<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="background-color:#353535; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=6&amp;t=42390&amp;p=209208#p222835"><span style="font-family: Blackadder ITC;"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #c7eff0">Mandag</span></span></span></a></div><img alt="" src="http://i.imgur.com/Nw5IFf6.png" style="float:left; padding:6px;"/><br/>t first glance, the girl sitting beneath the large oak tree looked completely normal. She had a book in her hands and wore a light sweater with a cat motif. Her platform shoes were pastel pink and had been neatly placed against the tree. Of course, her hair was translucent, her skin was pearl gray, and underneath her sweater she had a split spine and a gaping hole in her back, but aside from that, completely normal.<br/><br/>The pleasant shade created by the oak shielded Mandag from the blistering summer heat, for which she was thankful. It was pure imagination, but she was sure she saw steam coming from her skin whenever the breeze shifted the leaves and let sunlight filter through. She flipped a page in her book; a collection of fairy tales. She ran a pale finger down an illustration of a beastly-looking man and a pretty girl holding hands and looking happy. "Tale as old as time," she sang softly to herself.<br/><br/>A tower rose in the distance; its spire barely visible over the treetops. Mandag had no intention of going there, or at least not just yet. Towers were for princesses - so she had read in all the books. <span style="font-style: italic">And however pretty I am, I am not a princess,</span> she thought as she tucked a silver lock behind her slightly pointed ear. In truth, she was the exact opposite: Of nature a temptress meant to lead noble young men astray. Mandag didn't care much about any of that, though. She was a product of someone's imagination, and was still getting a grasp on the whole 'existing as an individual' thing.<br/><br/>She flipped a page, turning to a new fairy tale. "Rapunzel," she murmured to the grasshoppers, who were too busy singing to pay much attention. It was German, as far as she knew. Mandag fell into silence as she read. Rapunzel lived in a tower. Maybe that was the tower behind the woods. She didn't know, but she knew that in the world of fiction, the sky was the limit - and the tower <span style="font-style: italic">she</span> could see wasn't that tall.</div></div>