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 power loves not the light of day
A gentle breeze drifted across the landscape. In warmer days, such an event might have been welcomed, but in the frigid, sunless Frostfall, it sent a shiver down even the Lady of the Basin's spine. She might have been here as long or longer than most, but this complete and utter lack of warmth left even her haunted soul wanting. Her feathers, icy and rigid in the endless night, bumped gently against her nape; she shook her head, tossing them away, almost as if to tell them that even they would not move without her permission. That even the wind ought not blow without her okay. Crash turns as though regarding his tail, and the Empress tilts her head to one side. Tendrils of mane slip back into place with the movement. She flicks her own tail, and the tips just brush against her hocks. She ignores it, though it tickles slightly. When she is asked how she affixed her own fathers in her mane, she smiles and says mysteriously, "Magic." Truth be told, she could not honestly say how her feathers had become fixed in her banner, but to her memory they had been there for far longer than they had not. "I might suggest seeking out our Weaver. Surely you are familiar with Crowley?" she asked. "Perhaps he could devise a way to intertwine a feather in your tail." Perhaps a string could be made to tie the decor in place. A frown followed, however: "Although you might have to wait. His magic seems to have departed, like mine, with the sun." @[Crash Course] "Talk talk talk." in darkness is where it thrives
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
