[color=lightgray]

She liked the chill of the night air, her gaze lifted, her red hair shadowing dark in the shadow of the canopy of branch and leaf overhead, and in the glow of the nearly full moon light it seemed to sparkle, the softness and care taken obvious, her short nailed fingers running through her hair in mild, otherwise suppressed, distress. 

[i]Why am I running for my fucking life? Why, just let me stop and tell you all about it, witch.[/i]

Sirossa wanted to grump, but instead, she sighed, just letting all of the tension leave her body. Green eyes were jade, but hardened and chipped in the moonlight from an irritation she was unable, or unwilling, at the moment, to simply hide. The posture of the woman, the tone of the woman…on second glance, all it brought forth from Sirossa was a deep feeling, down in her gut, that rolled quickly and effortlessly to her lips, then aloud; a laughter so deep and genuine it was unstoppable, a good long moment before she finally regained some measure of herself, and held up an open palm in peace, “Apologies, people saying ‘my kind’, showing anger to me…I never really get used to it.”

[i]And it’s either laugh or cry…[/i] 

“Um,” she began, an audible pause as her mind caught up to the rest of her, understanding the woman starring at her, requiring, for whatever ungodly witched out reason, an explanation, “well, for starters, more people should. Witchwood is lovely in the autumn, you know.”
Her hand gave a tiny little motion, for gentle emphasis, like a friend sharing a secret. The grin that crept along the corners of her mouth like the witch’s shadows crept betraying the fun Sirossa had, and could have, even when her life was in grave danger. As if her life wasn’t always, hadn’t always, been in grave danger. 

There was kindness, Sirossa told herself, in gentle lies, a mercy in managing the truth, “I am a political prisoner on the run. So when you say ‘you people’, I would like to thank you, kindly, for lumping me in with the same people who decided who my parents were meant I didn’t need a childhood, but a prison sentence. WHY do the Magisters of the Arcanaeum, including those representing YOUR PEOPLE, decide such a thing? They don’t exactly tell you. Very dangerous people just come for you in the middle of the night. No courts, no appeals to the local lord or lady, just the end of life as you knew it.”

The smile that her lips bore now was more dangerous than any wand she might have pulled, and sharper than any dagger, “I don’t know if you could stop me, please don’t make me find out,” Sirossa said, sadly. [/color]