music a boy she's never seen before plays from his own pipe. ]
[ standing along the beach, she kicks the water absently with her foot, the water coming up to her ankles to retreat away, as if afraid of the short, little wolf, too grumpy for the age of eighteen, and too lost to truly become an adult. she doesn't turn her head when she hears any of the sharp sounds near the fireside, or from anyone along the beach, frolicking in the water or on the sand. she looks out at it, burying down her own desire to simply leap forth and follow the movements of everyone else — it's childish to run through the sand or even muck about in it, acting as though grown adults are five. cora thinks to return to the fire, or even try to leave for her room in the mansion, but something anchors her to the shore, to the notion of simply trying to do something stupid, for once. being carefree isn't a hale trait. it's a taste cora isn't sure if she likes. ]
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[ standing along the beach, she kicks the water absently with her foot, the water coming up to her ankles to retreat away, as if afraid of the short, little wolf, too grumpy for the age of eighteen, and too lost to truly become an adult. she doesn't turn her head when she hears any of the sharp sounds near the fireside, or from anyone along the beach, frolicking in the water or on the sand. she looks out at it, burying down her own desire to simply leap forth and follow the movements of everyone else — it's childish to run through the sand or even muck about in it, acting as though grown adults are five. cora thinks to return to the fire, or even try to leave for her room in the mansion, but something anchors her to the shore, to the notion of simply trying to do something stupid, for once. being carefree isn't a hale trait. it's a taste cora isn't sure if she likes. ]