From the dregs of misery, from the toils of melancholy, from the meticulous dissonance of ire and calamity, she’d somehow been blessed. Straying from the fixation of sorrows and blending into the ethereal countenance of sages, fairies and menders, she’d been blown into a whirlwind of whimsical interludes. She’d grown in the wake of these arduous climbs, woven into the specious afflictions and reeling from their chains, their oubliettes, and maintained semblances of her strength, found them still beating, still bleeding in her ardent chest. What had once been impulsive foibles, indulgent dances, had turned and twisted to serene, tranquil, repose in icicle sanctuaries, bending to naught but the quiet, hushed will of a nymph. Love of the earth, her brethren, her companions, her realm, had nurtured her amongst the ghostly reverie and writhing, withering raptures, had composed the sanctity of her convictions, had helped her write and hum lyrics strummed from honeyed lips. Suddenly, the world had granted her aspirations, her desires, so when she crooned, murmured, whispered the sweet sentiments of her existence, they’d become boundless entities, grace and finery stitching back broken, barbed seams. Precious, gilded compassion flickered from mind to soul, bewitching, beguiling, alluring the trappings of a kind, tender, sylph once lost, once corroded, once haunted and regaled into nothingness, had found purpose, had found motivation, had found a necessity nestled amongst the bulrushes of her actuality. Perhaps, in some way, she’d been rendered worthy, deserving, in the eyes of the heavens, the stars, the sky, granted invocations before they were ripped and torn from another fray, another turmoil, another wake of bestial armaments.

And now, she was to be delivered one more gift.

The egg cracked, slivers of freedom bolstered and heightened from the armaments of its protective shell. Ever the guardian, Lena watched and witnessed its claim for liberation, the unmistakable tenacity and determination they both shared, listened as it grumbled, wiggled, and rolled. Hymns of encouragement warbled and trilled from her throat, stroked the air with the soft coils of bright, rosy heartenings, until the dulcet tunes were returned – an inky nose poked through cream armor, chirped its arrival into the kingdom of ice, perilous and beatific. The blossoming of a smile appeared across Lena’s warm features, the everlasting, eternal grin of benediction, elation, and happiness in its most simplistic, beautiful forms. Her sienna gaze met the youthful, impressionable glow of the kit’s blue stare, felt the pull, the tug, the fascination of something altogether ethereal bind her heart in knots, forever tangled, plaited and intertwined with the other. Her maw lowered, daintily, gently, to meet the small nose of the ivory cherub, to bless her newfound companion, to ensure loneliness would never be an emotion they held, to instill the same regard on her convictions. A silken tune floated from her mouth, and they were christened, no longer forsaken, no longer forlorn, hallowed, sanctified confidants. “Welcome, Imogen.”