She's missed this. She almost forgot how much she missed this, but now that it's here again she's almost glad she did forget, because it's like having new beginnings all over again, without all the awkward and painful. "Let's not keep the tree waiting, then," she says, with a grin, and gives Armand a little tug in the direction of the tree in which she - and he - used to spend so much time.

Karla seems more than a little amused, sitting on the porch swing and feeding a puppy sized dragon little bits of imaginary meat. They both look quite solid, though, and currently she seems to be having a hissing contest with the dragon. Though not winning. Abruptly, she hisses very loudly and the dragon jumps, hisses back, and then explodes in a little burst of sparkles.

Karla looks at her hands, now covered with sparkles. "I probably shouldn't have them do that," she notes to herself. "It's going to take forever to get that out of my hair."

Karla, emphasis on the Karl, is in the kitchen, scowling at the empty cupboards and feeling extremely annoyed that he doesn't dare try to cook anything with what's floating around. Damn plothole. With a sigh and a longing look  at the stubbornly unsupplied cupboards, he heads out to the main room, frowning vaguely. 

Karla is sprawled on a couch, reading and every so often sipping from a tall glass of, yes, lemonade. Humming under her breath, she half grins at the pages of her novel and stretches out her legs, her sprawling posture as usual the picture of dignity. Karla likes to be dignified, clearly. 

Karla is hiding. She wouldn't put it that way, but she is. She hasn't quite locked the door, but she is sitting in a corner of her room on the windowseat, hidden behind the curtains, forehead pressed to the window and knees drawn to her chest. She is very much not in a happy place. She wants some loved male people.

Karla never thought to see her uncle again. Ever. It's not a pleasant surprise. She gets up shakily and goes to drink the tonic Jaenelle made her, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach. Talking to Uncle Saetan and Jaenelle helped, and Morton...

Thank the Darkness for Morton being there.

Karla just learned about Valentine's Day, but that doesn't mean she didn't go all out for it. Having bought a box of chocolates for both her sweethearts, she's set them out where she's sure they will find them, both bouquets of flowers in vases, a note tied to them. Armand's is a thicket of roses, each every color and constantly shifting, with a box of rich chocolates next to them, and Chris's she is even more proud of, a bouquet of assorted flowers, but when they are pulled off they become again what they really are, little wrapped chocolates so he can literally eat his bouquet.

The notes, then.

Karla is outside in the cold, skipping across the surface of the lake as if it were frozen and ocassionally just skimming along the surface, singing to herself. The increasing cold reminds her of home, and it puts her in a nostalgic but good mood. 

Karla woke up this morning whimpering and curled up around her middle. She managed to crawl out of bed, find a hot water bottle, fill it, and crawl back to bed, but that put her out for another hour, and even thinking about moving was agony. Dammit, dammit, dammit. And the thought of calling in a book to give her something to do makes her wince. For various reasons - Armand, distress, just plain stress - she's been suppressing her moon's blood for a few months, and now...

Ouch.

Karla is sitting up in her tree and singing. Not just humming, but singing at the top of her lungs, as loud as she can manage, swinging her feet back and forth and grinning fit to burst. She feels wonderful. There has never, ever been a better day. She feels so good.

Gleeing is meant to be shared, of course, and she would love to share her happy with everyone around her. That's the idea of the singing, after all.