Miranda is kneeling outside in the grass, her nose almost touching the pages of the book on the ground in front of her. She has clasped in one two or three of the early spring crocuses which have begun to bloom in some places along the edges of the paths in the garden. The is some huge, musty old thing, the kind any librarian would weep to see ( Read more... )

In theory, Miranda was going to see Melou. But somewhere on the lawn, she appears to have become distracted by the shape her shoes make in the snow, and the way a bit of dead grass still peeks through if you dig deep enough, any number of other little things which enchant her beyond all logical reason. She may be found squatting down, tracing out ( Read more... )

Uncrackplotted for the present, Miranda is marching purposefully down one of the halls of the mansion. Somehow, she has discovered the location of Sir Sagramore's room (certainly there are many people who frequent it) and is going now in search of the gentleman himself. Should she reach his door without seeing him, she will knock upon it quite

Having found a nice little patch of sunlight somewhere out on the lawn, Miranda is sitting cross-legged in the grass with a great book open on her lap. She is bent over it, clearly quite absorbed, silently moving her lips along with the words. Perhaps surprisingly, she reads quite quickly, and is a fair way through the volume on her lap.

Intent, it seems, on making the most of every last second of the summer, Miranda has defied the earliest hints of a fall chill in the air to go swimming in the lake. She is enjoying herself a great deal, which seems to correlate directly to making a great deal of noise, so she surely will not go unnoticed.

Now that she has learned that magic appears to involve a great deal of impending doom paired with next to no ability to act, Miranda is significantly less enthused about the idea. She is in the garden now, tearing absently at a leaf, eyes downcast.

Miranda has made a daisy chain. She has made several-- one, a crown in her hair, others for bracelets and even one wrapped around her waist. The longest yet is coiled around itself in her lap, and she is still adding to the end. There is little fun in such a great, long chain with no one to give it to.

Unlike many people, it is all the magic here that makes her feel safe and comfortable. Therefore, the sudden exit of so large a part of it in the form of the plothole has left her ill at ease for the past few days for no reason she can quite articulate. Miranda has decided, then, to take a walk through the garden. Perhaps a path no one has ever ( Read more... )

It is fitting that Lucivar and Melou should have spoken of Miranda's propensity for trouble-- she has gone this day to search out Frankenstein's monster. Not, naturally, that she knows that that is the owner of the monster; she knows only that it is a monster, and a chance to, perhaps, atone for the wrongs done to another monster that she knew.

Miranda has found, in some manner or another, the way to make little paper flowers. She has made enough of these to fill her two cupped palms and left them, along with a little note upon which 'Melou' is written in her small, careful hand, in a place where she hopes they will be found. She hopes, too, that Melou realizes their origin, for it is ( Read more... )