Rapunzel started to slump in disappointment- and then noticed something. Just like with Pascal, sparks sprayed off her hair and over the object.
The first thing she saw was her tea, so she grabbed the red clay cup and wrapped the end of a braid around it. She looked around frantically for something to release her magic on. Her power surged her hair began to sparkle. She knew what it looked like as she felt her hand shape it. She worked extra hard on the profile of the fatter waxing crescent, where the moon would be now. She hummed to herself a little, the way she always did when she painted.Ī little shading here, a few light strokes in the middle of the full moon for the face that Rapunzel saw there.
She shouldn't have made a chart she should have drawn a circle, with the moons going from waxing to waning all the way around. Lost in her own world or in new ones she imagined. she felt the most centered, the most tranquil, when she was painting or drawing.
Of course the moon wouldn't come to her in songs or poems or crystals or whatever. “She took out a charcoal stick and began to sketch- on the workbench itself.
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