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Isopia The devil is not as black as he is painted. I live here now, the girl thought quietly, picking her way through the forest. What did that entail? Did she have new responsibilities and duties to this land into which she was born? And if so ... why? It was merely happenstance that she was born here, and likely if the events were traced far enough back, it would merely be happenstances that Kahlua was here as well. Just a bunch of random events that culminated in her being born here, in the lands of fog and cliffs. Gently the girl moved towards the edge of the cliffs, allowing her already long limbs to move her body elegantly towards the sharp descent. Looking down, her golden eyes regarded the depths below with intrigue. She couldn't fly yet - her mother didn't know how - and very few within the Edge possessed wings (or horns for that matter). Falling from this height might herald her death - although with the blood of a God flooding her veins, perhaps it wouldn't. As if to test her own mortality, the skull-faced child spread her oddly marked wings from her flanks. Gently a salty breeze combed her feathers backwards, also pulling on her raven hued mane and tail. The longer she stood like this, the more she became stone. The rocky surface upon which she stood appeared to bleed upwards through her long legs. Her blood-stained limbs began to fade to a de-saturated gray, complete with cracks and particles of dust which fell as the wind buffeted against her. She could feel the constricting of her limbs, but it didn't bother her. The reminder of her Father's lineage was ... comforting was not the right word. Perhaps it grounded her. She had come from somewhere and was going somewhere, even if she didn't know where that was. "Why am I here?" She whispered softly to the breeze, perking her dark ears forward as if expecting an answer, though receiving none. Maybe @[Archibald] or @[Kaj] ? |
