The Songbird disappeared beneath the cool, churning depths of the brook, cast aside her armor, her shell, her vessel, and became buried, soaked, swallowed in regret. Every time she closed her eyes fire and blistered behind them, and every time she opened them wide, the call of the inept seared against her heart. Lost to the moments and instances of her folly, she drove further into the brook, hastening the water to flow around her neck like a noose, like a reminder, of idiocy and foolishness, and ceased all movement. She allowed the current to wrap along her frame, hide disaster and ruin, hastening quiet and serenity beyond the cacophony of ire and irritation building inside her. A nightingale clipped, a swallow silenced, the only indulgence she prospered upon herself was to hide amongst the gallery of open space, wind, and sky, to return to the elements before she destroyed them any further. The Mender was nearly too embarrassed and ashamed to return to the Sun God, because he’d known of her selfishness, because he’d bestowed her the opportunity to succumb to it, and she had, slinking down into the boughs of mercenary, acquisitive designs. Would he even grant her wishes, if he could see the scarred bits of her insides?

Imogen, however, couldn’t stand the constant sorrow flanking and corroding over the precious walls of her beloved, and if Roland or anyone she was close to was nearby she would have found them, gathered and nestled, tossed their essences towards the melancholy maiden and hoped they could find a way to end the misery. It was frustrating, because all she could offer was her constant affability and benevolence, and Lena would prosper her a smile, and nothing else. The little demon felt utterly incapable, annoyed, and exasperated. Her fox gaze continued watching over Lena, a queen upon her stone throne, easing a plaintive sigh so the femme wouldn’t have to, when she heard movement, footfalls, amongst the marble temple. She arched a brow, raised her nose, quickened the rapid pace of scent ensnaring, finding it familiar, distant, as if they hadn’t seen or met it in many lifetimes. Intrigued and curious, the kitsune glanced once more towards Lena, presuming her to be safe and secure for the moment, and then leaped off her rock, on the hunt for comfort and salvation.

She slunk, dancing within the eaves of the waving grasses and wild fronds, slithering and crawling like a carnivorous cretin, white tails lowered and bristling. The tiny beast listened to the ricochet of hooves against monument, the shards of another’s nails carving and clawing upon the grain. Sinuously bending and blending, she only raised her cranium when she neared the entrance, narrowing her stare, interest taking flight at the appearance of two individuals: one carved and molded like gentle, sweet Lena, barring a horn and some odd markings (honestly, they looked quite peculiar but she couldn’t recall where she’d seen them before), and one of her own kind, darker and male. Would her companion mind if she hastened them towards her, if she managed to show them a broken soul in need of a little mending? Proud and defiant, fearless and intrepid, if not a little haughty and bold, the vixen inclined further into the aperture so only her head appeared, indulgent and mischievous. She uttered one feral chirp towards them, exposed a playful fang, a swing of her ivory tails in the wind, before turning in a delighted twirl, beckoning them to accompany her towards the stream. Thereafter, she performed more dancing steps, leading down the brook’s embankment, where the Songbird was too soft and too harsh on herself.

@[Tandavi]