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Frea, The May Day Queen


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maydayqueen: (smile)
there's no crying in stickball )
maydayqueen: (embarrassed smile)
A beautiful spring day has given oven to a lovely spring evening. The sun is setting in shades of rose and gold and Frea is watching it with the sort of expression most women save for their lovers. The birds in the trees are singing their goodnights; a breeze plays with the hem of her dress, tangling it around her legs and sometimes revealing lengths of creamy skin. The basket in her arms is full of all sorts of good things.

As far as firsts go, it's been a gloriously good day for the May Queen. She couldn't have hoped for much she didn't get, and the surprises are more than enough to make up for any dreams not yet met. She got to meet a sweet dog and handsome men. That's pretty much a perfect day for her any day of the week. The sun slips down another sliver's worth and the light shifts with it; her shadow stretches long and longer behind her. Soon, she thinks, he'll be here soon. Her head tilts down and her eyes shift away for the moment when the sunlight is too direct to be comfortable.

The perfect time for an ambush, if anyone was so foolish.

Leise zieht dwch mem Gemiit

Soft, aloft, the bells do ring,
Gentlest thoughts they sing me.
Ring and sing, my song of spring,
Through the blue sky wing thee

To the house of budding flowers,
Borne by Echo fleeting.
Shouldst thou chance to see a Rose—
Say, I send her greeting!

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