Be Wicked. Be Proud.

"For we will be wicked and we will be fair
And they'll call us such names, and we really won't care,
So go, tell your Wendys, your Susans, your Janes,
There's a place they can go if they're tired of chains,
And our roads may be golden, or broken, or lost,
But we'll walk on them willingly, knowing the cost --
We won't take our place on the shelves.
It's better to fly and it's better to die
Say the wicked girls saving ourselves."
-Seanan McGuire, author, artist, filk songwriter

A shy, wicked one with dark ringlets. Eyes that watch so closely. Ears awakened by the smallest sound. Fingers twitchy, always for something. Tongue, still silent. People come and go, picking up tarnished trinkets, examining bits of jewelry long absent of their luster. Then dropping each when the novelty wears off. Tink. Tink. Tink. Thunk. Tink. Tink. Tink. Thunk.

Eyes are always wandering in this shop, but never too far. Never far enough to see her. The shy, wicked one walking through the aisles twirling her twitchy fingers through the dusty tapestries.

Heavy things, they are. Moved perhaps, by the stale wind that comes through the door.

Wicked, but never, ever vicious.