Dainty pale hooves tread lightly over the soil of the World's Edge, its lovely grass crunching delightfully under her legs. Azale had found it within herself to be able to put on a facade of sorts, to mask the war inside that she found while mercilessly killing animals with great lives ahead of them, but for what? A bit of silly magic? Was the life of another animal really worth it?

Azale masked these emotions, shoving them deep within her mind so she could be a filly, so she could laugh and play along with the rest of the foals. But the guilt that hung over her head was always there, and it wasn't going away. Another constant reminder of the lives she had so selfishly taken was her own canon bones. They were stained lightly with dried blood, caked brown around her pale coat and delicate twists of gold reaching up her legs.

She trotted through the forest as if nothing happened, and when she came upon the sight of two equines who bared horns upon their brows and another without a horn, but of a regal stature and fully grown, she acted as innocent as she had always been. A smile graced her pale lips, her orange eyes dull and weathered. She raised her larger set of wings, flitting the smaller set in excitement. Her movements spoke one thing, her eyes spoke another.

Before Azale could even trot up to the three so they'd notice her, the younger filly burst out with an odd question about horns. A bubbly laugh escapes Azale's lips, though her eyes were still dulled and haunted by her quest. "Hello," Azale spoke happily as she examined the three when she was closer to them. The smaller filly smelled of the Edge, but the larger colt was older than her, his mane and tail filled out with the rest of his body. He was quite handsome, bearing a blue dipped horn, tail, and mane, along with other blue accents. The older mare smelled like the Edge as well, so this party couldn't be harmful, if so many of the Edge had already come. "You ask such odd questions," Azale laughs with a flick of her pale tail in amusement as she directly addressed the filly. The older mare had called herself Gossamer the Benevolent, a regal name for a regal looking mare. "But yes, you may keep your horn, and so may this young man," She continues with a glance at the other yearling.

"Where are my manners? I'm sorry, my name is Azale Moniet, but you all may call me Azale," The pale filly smiles, looking expectantly at her the two who hadn't given their names. She doesn't know of anything but good manners. If they did not offer up their own names, well, it certainly would leave Azale confused, but it'd giver her a taste of the real world.

"talk talk talk"