A sojourn it is.
❝His scent is petrichor. He shall always be the golden page of my recollections, of beautiful memories. The greatest archer of the time❞
Derived from the Sanskrit word स्मरण (smaraṇa, "the act of remembrance, remembrance, reminisc...
Sculpture /ˈskʌlptʃə/ art of making two or three dimensional representative or abstract forms, by carving stone, wood or by casting metal or plaster. late Middle English, from Latin sculptura, from sculpere.
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SHE COULDN'T SLEEP ALL NIGHT. Indeed she was a nighthawk who is habitually active and indulges in self introspections during these hushed hours, last night plagued her. How can she allow this catastrophe?
The suds sliding down her wheat skin were not capable of cooling her aches. The amalgamated scents of lavender oil and yucca plant's ashes created a lather that trickled down her back, a spool of water interrupted in its still veneration playing with the petals of pink roses. The invitation snatched a feeling of serenity which cradled her for a brief period of time. Oh how it would have changed if they didn't go to the city of their ruination.
"Are you a witch who stays awake for whole night? Now are you happy with these purple bags and fine lines under your honey brown eyes?" Vrinda was rambling with the disquisitions from past few minutes of how staying till late affects her confidant's beauty. She was hurt to discover the marks that marr the future girl's artistry taking the salver of sandalwood and lilac pastes away after her foolish friend who denied them for unmpeetenth time.
"You can't know of what I am going through" Parthjaya sighed sprawling her wet arm to grab a feathered cloth which she used to cover herself and came out from the waters. "There are a good deal of swords and they are in my head slashing my heart" tiptoeing towards the dressing arena she left her auspicious footprints on the dry sandstone floorings, accompanied by droplets of fragrant water drenching from her body evaporating soon.
"I don't understand you sometime-no, everytime. You and your words, they never align" the handmaid gave her a brocaded silk in teal hues and began choosing the appropriate ornaments from the abundant heaps of various gemstones and metals. Parthjaya had always relied on her in terms of the dressing according to the era and an affable companion, ever since she is in dwaparyug.
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Likewise with this colossal family of Mahabharat, she came a long way of life with Vrinda. The woman with a mole on her right cheek who always lifted her spirits with her dim jokes. How far were those years when she met an amber eyed woman same as her age who now looked a decade or two older than this girl from kaliyug.
