[ Oh gosh, sorry this reply took an eternity! I swear I am not normally this slow! ]
With a load of freshly baked bread in her hand, Moriander sat atop the bakery's roof, her eyes cast towards the heavens. The louds slinked lazily across the afternoon sky, a rush of whites, blues and lazy greys all tumbling onto one canvas. She took a generous bite of her bread, held with both of her eager hands, watching onwards as the people of Fallial rushed past the bakery. They were so busy here, in the city — as if they were afraid time would slip from their fingers when they weren't looking. Their city, filled with color and noise, moved with a strange elegance that only the bourgeois could pull off. Moriander, spirit mage, did not fit in with them, but she was content to watch.
Down below, everyone almost looked the same. It was easy to brush off all these people, to forget the individual behind the mask they wore out in public. Artisans, merchants, the humble working-class — they all blended together, impasto brushstrokes on a weary canvas. She peered a little harder, attempting to give these people stories and backgrounds, and that's when her yellow eyes came across someone — a stranger, someone who didn't belong, like her — tumbling out of a wagon. Not tumbling, really, but rushing; another busy person, another one with no place to go. She flattened herself against the wall of the bakery, and Mori grinned, mischievous.
She hung her head upside-down from her spot on the roof, her long white hair tumbling downwards as she did so, so that she was eye to eye with the stranger, grinning. "Heya!" she greeted — a stranger's welcome, from out of the blue. With her hawkish yellow eyes, pale visage and snow-white hair, it may have been easy to mistake Mori for a specter, especially when she naturally brought a chilly breeze along with her, wherever she went.
"Are you alright, miss? You look flushed, fatigued even! As if you've been running from ghosts!"
