Her bones ached with winter, a vile screeching sensation as they brushed by one another with each petty little movement. What was it that she was hoping for, to leave the comfort of the Edge with the razer sharp chilled wind that graced her presence as she descended from the cliffs? She only knew one answer, and part of her began to wish that perhaps she could stumble upon her Lucifer once more. It had been awhile since she had seen him. It had been awhile since she experienced the odd comfort that he had given her as he called her his little demon. And yet, despite her tortures in her past with true demons, she tried as hard as she could to not succumb to the ebony stallion – and yet, fell either way.

The ivory mare was rather short, but a strong stature with old muscles hanging from old bones. Her gaze was glassy, scarred over from her past life. Two horns sat upon her brow, one broken nearly in half. A memento that she carried within her tail to never forget the loss of her sister. But perhaps the most iconic of her scars, were the deep wounds that were always painted red, that lined each corner of her lips in an unfortunately gruesome smile. Her pelt was worn, white with the beginning of a gray hued bruise that stained her hind quarter. And who could forget the blood that stained her feathers, lining each of her slate hooves. She carried herself prouder now than before, perhaps almost pleased with how the strange turn of events had changed her. From the sad little being she had become in her old age (wishing to end her life on the cliffs of the ironically named ‘Heavenly’ cliffs) to a prideful being, given such confidence from the most unlikeliest of culprits.

Glasgow huffed a sigh into the air, a puff of vapor escaping her lips from the icy chill of Frostfall, before her ivory ears danced to a voice that illuminated over the confined air. “Hello? Is anyone out there?” The sound peaked her interest, and she felt herself carrying her weight with scarlet stained ivory legs, over the blanket of snow to where the sound had come from. Breaking the tree line, she spotted a mare a bit taller than she with lean muscles and a beautiful dished face. Perhaps Glasgow felt a bit of envy to her, to see that she carried no scars like she did (but she had to remind herself that she needed to wear the scars with pride instead of fear) and instead admired the mare’s wings and seemingly almost opposite appearance. Despite their similarities in coat color, her eyes were a stark opposite to Glasgow’s glassy orbs. But nevertheless, the mare had seen worse and dipped her crowned head to the creature, settling herself among the edge of the tree line for mere comfort. “I am here.” She admitted, forcing a smile to the mare that felt very awkward as the scars moved and bumped against one another. A price to pay.

“I am Glasgow of the World’s Edge, and you have found yourself in Helovia. Welcome.” Her voice was strong, but seemingly professional. Her days as a diplomat served her well in this manner, greeting strangers. However, she waited for the mare’s response before thinking of how to continue – flicking her ashen tail against her blood stained hooves, glassy eyes watching the feathered creature before her.

"Talk."

— but melt your headaches,

call it home.