❝ a mermaid belongs to the sea. she cannot stay on land without the guarantee of her death. ❞
❝ yes, but her heart belongs here. ❞
↳ gandalf the grey to queen marella
╔═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══╗
she belonged...
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BLUE. CERULEAN, COBALT, AZURE, NAVY, SAPPHIRE, baby blue, lapis lazuli. Shades of blue advent from the running river, contrast with the leafy greens and shades of amber. The scene truly is a beautiful sight, with its ethereal glow from the sun and the contradicting, blend of colors from the raging river and the soft forest. Anyone who has the opportunity to lay their eyes on the perception would surely be enveloped with such awe and amazement, they couldn't be anything but happy.
But the statement is all but correct. Vera Adelaide is proof that the allegation isn't true, for the princess — queen — didn't feel an ounce of happiness inside of her. She didn't feel a sliver of bliss nor did she feel a glint of hope in her mind. Instead, all the mermaid could feel is the dull ache and misery of her grief, numbing her body with such a sadness that it seemed unfathomable.
Her hazel eyes, once so jovial and bright, now dreary and somber, stare out into the river, her mind concentrating on nothing but the blues of the current before her. She stands as still as the forest trees around her, practically frozen in her place and an expressionless face on. Everything about the girl is dim, dull, and utterly lifeless, different from the ordinarily brilliantly golden ambiance of the once hopeful princess. Now, there is no happiness.
There is no hope.
The untimely death of her dear, close friend, as well as the kidnapping of her two Hobbit friends and the departure of her other Hobbit friends, has brought Vera more grief than anything else in her life, pulling her into a pitiful net of uttermost despair that prods at her wearing heart to the point where Vera Adelaide couldn't feel anything. She supposed that after a while of endless crying and desperate pleading for something that wouldn't happen, would tire her already woeful feä, leading to the sensitive, but the suffering spirit, to resort to its only measures; stop feeling.
To stop feeling the pain, to stop feeling the despair, that constantly nods at her heart, hurting her with so much pain and anguish that it seemed too unbearable to live. Vera isn't accustomed to losing friends, and to have lost five in a matter of minutes, she is left with nothing. Though her remaining friends stand with her, honorably caring for her as they should've, Vera's prominent sorrow blinds her from what she needs to see. From what is right in front of her.
Leaving herself to a despairing state of forlornness, Vera's eyes recover from its daze, focusing on the currents, and awaiting the arrival of the rest of her friends. Dressed in different robes to rid herself of the bloodied reminder of death, the fully black dress she adorns billows softly by her side. Anytime now.
