Felicia sat upon some branch upstream from the nest she had called home for too long, eyes lazily looking further forward and towards the rustling leaves in the distance. Sometimes she would do this; supposedly it was good for calming oneself. What was calm or agitated, though, the harpy sometimes mused. For all the wonderment shown in the faces of those her mother conversed with, it never seemed to rustle anything more than mild curiosity. Nothing differed: the death of one's companion far too soon was but the same as the joyous occasion of another's year well spent.
Or, supposedly it was a year well spent.
Bountiful harvests of fruits were to be met with festivals in thanks to the blessings of the Guardians; famine and illness was to be mourned and their forgiveness sought. Yet, be it overabundance or scarcity, the lightness or the darkness, everything was but the same.
By now, the teenage harpy could about mimic the appropriate 'emotion' and 'reaction' expected of her in any previously-experienced situation. When joy was necessary, she could produce a kind smile and a warm laugh; when the occasion called for mourning, her demeanor would soften and her eyes look downcast. Yet, mimicking did not change her icy emotional state.
How long had it been since she'd realized how different she was?
In childhood, she'd taken pleasure to physically hurting herself and those about her; pain was the only thing that caused a reaction. It wasn't that she necessarily enjoyed such things, but that she absolutely needed them to bring about red-hued warmness to her bosom. It hadn't taken long into her childhood to learn that it was forbidden to do such things to or in the presence of the villagers, so instead she took to dissecting the creatures of the woods. There was something beautifully tender about the beating heart of a rabbit and its melodious cries as its life faded. She enjoyed carefully learning of the complexities of their anatomy, how they differed and how each component worked to support the creature. She'd yet to be caught by such experiments; the jungle scavengers made quick meals of her refuse.
Sighing and stretching, the harpy kicked herself up to stand upon the branch and look instead to the downstream, a single hand reaching up to shield her eyes from the sun's setting light. The wind was cool as it caressed her skin, otherwise warmed from lingering rays. Another day was passing effortlessly in this mundane world she experienced; soon her mother would call out for her, and sooner still would she would be left to the trivialities and the fickleness of her jungle's embrace.
An adult in her own right, with all the privileges and responsibilities assumed of it.
But that was yet to come.
Letting her hand fall, she leaned back to fall off the branch, her body seemingly weightless as gravity took hold of her plunge. Sometimes when she did this, Felicia wondered what it would come of her simply not catching herself and the ensuing impact. Would anypae notice; would anypae care? Yet she never pursued these musings, choosing instead to flex her wings and continue her backwards somersault until she flew away. Today would not be the day she became one with the earth, but perhaps when that time came, she might understand.
