slitheringwaves
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And now, under the silver gaze of the moon, she saw her again.
Cyan ran laps alone, breathless and determined. Her legs, though unrefined, had strength. Her form wobbled near turns, but she pushed through them with grit. Her ribbon had come loose, her hair streaming behind like a comet’s tail. The wind caught her laughter—soft, surprised laughter—as she beat her own time by a sliver of a second.
Superstitional’s heart gave a strange thump.
Or: Cyan’s kind of new to this whole “racing” thing. Luckily, she has an experienced mentor to show her the ropes! Now if only Superstitional could pull that stick out of her ass…