[ Maleficent has soon enough discovered the library for herself, and has also found a place for some solace within. The Temples are often too populated for her tastes; she finds it difficult to truly relax there. The library is often emptier, quieter.
And she, too, is seeking as much knowledge as she may find. About this world, about others, anything that may be of use. It seems inevitable that she may bump into Sephiroth yet again.
One afternoon, she does. She's inhumanly quiet as she stalks through the aisles, barefoot as is most comfortable for her, and not clad in the black leather or intricate dresses she's fashioned for herself with magic here, things reminiscent of what she'd wear back home: things meant to make a statement, assert some sort of dominance over those who encounter her.
Now, her hair has been let down, and she lets her wings flutter more freely. Now she truly feels like a creature of the fae.
And like any of the faefolk, there is a penchant for mischief that still exists in her. When she sees Sephiroth sleeping in a chair not far away, Maleficent stays very still for a good while, not bothering him. But after a bit, she grows bored, and so she lifts her hand quietly into the air, fingers moving slowly to conjure a glittering stream of gold. A book on the shelf nearest him splits open, pages moving rapidly with magic, loud enough to make an audible fluttering sound like insect wings. Very near his head. That's rude, Maleficent. ]
IV - Library
And she, too, is seeking as much knowledge as she may find. About this world, about others, anything that may be of use. It seems inevitable that she may bump into Sephiroth yet again.
One afternoon, she does. She's inhumanly quiet as she stalks through the aisles, barefoot as is most comfortable for her, and not clad in the black leather or intricate dresses she's fashioned for herself with magic here, things reminiscent of what she'd wear back home: things meant to make a statement, assert some sort of dominance over those who encounter her.
Now, her hair has been let down, and she lets her wings flutter more freely. Now she truly feels like a creature of the fae.
And like any of the faefolk, there is a penchant for mischief that still exists in her. When she sees Sephiroth sleeping in a chair not far away, Maleficent stays very still for a good while, not bothering him. But after a bit, she grows bored, and so she lifts her hand quietly into the air, fingers moving slowly to conjure a glittering stream of gold. A book on the shelf nearest him splits open, pages moving rapidly with magic, loud enough to make an audible fluttering sound like insect wings. Very near his head. That's rude, Maleficent. ]