First, a watercolor done from a lovely bouquet made by asakiyume:
And the interminable chapter I posted from last time:
I run my fingers down the shrine, a grass-woven pillar studded with nests. At my feet, Bhinadmi appears to be supplicating me. Perhaps for her life. “You should have known I could find you if you prayed to one of my shrines.”
She looks up then with eyes the color of a mountain cat, not the intense blue of my memories. Their expression is flat and unwelcoming. “What makes you think I didn’t?”
The above snippet has just now been modified because I realized how wordy the previous version was thanks to jimvanpelt's post on the foibles of "of."
I refrained from it here, but any time I post something artistic, I feel the almost overwhelming desire to criticize and pick apart what I've done, to acknowledge and point out its faults before other people can think them. Is anyone else possessed of this need to qualify whatever he/she does?