Confusion was becoming a rapt, constant existence, the fury and might of the uneasy evening. The voices meant nothing to her, materialized out of thin air, conversations, syllables and phrases dipped into fluid, midnight oil, and she only a shadow transfixed in the nocturnal grandeur. She watched them, ensured her smile remained in place, and was only distracted by a familiar scent distorting her sentiments, invoking ominous memories of misplaced boleros and faltering grins replaced by the raw tenor of her staunch composure. He grew closer, and the nymph stiffened marginally, a taut, fleeting mess of bird wings and downy feathers, ready to coil her song into sonnets and urge him away from a peace he may distort, contort, fuel and fire away with the invocations of his rancor. But it was bewilderment crossing over her features, inciting the return of her mystification, when he arrived tailored and cloaked in warmth, in rich energy, in unbroken serenade. Her wonder flickered in her honeyed eyes, in the depths and fathoms of her twinkle, gazing upon him as though she’d seen a ghost. Was he not frustrated, cross and vexed with her? Hadn’t he been warped, asp and slinking, sinuous viper in blades of grass, offering his sword, gesturing his ability to wield it should one more sharp lance of her tongue stain his ears? Didn’t he remove his presence from hers, molten and incensed? Who was this creature before her, noble, graceful, charismatic again? How many roles and masks did the male possess? Imogen may have felt the same way, tilting her head at Kiro’s appearance, imparting Lena’s views with a simple gesture of her own. The fairy bobbed her head at his presence, allowed the life of her harmonious voice to unravel and untangle from her lips, but couldn’t find the prying nature to ask him all the queries brewing in her mind. “We are well, Kiro.” She didn’t know what to do when he sidled up next to her, so altered, so morphed, so transformed since their last exchange. The kitsune offered her the briefest of reprieves, maneuvering her form between them in a protective gesture, staring down her nose at the tall stag. Only after the ivory figure, demon and angel boiled into one perplexing stature, extended his greetings to the others did she answer his other question. “I’m rarely lost.” A lie, for she frequently wandered down courtyards of no return, no purpose, no goal, and only when she’d become a nomadic, wayfaring gypsy did she return to the pieces of herself she’d left scattered over primrose paths.

Lena returned her attention to the others, ignoring the odd prickling, the strange nettling essence Kiro’s presence kindled within her (why wasn’t he fuming?), and settled upon the ebony mare and her cerulean companion. Fawkes and Shadow. He peered upon the fox nestled in the junction of hooves, and the kit responded in kind, chirping her presence in case she’d been ultimately forgotten in the midst of passing words and perplexities. The fey’s words twisted from her throat, tried to ease the casual bridge of the unknown between strangers. “A pleasure, Shadow and Fawkes. What brings you out into the wild night?” But before she has the chance to bestow any other earthly amiability, the femme dubbed from the inklings of shade appeared uncomfortable, disappearing towards the branches and brambles of dusk, barely leaving her own allures, enchantments and invocations into the atmosphere. Lena’s brows furrowed, in worry, in consternation, in apprehension, pondering over the meaning of the mare’s dispersion, if she’d somehow conjured the need to leave, if she’d erred by stirring up the Stygian skies with smiles and gentleness. Regret toiled into remorse, knotting and twisting into rancor, and her billowing song followed in the same stead, hoping her unforeseen fallacy could be fixed. “I’m sorry if I have chased away your companion.” The nymph glanced back towards the pervading darkness, hoped that the quiet being managed to find her home (did she say the Throat, that bitter world of sand, dust and might?) safely. Her eyes peered briefly along Fawkes once more, offering her condolences amongst the stretching silence.