Rosalie Thorne's Literatures

"She looks more and more like her father every day," Charity says, voice soft and tinged with some complex emotions, watching the little purple cambion girl swing a hefty stick around the flower blanketed garden, giggling gleefully, her twintailed black braids bouncing wildly behind her as she chases imaginary foes that only her little yellow eyes can see. Every now and then the pitter patter of her little cloven hooves clatters its way onto the cobblestone before being buried again in the grass