Fair, upright, and nonpartisan, a pariah’s fallen whims and a capricious soul’s delight, festered and brewing in the murmuring genesis of fire and brimstone; she’d have her burning muse, but at a price. The deity’s command was almost expected: the Songbird would not be allowed her fiery tunes, her blazing whims, without the magnificence of its pain, its fury, its burning crescendo. Infernos for infernos, a hissing trade, a cinder quest already cascaded and entrenched with the zealous, ardent, explosion of passion and retribution, and she could admit it was rightfully so. In order to commit to the kindled violence, the ignited security and shelter of her comrades, she’d have to undergo the same pinnacles: scars, lesions, marks, and stigmata of the courageous, of the effervescent. She’d wreaked havoc while defending her people, while persecuting the unjust, the cruel, the callous, had squandered, stumbled, and fumbled in the merciless pits of prowess, had been torn and shambled into confusion and unrest, contributed, recognized, the loathing bridges of battle and lacerations. But she’d also shuddered, screamed, screeched when her body had been battered, bruised, when Imogen had cast her violent shades and been lost into the murky mist, altered, changed, morphed, and transformed when the bestial ruins shackled and chained her – poising her into beasts and vermin, composing her frame into formations she’d never thought of possessing. She never truly yearned to court agony, misery, upon herself or others, but shelter, sanctuary, meant constant sacrifices, and their kingdom had made enough (and in the back of her mind, a prickle of anxiety, a series of apprehensive coils down her spine, a ripple-effect of portended torture, augured inflictions) – she was fully capable of one more instance. Courageous, intrepid, lionhearted floweret, blossoming swallow, opened up her wings and stared into the conflagration, dreamt of days where her arts were invoked, incised, into the parallel streaks of embers, flickering into ash and coal, awarded another trial to combust within. Not marked or misguided down the streets and cities of delusion, her gaze rested on his intense, igneous wake, and accepted the campaign; dulcet clamors not revealing the fears gripping and grappling for her heart, a mellifluous shudder, a harmonic whisper. “I accept your proposal, and shall return when it’s completed.” A dainty smile hid the blossoming petals of alarm and consternation, a swift turn, one last bow, and she flowed into the heavenly bounty, feeling less holy by the moment.


[Turning in Lena’s VOTG pass to receive her requested magic:
Active Magic :: [Fire | The ability to sing and summon fire. Can injure others/set surroundings aflame. Would have to use different tones from her healing songs. ]

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