Post by Tatiana Mikhailovich on Jan 17, 2015 3:32:47 GMT
on fleek, Nam Yong-sun
I slipped off of the horse, taking in the confused glances from the citizens. Riding on horseback wasn't the most discreet travel choice, but in my defense, trains and cars made me feel uncomfortable. I shrugged before looking over my shoulder and at the horse. It just turned around and walked away. Not like I knew whose horse it was anyways. I gave a yawn and rubbed a bare arm. Cold didn't bother me, especially considering my origins.
I headed towards the shrine, walking into without second thoughts. I let out a monstrous yawn with pointed teeth visible to the crowd before looking around. They knew who I was now. "Hey, Texas?" Russian mixed with Korean didn't exactly sound traditional, but my poor translation of words were probably clear enough for the guy to hear. My voice may not have been loud enough— a common mistake I make. My actions were definitely louder than my words.
I walked around the shrine, bare feet plodding onto the floor. I hopped they had a good cleaning solution for grass stains. I twirled the bouquet of flowers in my small hands. I probably looked like some sort of demented flower girl from the wrong country. Short, spaghetti strap dresses made for eleven year olds probably weren't best suited for winter, but being bundled up made you so sweaty and gross.
I headed towards the shrine, walking into without second thoughts. I let out a monstrous yawn with pointed teeth visible to the crowd before looking around. They knew who I was now. "Hey, Texas?" Russian mixed with Korean didn't exactly sound traditional, but my poor translation of words were probably clear enough for the guy to hear. My voice may not have been loud enough— a common mistake I make. My actions were definitely louder than my words.
I walked around the shrine, bare feet plodding onto the floor. I hopped they had a good cleaning solution for grass stains. I twirled the bouquet of flowers in my small hands. I probably looked like some sort of demented flower girl from the wrong country. Short, spaghetti strap dresses made for eleven year olds probably weren't best suited for winter, but being bundled up made you so sweaty and gross.
