Candles strewn about the yard.
Vines swimming through soaring elms. Basking in the warmth of life and summer patterns.
Luxuriant chestnut locks grew from the ends of her fingertips, wrapping back around the crystal flesh of her hand and up her arm. She looked out through the dark eyes of a newborn. Her stare was blank and deep. Lundra.
Hair grew braided through the carpet in a symphony of lovingly maintained dreadlocks. The terror of any vacuum. They threaded through every crevice. Each chestnut hair interlocked, ducking through the spaces between each piece of inundated classical furniture, firmly tying each into a permanent hug.
I do not worry much about the sleep I get. I sleep quite a bit.