it is snowing. cherry, clad in a sleeveless white and gold down, hugs herself tightly. she shivers as she approaches familiar stone stairs, just as the doors before her burst open as haurchefant rushes forth, as if tipped off by a watchman. cherry’s hair is short—a choppy mess—adorned with a familiar pink ribbon. she is dressed for a banquet, not to weather coerthas’ harsh climate. she has just fled from thanalan, shellshocked and with no where else to go. the sultana is dead; the scions are scattered. haurchefant gestures toward her, his arms open wide. he does not het know what brings her to his doorstep, but he is eager to rush her indoors to bask in the warmth of his hearth.
#miqomarch — viii: warmth
#lsp:poses • #haurcherry
