She was eating candy. It was chocolate, and it once could’ve hopped out of her hands and into the freedom of the night air. But then she greedily clung on and laughed into the chocolate’s face, and went and bit off its head. Qual had secretly been wishing that some sort of red jam would’ve oozed into her mouth, all raspberry and sticky and making her feel like a vampire. She once knew how to eat food as a normal person, (that was a lie) but chocolate was not one of them. Unlike dear werewolves, she also didn’t grab a chicken and eat it raw. There was something about blood that was so alluring, pure or not. Pure was worth more, because it had the origins and the lines behind it, even when inbreeding thinned it anyway. Her parents should know: they were brother and sister.

There was a certain beauty in flickering cavern lights, the dizziness of height, the charmed lamp that she had let stick to the wall of the owlry (it was another charm to keep it levitating, shedding a dim light around the area). Qual had arrived an hour before sunset, and the sun was starting to lower —the big windows providing more than enough of the sight, illuminating the area. She didn’t bother to turn the lamp off either way, it would be dark soon. (the light licked the evergreen trees clean, the fields and fields of forest, all tinted by the sun’s fire)

But she was here for a reason, and it wasn’t to play with owls. Playing with snakes was more of her talent, being the owner of one, of course. Enola was probably doing something, and Qual, lying down—stretched out on the windowsill, one knee up and the other pressed against the wall, kept eating her chocolate. There was an average looking, average sized rectangular book on her stomach, right next to the other packet of chocolate frogs. One of them was going to be saved for Enola. Once the frog came alive she’d charm it to not jump too far away, and Enola can play with it. Qual had an owl, and had earlier before had sent it back home with a small bundle of treats and five letters; one to her mother, another to her father, to Estrella, to Lirril, and to Harrell.

Heat sensing, the smooth feeling of wooden floor against her belly, a bending ruler, going over bumps in the ground smoothly, not caring for disgust when it was so obvious that the bumps were either gum or dirt or owl droppings. It wasn’t much different from her part of the forest. (Winged avians, there was a reason the insult ‘birdbrains’ came to mind.) Flicker of the tongue showed that she had tasted the air, red bursts of colored vision spitting into a cloud of blacked shapes and forms, silhouettes of body heat against the walls. She could see mostly everything, little flares of magic lending her greater sight when around her human. The black mamba, long and olive against the floor of the owlry, slithering past the tuffs of feathers—the very sight of being proud and unbothered. She and the owls hunted together—both had an eye for mice.

. Estrella sang a song somewhere, her siren’s voice low and haunting, and Qual looked up quickly, eyes trying to bring forth images through the shards of light. The sun was facing the direction of the window, and warm on her skin and face. It gave more depth, the shadows of her hair and eyes and nose being more visible. Her eyes turned to watch Enola move through the feathers, and chuckled—the snake never did mention that she really did enjoy the mess of the place. It was as an owls nest, really, and bore resemblance to a forest in bits and pieces.

Flesh (smooth and pale—the feel of blood and heat underneath the layers of skin), the faint smell of sweat and the tickling of hairs, scales glittered as the snake curled around her person’s leg, tongue flickering out once in a while to smell the air and the girl, checking her out, making sure that empathy and telepathy worked still alright for the both of them. Her head butted against the girl’s knee, the tip of her body tail ticking against the skin, curling up until her fangs were pressed vertically against the skin—an indication. She felt the wisps of air as Qual lifted her leg to join the other on the windowsill—bended at the knee. Enola was the one to notice the door open, a soft clinking sound that only high tuned ears might have heard, even as she felt Qual turn her head toward the door and look away again. They were too much in the corner to be noticed, and the girl’s figure was too slim to look like anything but a shadow of the wall where the light was hitting through.

She was attentive, and that was only because she listened. To the soft whistling of wind, pushing out the daylight air and turning it cold, with scents of flowers and the stars, but not yet. The girl’s bodice pressed against the wall, her thigh against it and her hand at the edge of the still, one hand lifting to pull her hair back so that it wasn’t seen, and unlike the snake, peered from the cover of the wall. One of her legs was stretched out from the full body window, in the crack it made so air can get through and circulate, so that the owls can fly.

And what she saw was a boy. A very pale, quiet looking boy, a disapproving expression when he peered at the sunlight, turning to bliss as he stretched out a hand and Qual lifted a thin wrist to hide her laughter behind. Her legs stretched to touch the other wall on the side of her, eyes bright as Enola arched up in annoyance, not hissing in case it would bring attention. Then Qual (lifting her head so that her hair would fall back into position) lifted an eyebrow at her snake, a sly smile creeping up upon the lips, and hissed.

It was an ancient language, one where parchment recordings had broken down into ash, scattering itself among the fields and empty lands, floating into bustling cities, never noticed. Her tongue flicked in between her teeth, long and thin, shaping so that the words would fit. ”Excitement. Lighten your senses, you’re boring all alone.” Enola, a haughty snake in all terms needed, pressed her fangs against the skin just above Qual’s knee, tail tip flicking. The girl laughed pleasantly, it ringing through the empty owlry with only one other member in it. The window was a bit more open, her legs moving her lower until her sneaker stood against the stone out there, and Enola had slithered up to curl around the girl’s neck as a necklace, glittering in the faint traces of the light. Qual dared to peek from the wall once again, trying to meet the boy’s eyes, giggled lightly, and stretched out a hand.

…She would grab it back as soon as he was close enough to grab it, and whisk outside—on those stone pillars in which balance was a necessity. All her belongings that were brought to this place were resting by her stretched out foot, her hand having pushed them there; a little book and a chocolate frog.

word count; 1276
comments; I'm rather fond of this piece, actually. A very odd piece where I try to hone and twist my style, and it doesn't seem like the world is destroyed yet. I never know. I might have killed it pressing a big red button.
The Queen of Sheba likes being called the Queen of Sheba very much. xD
key this font is Enola
regular font is Qual.

words: 645
comments; eh, short. It's simple and to the point though, and I like it. xD