A morning for Janna
Sunlight was always inviting, but the soft breeze blowing through her perpetually open window was always that much more to her. The wisps of air billowed through her supple blonde locks, lifting and twirling the individual strands like the grass of the plains they were used to. If you asked the wind which it preferred to breeze along, it would gale the name of its mistress as it picked up to show you its passion for her.
Though she was a deity of the sky, she slept like most mortals (bed, pillow, blanket, the works). The only difference was a content smile on her face while she dreamt of sailing. She spent so much time afloat in the sky that she’d always loved the water, wind still at her back, but at the mercy of a great body that she couldn’t control.
The breeze brushed along her cheek, whispering ‘wake up… wake up’ as her soft eyes opened, a yawn gentle enough to be imaginary the only noise she makes as she pulls herself up to stretch. Her feet skim the ground as she pulls her legs out of bed, but only for a fleeting moment. She rises, floating above the wooden floor as she reaches her window, eyes half closed. A rush of inspiration to leap out her window and soar above the city she lives reaches her, but only for an instance. The girl smiles, listening to the wind rush by. No cliché bluebird sang its song for her in the morning air. The air itself sang its song for her, and only her.
With a flick of her wrist her staff loftily floats, as if a ghost without a care in the world, into her outstretched palm, her signature dress blowing across the ground to allow her to wear it. Slipping into the gown, she smiles, watching amused as the strands of cloth behind her bounce and romp as if puppies at play. She never got tired of that.
The wind opens the door for her, not by her will, but because it adores her. She floats along, smiling softly as her companion closes the door behind her, her toes barely skimming the carpet like grass as she readies herself to ascend.
A burst of wind, a rush of air, blonde hair spiraling in all directions. Higher and higher until the clouds coated her cheeks in a film of wet, the great cotton poufs separating her from the world below.
In the Fields of Justice, her power could be restrained, but out here in the sky, she was one with the wind.
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This is lovely, creates a very beautiful image.
The only thing I'd pick up on is that your use of tenses seems a little messy?