The Songbird had always been a dreamer.
 
The seasons and cycles of her heart twirled and curled with the shape of faithful ambitions, hopes, and desires – dipped in virtue, disclosed in valor, honorable and forthright, clinging to the ramparts of her persistence, of her fortitude, of her might. In between her wishes, she’d dug her hooves into primrose pathways and thorned trails, seen the light at the end of tunnels, breathed in mutiny, then rhapsody, a study in convictions and cataclysms, bearing down the hymns of war, the strife of grief, the overwhelming, boundless anarchy of loss after loss, of misery after misery. Her eyes had seen the sun, had glimpsed the stars, had chased the dawn for as long as she could remember, and its setting sonnets had ignited her bones, had lifted her soul, had covered her essence in love and disaster; sometimes she’d been utterly, ridiculously foolish, sometimes she’d dared to be more than anything else in the world, and sometimes she sacrificed everything to restore the darkness into grandeur, into opulence, into confidence. Sometimes she’d thrown herself too far, glanced over cliffs and waited there too long, spun her entity into a thousand different directions until she wasn’t sure who she was or what she’d become. Sometimes she’d loved and cherished and no one thought to do so in return, and other moments she’d finally learned what it was like to be loved (and it’d been the most beautiful, profound thing). But now, now there was only the Veins in front of her, perseverance lodged in her chest, direction, motivation, and tenacity building its beautiful crescendo through each and every melody thrumming within her throat.
 
She’d missed opportunities like this before – thought herself no one, nothing, not worth a snippet of the Gods’ lives – and there’d been other instances sprinkled with her yearning, when the chieftain of the Sun had glanced down upon her and granted her wishes. But this was a different segment, a press to their own deity, a spark, a kindling, fostered by the fairy amidst the winter waterfalls. The nymph wanted to do more, be more, understand, comprehend, the chaos they were struggling to fight – because she’d raised her voice, because she’d strung her vicious, dangerous songs into the battle, watched as others did the same, as the monster never stopped, never ceased. She believed, perhaps, that the God of Time could help, could point her in the right direction (his power coursed through her veins, and it’d always been wonderful, always been a guiding hand, a striving act of gall and forbearance in its own right, an honor to behold).
 
So when Lena and Imogen stood before his sunken shrine, placing a few yellow flowers she’d found along the way, the femme recalled the earthen, elemental tones of the fae, of how she’d know when to use something – and hoped this was the moment. She’d brought the broken piece of the sentinels too, circular, rounded, pondering if this too could be useful, laid it amidst the grass – then kneeled in fervent prayer, lowering her head so her horn graced the edges of stone and rubble, so as she whispered for guidance, he might hear her devotion, her invocation, her striving to be something better than a little, lost bird. “God of Spark, how may I better serve this land?” How could they conquer their newest foe? How could they rise again, better than before, stronger than before, a united force against complete, utter darkness? She was convinced it was possible, for they’d done it before (amidst disease, violence, torment, and terror).

[Attempting to turn in Lena's earned VOTG chat and possibly get her custom item with two enchantments, from this thread.

The broken piece of the sentinel was found here, via Reli's permission. I intended for it to become a collapsible shield (forming into a collar on Imogen, can collapse or spring back out by song), and possibly electrified by the Spark God. I'd talked to Smitty about this previously, but if it can't be done, I'm sure I can find another way.

Thank you! :D]