Ooh, these are good! Wanna try me?

Name: Jaybells

Pronouns: xe/xyr/xyz (used and pronounced similarly to (s)he/her/his respectively) 

Personality: Generally pretty chill, a tad trickster-ish, likes being mysterious, a bit unreadable or aloof, kinda whimsical too(ADHD amirite :'D), tends to be sensitive and observant

Thanks in advance, I appreciate it!

Name: Periwinkle

Pronouns: she/her

Personality: sweet, thoughtful, smart, though shy and awkward

CBer, AE, OC, or CAPTCHA: CBer

Other: thank you!

-Echo Hallowswift-

Something was stirring among the people. When you walked among the poor fishermen's cottages, you no longer received a sense of depression. No, you heard the fishermen singing with a new wildness and abandon as they put to sea in the morning. In their eyes you saw a spark of a barely repressed - something, like a flame that leaps up after being covered away from the air that gives it life.  That flame was sweeping through all the fisher-villages, though as yet the wealthy princes and merchants who sat in their palaces knew nothing of it.

What was coming was rebellion. For centuries these villages - beautiful places with pure white buildings, blue domes, and warm beaches that ran down to the warm waves - had been ruled by the Argari, the cool-headed, cruel-hearted people of the north. The fisher-folk there had been made poor; they had been oppressed; but their spirit was still not conquered.

But always a rebellion has a leader, if it is to succeed. And this one was no exception. Its leader was Echo, a girl froom the village of Candari. She had been named for the exquisite, ethereal calling-back that one heard if one sang or spoke in the hidden cove a short walk from her home. She was sixteen now - a clever, far-seeing girl with the power to lead and inspire.

It was the night before the rebellion was to begin. Echo was sitting on the shore, listening to the soft murmur of the foamy waves in the moonlight. From the open door of the house behind her came an added flush of yellow light.

In this soft radiance, Echo could be seen plainly. She wore a close-fitting golden dress that emphasized her slimness and grace. She had blond hair, twisted into a long thick braid and fastened with a silver clasp. Her large, storm-gray eyes, framed by thick dark eyelashes, were clear and shining. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, and she was gazing out to sea.

Echo was thinking. Soon, she realized, her people would risk everything for their freedom. Supposing they failed? Supposing she was not fitted to lead them to victory?

For a moment, thinking of it, she shivered. Perhaps it would have been better never to start this at all. Perhaps. To remain living under the Argari - overworked, exploited, forbidden to speak their own language - 

Her head lifted with a quick movement and her eyes suddenly lit with a steady, fierce determination. No, it would not have been better. Whatever came, it was worth it if her people might have a chance at freedom. And while she led them - she knew it with all the certainty of her very being - they would not give in. They would fight until they won. Sitting there on the beach, she felt as if she were seeing into the future, and seeing victory. The sun started to rise, though as yet all Echo could see was a red flush along the horizon. She stood up and walked toward the house. It was time to begin.

-Hecate-

Upon the green mountain stood a glittering palace. It was full of turrets and spires, and seemed to be made entirely of gold - a gold deeper than the sun. A river ran past it. It was surrounded by a finely wrought golden gate.

Every morning a tall, slender girl, clad in a scarlet sheath of a dress, came out of the palace, made her way down to the gates, and pulled them open. And then, as the sun arose, and the sky turned into a new-washed blue - flocks of fire-colored birds flew out from the gate and soared off. They had sweeping tails and broad wings. Fire and light must come from somewhere, and not from chemical reactions as the scientists would have you believe, but from these phoenixes who soar though the world once a day.

Hecate was the Keeper of the Phoenixes, the girl who let them out at dawn. She always stood at the gate after she had opened it, watching them fly away. She had a delicate little chin and a quick, sparkling way of tossing back her hair and lifting her face to the warm sunlight. She did it now, her dark blue eyes shining and her cheeks flaming. A gold tiara in her long black hair caught the light and added the last touch to her appearance. She looked vivacious and queenly, standing by the gates with a proud, uplifted posture - a slender spire of beauty and flaming color, standing at teh glittering gates with her lovely eyes following the last of the phoenixes soar away. 

---------------------------------------------------

Sorry these are so late!!

Iffy says "eopea"!

Oh, Poinsettia. You astonish me with your writing! I love Daisy's, and the others. They are described just how I picture them myself. Thank you sooooo much!!!!

@Hawkstar, you're welcome! I'm so glad you liked the picturings. I liked writing them. :)

@Reuby, here's yours! My apologies for the lateness.

The woods were silent. The morning was cold; snow lay upon the ground. The roofs of the old manor, set in the middle of the forest, were white, as if they had been covered with icing.

A creaking sound came from the gate of the manor, and a figure slipped out. She stood still for a moment, enjoying the cold air and the faint whishing of the wind. She wore a long, heavy, clear-blue cloak, embroidered along the edges with curly, intricate Celtic designs. Under the cloak she had a long, simple, silver dress that fell to the ground. She looked almost like a ray of moonlight, standing there - tall, poised, alert. Her soft violet-colored eyes were fixed on the scarlet cardinal that hopped among the lacework of branches, her mouth curved in a smile as if she were thinking of something secret and beautiful.

Then she was off, walking through the snowy woods with a free, proud stride. Many people would have lost their way in no time, but she threaded her way through the trees as if she had been born doing it. She almost had been - she had grown up exploring the forest.

In a few moments she had emerged in a clearing - a silent clearing full of furry gray shadows. As her eyes grew adjusted to the dimmer light, she saw them better - majestic, perfectly poised animals with pricked ears and large eyes that looked like jewels. One rose and trotted toward her, brushing his head against her hand in a gesture of greeting. Reuby smiled. These wolves had always been her friends; among them she felt understood and loved.

She was home.

This is terribly late, but I hope you like it! I don't know if you've heard of quetzals - they're birds that live in southern Mexico, and they're gorgeous.

-Jaybells-

It has been known for centuries the world over how there can be beauty in the strangest, most unexpected of places, flashing out for a moment before disappearing back where it came from. Nowhere is this more true than in the mysterious green jungles of the South, where sometimes, like jewels catching the light for a second, all manner of things appear - a jaguar's kinglike face, a scarlet flower laid garnetlike among the leaves, a single raindrop shining with all the colors of the rainbow. But the most exquisite, the rarest of all, is the quetzal - one in particular.

You might catch a glimpse of this quetzal flitting through the lush trees, like a leaf borne by the wind. Long tail feathers, like the train of a queen sweeping toward her throne, float out behind it. For only one silent moment the bird seems to hover in the motionless air, and then it is gone.

Often it perches on a vine running from one ancient tree to another, and there it perches for hours at a time to survey the forest - its kingdom. It has a black, whimsical eye, an eye strangely wise for a bird. Its feathers are the color of jade, brushed ever so lightly with a paler green here and there. The long, carelessly-swaying tail feathers, that are so valued by humans, are of a slightly deeper jade, like silken ribbons. Its throat is almost iridescent, sweeping down into an expanse of color not quite red, not quite wine-colored - a shade between red and cinnamon, the perfect match for its emerald back and wings, changing in its turn to a band of milky white.

The quetzal seems to hold itself aloof from the rest of the forest as it perches there, swinging itself endlessly to and fro. Sought after by everyone, it is a bird of power and beauty, holding itself lightly on the vine for a moment before it swoops back to the mysterious reaches of the jungle - the Quetzal of the Forest.

Name: Silver Crystal

Pronouns: She/her

Personality: Friendly, introverted, INTP 

CBer, AE, OC, or CAPTCHA: CBer

Other: Thank you! 

I'm so sorry this is late, but it's finally written!

-Periwinkle-

As far as the eye could see, there was an endless expanse of tall grasses, swaying and bending in the spring wind. Among the grasses grew wildflowers; daisies, violets, a lone tulip or two, white stars-of-Bethlehem, celandines, bluebells... waves of flowers. An apple tree standing next to you had burst into full, snowy bloom. The air was full of the scent of the blossoms, and the scent of wet, rich earth. It was warm - warmer than it had been for months upon months. Winter had come; and then the gray rains had poured down upon the world for days; and then had come this morning, when the sound that woke you up was the clear, jaunty whistle of a bird. The sun poured through the windows, and as soon as you could you raced out to the meadow behind the house, into the rushing, roaring wind and the day that had finally - finally! - brought life, and warmth, and light.

Caught up in the sweet ecstasy of spring, you wandered farther from the house than you had ever gone, following a stream with clumps of yellow irises growing along the banks. And then you saw a figure approaching.

She was tall and wore a long, clinging dress of some soft material, the color of the new leaves. Her hair was pure gold, like the irises along the stream, and it was caught up at the back with a clip in the shape of a leaf. She wore a wreath of white, five-petaled stars-of-Bethlehem. Both her hands held bunches of wildflowers that were even brighter and sweeter-smelling than the ones growing in the meadow, if such a thing can be possible. There was something regal about her slim figure. She brought a scent of new spring flowers.

She held out a hand to you. "What are you doing here? Who are you?" she asked. She was smiling, and her large eyes held an expression that made you feel as if it were spring everywhere. The warmth in it drew instant trust from you.

"I'm exploring the meadow," you explained. "I've never gone this far before. I live in that house nearby. What about you?"

"I'm Periwinkle, the Maid of the Spring," she answered. "I've been spending all morning here. This is what I'm responsible for - I dissolve the snow and cold and let the world come back to life." She laughed a little. Her laugh, like her voice, was clear and liquid, reminding you of a stream that had just thawed. "In fact, I am Spring."

You didn't feel astonished. It seemed so natural for this radiant girl to have something to do with the season. "I'm not surprised," you replied. "But how do you bring spring?"

Periwinkled smiled. "Well, it's easier now that climate change is around. My sister, the winter maid, is weak." For just a moment sadness flitted across her sensitive face. "I miss my old work, though. I loved pouring all my energy into bringing back life and light."

"All my friends are trying to stop global warming," you hastened to tell her. "And so am I."

"With people like you, I'm sure it'll be fixed soon." She smiled.

A warm breeze caressed your face. From a bush nearby, a robin trilled and trilled as if he'd never stop, his sweet, dancing notes sounding like music. 

"There's nothing more for me to do this year," said Periwinkle. "I suppose I should go." She paused a moment. "I liked meeting you."

"Same here," you replied. "Shall we meet again next spring?"

"Oh, yes. And until then, just remember - spring itself is who I really am. I'll still be here."

With that, she gave you a farewell smile and vanished. But the spring that was, in essence, herself, surrounded you. You sighed happily and walked back to your house. The memory of her, and the message she gave you, would never leave.