[Mauling post order to heal Zikar! ;D]

The road opened to the rest of their hallowed world – she watched as they trickled in, one by one, enamored and whole once more, no longer chained to walls or rubble, hastening back over the supremacy of the beautiful mountains, of the towering summits. Her heart pressed into vibrant, pulsating beats of pride, of devotion, of creeds christened through the icy emblems and banners, and her smile enveloped the entirety of her features as she blossomed, bloomed, with more promise, more purpose, more motivation through the art of their salvation. The fairy dipped her head towards her brethren, her companions, as they drifted back into chilling winds and enigmatic labyrinths (of their own choosing, instead pathways of rock and stone), a welcoming blessing as they wandered through their icicle courtyard. From Deodat, Roland, Farenjer, D’art, and even those still unfamiliar, she extended a bob of her head, a whisper of solidarity, a compassionate vein of triumph and conquering shades. Through the misty, murky shrouds of their existence, for they’d survived, she pondered in idle form, wondering where certain creatures tread, if not in the glacial realm, in the sovereign kingdom. Where were Arah and her beautiful children, nestled like ivory and golden lambs? Where had Faelene wandered to, wily and wonderful?

She was distracted, momentarily, from the essences of their missing spirits, when another scrambled in (though she couldn’t recall his name, his frame was familiar; a breath of recognition only extinguished through the mood-altering figure of decay and ruin). He was noteworthy for many reasons, but she sought to focus only on a scarce few: the sinister ambience of pestilence shriveled what could have been a handsome complexion (where did the beast begin, and the disease end?), and a body trailing from his nefarious wake, seemingly dragged from the innards of Tartarus. The fey softened the gasp threatening to bubble from her lungs, and instead, obliged to compose herself again: regal, mighty, stalwart through the darkest hours, persevering through the awakening bliss, when all nightmares may not have been cleaned, mended, assuaged. Drifting away from the safety of her friends, a nymph monarch in the building crescendos, in the marching beat of her heralded tunes, her attention remained solely fixated upon the mauled Disciple, his merry calls, his unfaltering attitude towards life. The smile faded as her lips parted and reveled in the quiet, dulcet bells of her song, bewitched carillons swinging amongst the wanton breeze, exhilarating, enticing, beguiling, alluring, aria reveries anointed through a valorous heart. She’d conducted the same symphony over and over again, through the midnight veneers and the nocturnal melancholies, awakened monsters from catacombs and spread serenity instead of the spliced, scathing chords of a lost sepulcher. Lena endured to do it once more, the sweet, soft serenade composed from the fortifications of her strength, singsong rebellion casting away the anchored ships of malice, of menace, of maelstroms. Her eyes closed, her hallelujahs exposed, and she was another bird, calming the wicked doldrums of unshed venom, hope’s magnificent opus.