Zuriel</style>
I heard a whispered dream of you,
on the silver foam of the crashing sea</style>

The stage is set, the curtain drawn. One lonely spotlight of filtered sun seeps iridescent through rafters of scented evergreen, illumination bouncing off the early morning dew drops which still cling to spring-green grass, liquid crystal strewn across the ground as though the gods had chosen to play marbles with a million stars. The clearing glitters with dappled sun, but one beam is solid, one halo prevails; this show will have but one star, and that, my love, is me.

Enter the mare of ivory silk, her silver hooves buried in moist earth. Her strides are a symphony of woodwinds and strings, and she smiles at the sunlight, eyes closed in delight. Such brilliance! Such peace! Surely, you think, this girl must be blessed- to be so relaxed in a world so chaotic, in a place where worn travelers arrive to rest weary heads, lost and alone and sinking in the whirl of escape. This one, you know at once, has made not escape but arrival. She is beauty. She is poise. She is love and laugh and delight.

She is a lie that I hide myself in, and she is designed to set you at ease. I am the mirror to show you yourself, the actress in costume and makeup and deceit. Some time had I journeyed to find my way here, the land which was whispered to hold our rebirth. Rumors on the wind told rushed, gasping tales, and bore the yet lingering scent of Isilme. Could the dreams of my forefathers at last be rebuilt, had the magic of my tidal home emerged in a land some nations away? The chances seem slim, but I am one to believe- and now, as I stand in the fickle light of a rising sun, I find there is truth to the tales on the breeze and rejoice, donning a cloak of ivory delight.

Ah, to have a new home where I might spin my web, bring my lines to their rightful glory and hear the cries of Cinnoru's name! In my joy I think I must cherish this moment, and as the thought escapes blue eyes grow cold.

The wind picks up and my magic escapes, an invisible fog cast out 'cross the loam. Whispers of power kiss dew into ice, leaving baubles of crystal in the chill of its wake. If I cannot hold the moment I will hold then the place, marking forever the steps of the Seraph, the arch of the trees, the arrival of a legend on the doorstep of Helovia.

You have come for a performance and such you shall have, my darling; I have never been one to disappoint, and my skills on the stage have sharpened on the wheel of time.

@[Deimos]