The hour at hand, creatures ambled into the stirrings of dawn, anointed and divined with beatific decrees and singsong fixtures, wandering with regal, devout purpose. They came with blessings, with benedictions, with joviality and frivolous, delightful merriment, hastened not by a single chord of malice or trenchant tirades, only the lightest of whims and the brightest of smiles. Celebrations, instead of calculations or machinations, were to be spun into the air, candied and sugared, honeyed and woven, threads, tapestries, arias and waltzes, murmured and crooned into the winsome atmosphere. Gestures of peace, of goodwill, of dedication and hope, blooming repose and beautiful armistices, captured and retraced in the silken banners of their icicle kingdom, suddenly not daunting, not treacherous, but blooming, wondrous, beautiful and intrepid. Without a dose of ill will, without a conviction stamped in blood or danger, they donned sunrise cloaks and morning dew, pulsing with the promising light. Invitations were gathered and collected within her maw, and she led the way down the rime paths and frosty parlors, dancing in capricious, fairy incantations, humming a breathless tune underneath her regal finesse and ministrations, lending the party a beckoning, illuminated summoning – something otherworldly, sculpted from dreams and reveries, a passionate melody driven from fey interactions and elegiac, ebullient spirits – as they drifted from ice into valleys and falls, excitement barely contained.

She remembered the passages and alleys well from their recent trips and avid discussions, and though naught had transpired but a token line, they still reached out with emboldened hearts and enlightened souls. As they neared the borders of the hidden wake, with the dove call of crashing chutes and trumpeting, awakening forests, she extended her sienna nape and released her hold on several leaf cards and notes, smiling at the children’s markings and drawings, shaped and refined to depict broad temptations, allures, beguilement, with makeshift imaginations and zealous creations. The sylph drew her eyes towards her followers, grinned a little wider at Mirabella and Sialia, clutching their hold, both willing to venture into the unknown for the sake of their foretold soiree. “Let’s leave them here.” With any luck, they’d flutter upon the wind, flicker on a butterfly’s wing, fly into the horizon and land where others would see them, be drawn, enticed, and pressed to join their augured festivities. Quickly thereafter, she intertwined back into the morning’s sanction, encouraging her comrades to pursue, for they had other kingdoms, sovereigns, and herds to extend their hospitality toward.

[You’ve been invited to The Aurora Basin’s Celebration of the Time God!

Below is a drawing of your invitation, provided by several Basin foals: