[mango sherbet]

extended to july 10th!

[Offended Cockatiel]

Mark

[RottenMilk]

this is ending today right

[mango sherbet]

this is ending today right

i'll judge it tomorrow ^^

[mango sherbet]

winner!

username: Byteme

Oh Dear, there goes my head

name: Sonnet Euphimia[A pretty little task name, an assistance name for a young dove]
Nicknamed Son--- a very long time ago.

short personality:
Lively as any doe and just as exquisite, Son is a true lady. One of reason and of grace, with a touch so pale it could falter the petals of a flower. That's what she's worked for after all, ever since that little dirty girl was abandoned she sought to create a name so brilliant, so talented that they would revel in what she was, in her own true beauty. Almost blinding.

She is innocent as the days of Jupiter are long, stupidly innocent and though talented and good willed, easy to control, impacted, is what she should be called.

short story:

She never knew who he was. She barely ever knew who she herself was.

Was it uncomfortable to say they wanted a male more than a female? They were more interested in the masculine stereotype than the feminine one.

It had been a two year difference, her and her brother. She had no memory of them left, and had never had enough time there to gain even a trickle of recognition for the young man now linked to her by bood. Siblings, by two years. He was sheltered, met with all their painful, critical, caging ideas wile she on the other hand held onto raggedy clothes and shared a bed with three other little girls fighting for their favorite spot, snuggling in the cold nights to keep warm. They had thrown one baby out and kept the other under brick walled, thorn like wings.

Home was a quaint little Girls facility, right in the middle of Nowhere and Who cares? Made of wooden walls and rough cemment flooring. The crickets chirped, the Mosquitos made them scratch at their tiny little arms and the thunder storms made them all squeal even louder than the winds howl. All their beds lined up nicely, wight sheets, pale brown blankets and two pillows, a few cenitmetres in between each one. All of them held each others hands when it was time to wake up, an orderly line made outside and to the kitchen. There they ate mushy food, nice in texture, they didn't need anyone choking. Who could afford doctors bills nowadays anyway?

They loved each other, though they did dream of various things, just as anyone would.

She had once had a dream. Lucidly seeing that her mommy and daddy were watching her from afar, smiling and preparing some food for their little darling. Maybe the orphanage was really a dream and she'd just woken up? They had called her over and... Oh, how imaginary fained lips felt, they had kissed her on the forehead. Both of them. She could not remember their names, so tiny she could barely see their eyes, so all she knew to recognize them with was their titles. Mommy and daddy, but there were thousands of those in the world. Mommy had touched her face, her own hands felt like delicate glass, so fragile and precious it was hard to decide what sort of movement to make.

"We have a present for you love," mommy had said. With her china like hands mommy had pulled out a red bow and placed it onto her babies head. Daddy nodded. It was perfect. The dream was better than the reality, her true parents wer nothing like that. Though, that she'd never know. Wile mommies hands were made of glass, daddies hands were made of smooth stone, chalky with hard work, used to taking care of her. She, the little ruffian of their lives that stole their heart. That wasn't true, but she didn't know for sure so she dreamt it.

optional extra:

She played Euphimia Allen's Chop Waltz... Chopsticks, a mild rhythm humming on her fingertips. The pale eyed girl stared up at the decorated ceiling, limbs beating the piano with notes of glory. Breathes galore seaped through even paler lips.

When she was a child she had said with a prideful face, pink and chubby, "I'm going to be great!" She had patted her friends heads like a teeny little princess, assurence in her voice. "Don't worry though, I won't forget you." She had, but they had, in turn, forgotten her as well. Those days were long ago, far away, like a letter kissed for good luck and blown off on the wind. They were gone, of course.

She had kept one part of her promise, she was great. She was a talent, she was radiant with what practice called ability. The child they had not kept--- had done it. And what she didn't need was them.

Her head raised, little green dress wavering along with her, first the notes were soft... and then higher, yet softer still, just barely heard... yet gentle concentration shone in her eyes, a lovely concentration. Then, oh then the noise pitched, it roared, a surprising moment for any on-lookers. It danced, tapped it's notted feet up on the piano and she grinned, her teeth doing that glimmering thing she called nothing.

Son's fingers felt nothing but enchanted, there was something about this that just was right. Hitting the keys and making them bounce back with such umph, such force that they ricketed themselves. It was something to get engrosed in.

A soft touch of a smile crept onto her face, something that had left once she was deeply taken in, but pulled it's way back, and began to grow and grow as well as she herself. Like a young girls strength and stamina, it grew just as she had. So long ago...

Her bow wiggled, a little red bow tied to the back of her head, around a long ponytail, hair bouncing and jiving with her body. Those bones in her rocked, lifted by the music she presented.

In the long hall, the drapes decourated with eloquite flowers, the floors carpeted, the blue sky letting sunlight pass in unexpectedly, just enough cool air to make her feel well when she heated in exasperation. It was everything the orphanage was not.

She glinted. The last few drops of music making their marks to an end. The end. High dancing of the notes, up on the table top until it all faded away.

Just one song done.

There was clapping in the background, subtle but unfamiliar, infantile in it's persuits. She did not like people with too much hype on her. "Sir," nicities were expected, she turned. Both peach eyes and a hushed breath fell onto him, creamy wight male with soft red markings upon his flesh like hers, the pink of health and genetics some she knew called it. She blinked. "And who mite you be?"