Nerys Milburga Ó hÍceadha
Earth hurt everything except for her heart and that alone was enough for Nerys to call it a home. Even the harp strings dug into her fingers more than they did before but it was a good sort of stinging because she felt it and could label it as an annoyance instead of one event in a long chain of self-pitying declarations of tragedy. At that moment, as she sat on a stool in a quiet corner of the conservatory, the amount of choice she had seemed overwhelming.
With great care in regards to her health, Nerys studied the nearby line of harps arranged before her against the wall. Some were tall, with a long, flowing neck like rolling waves. Some were small and meant to be held with their backs flat on her torso. Some had no backs at all. A few were, puzzlingly enough, set as if they were not meant to standing at all. Instead, these ones seemed like they belonged on a table or in somebody's lap.
The most attractive beauty in the room, though, was this lovely golden necked work. After a thought, Nerys pushed herself gently onto her feet to examine it closer. There was minute detail but into the entire frame of the instrument, sharp corners not at all present. The contours were dull against her fingers. Ideal. And then, as she drew a finger across a string, it drew forth a low, ringing voice. Then, she thought there could be no other word for it than Marvelous.
Earth hurt everything except for her heart and that alone was enough for Nerys to call it a home. Even the harp strings dug into her fingers more than they did before but it was a good sort of stinging because she felt it and could label it as an annoyance instead of one event in a long chain of self-pitying declarations of tragedy. At that moment, as she sat on a stool in a quiet corner of the conservatory, the amount of choice she had seemed overwhelming.
With great care in regards to her health, Nerys studied the nearby line of harps arranged before her against the wall. Some were tall, with a long, flowing neck like rolling waves. Some were small and meant to be held with their backs flat on her torso. Some had no backs at all. A few were, puzzlingly enough, set as if they were not meant to standing at all. Instead, these ones seemed like they belonged on a table or in somebody's lap.
The most attractive beauty in the room, though, was this lovely golden necked work. After a thought, Nerys pushed herself gently onto her feet to examine it closer. There was minute detail but into the entire frame of the instrument, sharp corners not at all present. The contours were dull against her fingers. Ideal. And then, as she drew a finger across a string, it drew forth a low, ringing voice. Then, she thought there could be no other word for it than Marvelous.
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