Could I get one?  My pronouns are they/them.

Forgot to attatch the actual picturing, whoops!

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It’s nighttime, and the moon is stuck in that strange in-between stage, not quite half full but also not yet a crescent. Stars dot the sky like paint splatter, bright and glaring against the sky. Crickets conduct their symphony grandly into the darkness. The terrain is flat and relatively empty, broken up by the occasional boulder or short, twisted tree. It looks something like an oil painting of dark blues and purples, everything blending together and standing perfectly still. Except for one spot, barely discernible in the shadows. A figure, perched on a high and flat rock that is sitting criss-cross applesauce with her head tipped up to the sky. It’s hard to see, but she is wearing heavy fur boots and leggings, as well as a leather vest and gloves. Her hair is long and dark, falling in a waterfall down her back, shining in the starlight. Her eyes are bright reflective pinpoints in the darkness. Under the watchful eye of the moon, the figure stands up, stretching. If you look closely, you can see she is smiling widely as she scampers down the side of the rock and disappears down to shadows.  

Reuby Moonnight, she/her.

Here's yours! When I read your name, I think of two things: gold and piano music, so I tried to tie them together in some way. I know these are coming out super slow, but I just got power back after three days of a blackout, so I'm going to blame my procrastination on that. Lmk if you want anything changed~

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There is music floating through the air, but it’s hard to tell where it’s coming from. Perhaps you’ll find it through the gardens, with its explosion of blue-purple hydrangeas and patchwork of pastel tulips, air buzzing with the sound of honey bees. Go down the worn, dirt packed pathway lined with painted stones, to the base of the massive granite staircase. Up the stairs, one hand on the gilded gold railing, to the massive oak double doors engraved with intricate patterns. Through the doors, a massive room wrought from every polished metallic hue and clean, sharp lines of marble. Stained glass windows refracting sunlight from golden to an amalgamation of colors cast onto the floor. On the raised pedestal in the middle of the room, under a chandelier of crystal, there is a large grand piano. It’s shiny, black, catching the light and holding it like stars in the night sky. The music you heard before is louder, swelling and filling the room all the way up to the high ceiling. There is a figure seated at the piano, fingers dancing across the keys, foot tapping the pedal. He is young, with dark hair dyed light at the ends, and hazel eyes. His outfit is somewhat formal: white button up and black dress pants. The crystal-tinted light catches on his gold teardrop shaped earrings. He plays like it’s second nature to him, no sheet music in sight; the sound cascades through the air like a waterfall. The final note is played, fading into the air until there is nothing but silence.