Her silver slippers glimmering like fishes' mail in the moonlight, and dancing effortlessly like the whispering brook, and bearing other cliches of grace and loveliness, Bethberry attempted mimesis, a reference to the real actions of Goldberry.
"Ahem, boys... er, gentlemen."
In this house, the discussion does not continue amongst the men after the ladies withdraw for the night. And withdrawing I am.
*looks around and collects all the candles, yellow and whites ones, their tapers flickering in her hand, and walks away with them*
May I suggest that you all retire also to think over your positions and words er they become too... hasty? Besides, I wish to join the frey, but must wait now until another day.
Using verse even worse than the original thought in some other author's imagination or unfully formed intention, and tripping over a bowl of lilies inexplicably left out on the floor, Bethberry curtsied graciously to all the verbal combatants and withdrew, humming to herself and taking all the light with her.
"We can always continue in the dark" whispered one voice.
"isn't that where we've always been?" asked another.
Yet a third announced, "What a daft save that was."
__________________
I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away.
|