Relaxing, serene and tranquil, efforts combed and combined into repose, fruitful and cheery, as if gloom never reigned or mauled, as if terror hadn’t struck or persevered above their heads, careening and crashing into their homes. Trenchant, terrorized nerves were severed and slid back into unwound smiles and harbored optimism, buoyed and brewing amongst a passionate glow, a gentle forest, strangers embarking on delights instead of melancholy. The fairy tilted her head in curiosity, in inquiry, sifting through enigmas, quandaries and mysteries, distracted from nuances of ruins, desolation and forsaken barbs, nettles cast into their new, underground tomb, soft eyes watching and exploring, examining and perceiving. Bright grins and brilliant chords floated back to her in waves of questions and intrigue, pulsing and vibrating warmth, generosity, cordiality, and the nymph offered them in return, blessed and blissful. A dip of the head towards consideration, kindness, and compliments followed (hesitating to not flush at the admiration and flattery, nearly unfamiliar with notions unless she bestowed them herself), and subsequently gliding her gaze over the femme in hopes of prospering her own sentiments back. She granted absolution, deliverance, and liberation with the tilt of her flute, with the sanction of her carillon, with the gentle, harmonic lull of her aria. “Thank you, Alysanne. Are you gifted with your own enchantments?” What other scales of sorcery laid hidden away, deep in the confines of the unknown? What passions stirred this considerate soul to action, to motion, to motivation? Did adversity tangle into her veins and pervade her senses, like Lena’s, until it stirred so fiercely that she became determined to move the earth, heaven and hell? Did she maneuver across great sands and perils, rendering desolation and disregard? Did she contort and move with the wind, her great wings fluttering, her grand plumage ascending, gliding, rising above the clouds and twirling with the sky, combing the atmosphere until she was held amongst the stars? Did she weave tapestries, canvases, or determine harpsichord fates? Elements lingered everywhere in their world, capable of being spun into so many different fabrications, dark and ardent, wise and cunning, sage indifference and fiery wiles, and any being could possess their bounty. What had she chosen – and what did it say about her character?

Alysanne’s glowing countenance towards Imogen earned her favor amongst the ivory vixen, and she twirled beneath the Pegasus’s cranium, flickering her five tails in tandem to the beat of generosity. She sniffed delicately at the place where the mare had shifted, delighting in the sweet, tender nutrients billowing from its core. But another query slipped from the mare’s mouth, and Lena’s trepidation slowly slid back into her cranium, waiting the noxious plunge of Alysanne’s smile to fall into an arena of treachery and disappointment. Though many strangers had not granted her the fever, the pulse, the malice and menace that came with the moniker of her favored banner, the freezing decibels of ice, the keen power of summits, mountains and valleys, the possibility still remained. Would she be shunned, evaded and avoided? Or would normalcy and kindred spirits would resume, as though no assaults had ever been rendered, forgotten, set aside against the encroaching decibels of darkness and augured settlements? Her voice, resolute and strong, delivered the poignant depths of her kingdom (because she was still proud, still mighty, still belonged to those glorious halls and glaciers), waited for an ax to fall or recognition to flounce away. “The Aurora Basin. Yourself?”

@[Alysanne]