『 A Yellow Gem and Lots of Fluff. 』
Citrine is a girl that can't feel pain, and has survived thus far with the help of the Pokemon around her and her surrogate guardian Wallene and Riley in Rustboro. Being the younger sister of a world-famous Berry...
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Blood was a fascinating shade of red.
Gleaming, like a ruby, brimming, like liquid metal. Crimson was a wonderful shade, and curiosity often led people to adore this aesthetic, naming it with a lavish velvet to veil their insanity.
Those who fail to hide it well enough, they are called simply with the spiteful words, psychopath.
But what if they were a child? Naughty, perhaps. And they'd get scolded, wondering what they did wrong.
For this child, she was interested.
Her palm was split open at the line, spread out, bubbling grossly at the edges, shining a gory scarlet of flesh, splashed across to her fingers in a rather diluted spread.
She considered closing her palm, but she didn't, fearing the blood would stain her nails.
That would be hard to get rid of, after all.
She wondered if she should get it treated. Wiping it on her pants and waiting for it to dry would be easy, but this didn't seem like it'd coagulate quickly. But it didn't hurt. That meant it was fine, right?
There was a tug on her shirt, a hasty jaw biting at the hem of her dress, a young little hyena trying its hardest to pull the girl to its direction.
Behind her, the zigzag-furred raccoon desperately rubbed its forehead against her back, attempting to shove her forward with its head.
She was sitting in the grass, not too sure what they were trying to tell her.
She rubbed at her eyes with her clean hand, and yawned. Somehow, things were looking a little blurry to her. maybe she needed a nap.
"Did that Dustox run away?" she wondered to herself, looking at the two others around her, "it gave a really big wind, so all the other Pokemon ran away from here."
The little Whismur had been hastily grasped, and tenderly cradled in her arms when she shielded it from harm. Now, after the danger had passed, it was trembling, little murmurs vibrating from its body like a baby's sobs. Humans couldn't hear the frequency of their noise, but she knew Whismur was still scared.
A breeze wafted in, a mistral current icy to her damp back.
Huh?
Why did her back feel cold?
Craning her neck over her shoulder, she came to witness beauty in the form of vermilion leaves. Drowned in red, as if colour was thrown over it, she saw the evergreen beneath her burning with the fiery colour-- and she lost herself in it, entranced.
Because it was beautiful.
Even if the colour was fresh blood torn from the hole in her back.
