The ruffled edges appeared soothed, mended, tied together by harmonic strings and wholesome unions, so the Songbird continued to warble in the threshold of her smile, perhaps her most potent power. She followed in the midst of explanations and clever, spinning tides of silver, capturing every nuance, every notion granted and given, speculation running wild in the midst of the cunning operation. Flight, not by wings, not by feathers, but from fire, and instead of being afraid, of remembering the barbs of flame shrouding her frame in miserable, biting, agonizing contortions, Lena boldly, proudly, stepped forth into its inviting, enchanting veil. Therein was a boldness she’d lost some time before, redefined, revitalized, renewed, surging in the slate of her steps, in the raised diligence of her crown, in the audacious, lingering wishes of a curious mind. Transfixed, a moth in the dark spellbound by the light, she was an entranced being, Imogen in her shadows, delivering the spark, the ruminations, of Sikeax’s queries. To fly, to soar, to hover over mountains, to traverse through sky and wind and gales, rather than rampage and reign over land… “I’ve often wondered-" – but her words are broken on the fringes of something magical and beguiling, for no sooner had the pale mare maneuvered towards the bridge, that shards of embers coiled and swallowed, consumed and devoured, but no penchant of fright choked, suffocated, or strangled her soul. It’d been surprise, awareness, and a wondrous bite of humor, because all at once they were flying, hastening, gliding by the fabric of infernos, and she giggled in pure merriment over the waters, over the rime, over the lost fixations of land and time, completely enthralled by the design and manifestation of such a specious display. Where embers licked her frame, she didn’t burn, where fire promised damnation, she didn’t wither, where conflagrations hinted at demise, she didn’t shrivel. Her eyes were cast over sea and specks, gazing across the horizon, and she reveled in its glow, in its aura, attempting to take in every sight from these precarious, perilous angles, not knowing when she’d be able to encompass their delights again. Is this what its like to have wings? The fairy hadn’t been granted the gift of flight, but she could see why so many enjoyed it, and for once she was truly like her namesake, whispering sweet croons and indulgent murmurs over deserts and sand dunes, whistling a fleeting, trumpet beat, a harpsichord rapture, listening to Sikeax but also careening in jovial, jubilant delight. Only when the femme turned to ask either creature behind her, for Imogen was particularly indulgent, spinning around in flaming circles mid-air, did Lena press and express her amusement, her divine enjoyment and charmed delight into words, rather than just the radiance of her widened smile, her glowing composition, or singsong rapture for song. “I think it’s amazing!” She shouted it towards the heavens, the Sun Physician, the sun and the moon and all the stars, utterly captivated and enthralled. “Who thought of such marvelous travel?”


@[Sikeax] [Don't even worry about it! ^_^]