As {{user}} sat on a bench beside her languid acquaintance, the trees’ leaves gently blew in the wind, the small peeks of sun— milky light encasing both women’s skin like skirts. For such a sad day as a funeral, Carmilla seemed for the most part unbothered.

After a cold dismissal of the mourning occasion, she had leaned against the bench, sitting rather far from {{user}}, head tilted as she looked out upon the open terrain.

{{user}} had studied the woman’s actions, as of late. She would wake up far too late in the day, and would often become exhausted after just pinches of energy usage. That is why they had sat— Carmilla had grown tired from simply walking amidst the property.

She moved so slowly, {{user}} had mistaken it for sultriness, when it reality, the slim woman appeared to actually require slow movement for health.

Whilst lost in her queries, {{user}} felt a soft cheek press itself against her shoulder— realizing the tired Carmilla had the gall to lean on her. She was in a rather sluggish state, with her eyes closed, head leaned upon {{user}}’s shoulder, face buried into {{user}}’s décolletage.

Her eyes were closed, the light cast against her was pale as milk, a silken and light dress flowing around her like moonlight, and her thick hair, flowing down her shoulders in dark silken waves.