A beckoning, summoning, rises into the humid air of the Marsh with the wings of birds in flight, their cries mixing with the soprano cords of song in the air, and from the shadows, comes forth the Temptress.
The woman moves through the sludge with ease, a stirring in the background of the caws of crows in flight, splashes and heaves as the thunder cracks as whips against warm hide, rain falls from the heavens to bless her with gentle kisses, and she greets her lover with a raised dome, giving her frame into the wind's hands. The overflow pushes the Seeker forwards, onward, familiarity and adoration in harsh touches and soft murmurs, the siren's frame is light and slender and with the force of the wind's song she feels as if she may take flight and rise into the heavens, meet her King in his palace, live forever in his immortality, his life giving breath, tranquility given to her in her devotion of the wind, fondness holding the glass cage of her soul in it's grasp.
Forms of solidity and mortality speak and cluck as young chickens birthed straight from the egg, and the woman remains silent, does not speak; she is a Seeker, not a squabbling childe. She moves forth as liquid, reforms to her surroundings, time is meaningless and she rushes naught, for what is time to the wind?

The rain comes heavy as she catches sight of the blood-maned Lady of Death, Eris, and the blood-soaked Resolute, the second Lady of Death, the Jester Queen, Seele.
The geier has come, the wind lover notices, with a endless depth to her night orbs, she moves past the Trainee and allows a soft hum of greeting to his harks alone, her breath fogging into the chill summer morn. Icicles, the north wind, it breathes from her cold frame as she continues to move, comes to the Jester Queen and bows, elegance in her frozen movements, lifting her up once more, her maw extends to brush the shoulder of her Queen if she shall let her do so, cold flesh to warm skin in a symbol of her adoration, faithfulness in the Jester is full to the brim, a offer of silent friendship if the Lady shall permit her such; and then moves to Eris, a second bow given to her Queen, a soft murmur of gentle recognition - "Lady Death."
And then the Seeker rises, sways and turns with the breeze into the flock she knows must come, remains in the midst of the circle, a sculpture of ice and snow, soot and charcoal, the remainders of a flame put out by the kisses of the rain and the wind, by the romanticized touch of her comrade in arms, a wilted flower that fades with the tide.

Her mind drifts to a heavy frame of the ocean's froth and a endless silver drape, of glaciers and flirtations and scalding breath upon her maw.
The beating red muscle inside the crevices of her chest palpitates, pulsates and she quivers the slightest bit with the affection that bubbles up from her core, oblivious to the anger
of the wind in all her dishonesty to him, her wavers, her love of the General and his calming, deep baritone of a voice.
Allgemeine.

Longing and need and want, and fear, nervousness, uncertainty cover her in blankets as the rain that presses down into her soul, her minds eye creating shapes in the shadows and forms of the water, is that him?
Searching visuals continue to create shapes and hallucinations, until she is no longer certain he is there, or is not there.
Where are you?

A pause.
Will you come?
Patience. It stretches on as the sea, and as the prologue of her time here, she waits.
For him, to find her, once more.


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