Reyna

The first thing she becomes aware of is the dimming of her scales. They no longer gleam and resonate with the powerful light of her inner magik. Reyna is no fanciful creature, she does not panic as she watches the glow of her blood fade from her skin. Each scale is still a perfect, tangible sapphire blue. Each ridge is as it should be, and they remain warm and comforting where they are embedded in her body. A soft sigh of loss is all that can be heard, rolling off the tongue with a sense of defeat. Intense orange gems look to the horizon, to the future she can no longer determine. Behind her lay thousands of miles and a home she could not return to, all for the sake of the shattered stone piece that lay warm and pulsing against her breast. A kaleidoscope of colors, chameleon, changing. Wrapped in white gold, a piece of her history, turned into naught but jewelry to those who would meet her. Decadent, useless. It sang for each of its brethren, seeking unity and wholeness. Reyna could not allow such a catastrophic scenario to take place.

It is far warmer than she remembers...the lowlands had been abandoned thousands of years ago, the dragons fleeing to the northernmost reaches of the earth where they built spires and towers of ivory. Reyna's home. Here, there are no paths of stone that lead into this battered world, no signs that tell her the name of this primordial land. Instead there is lush grass, the whisper of old frost on her skin that she feels as clearly as any ray of sunshine. A telling of time, of passing seasons. There were no seasons where she hailed from, only the intense chill of winter's grasp, frigid and everlasting. These lands sing a song of simpler times, of primitive violence and a love so strong it batters at her weathered heart.

Each sapphire hoof is placed with surety, a land that has no name no more daunting to her than a stroll down her favorite arctic path. There is nothing to fear in newness, that is something she has come to learn. A nomad must never long for a home that never exists, for they moved with the winds and the tides, swaying and changing with the shift of the magik within the earth. There is no sadness to be felt as they travel onward, because a home is not dictated by a piece of land. They are pawns upon the mercy of the Mother, and She will lead them true. For She does not belong to any of them, and they must obey her whims. Her presence is strong, wherever it is Reyna has landed. It is not prevalent in the way the little shadow was accustomed to, and her magik shied away from the foreign immortality that impressed itself upon her soul. For She will reign upon her soul forever, and Reyna will not allow another celestial to rule her heart or mind.

Bloodless locks swish in silent tempo to the jaunt of her gait, scales rippling as her crown rises to survey her surroundings. A meeting place, surely. She can feel the souls that have melted into one, see the marks they have placed so temporarily upon this place. Fleeting, meaningless. A threshold to be crossed, a ribbon to be snapped. A thousand magik signatures had imprinted upon the earth here, and yet none were permanent, none were coalesced into a singular entity. Travelers, weary and lost.

Reyna does not consider herself lost. A nomad is never lost.

Nonetheless, there are habits to abide by, rules to take into consideration. Perhaps it would be polite to do the same as those old wanderers had?

Elegantly she drops to her knees among the clover, curling and shifting until she is poised in the greenery, long white locks a contrast that draws attention to her charcoal form. Intimidating features are relaxed, refined as she gazes out across the horizon. Awaiting whatever shall confront her, the new path that her soul is bound to take.

devils don't fly