’Thy life is a riddle, to bear rapture and sorrow
To listen, to suffer, to entrust unto tomorrow
In one fleeting moment, from the Land doth life flow
Yet in one fleeting moment, for anew it doth grow
In the same fleeting moment
Thou must live
die
and know’
 
“I don’t understand.”
 
Lost. She was lost, drowning, forgotten. Out of place.  Nonexistent. Living on time that wasn’t truly hers. Had they made a mistake? Did she truly belong? Would the Reaper come searching for her renegade soul?
 
“Please…”
 
She wanted to understand. She wanted to know. She needed to know. Why? Why had her life been stolen away? What had she done? Was this a lesson? Some greater experiment beyond mortal knowledge or comprehension? Her very element, her life-blood, the fire in her soul, had turned against her, igniting and swallowing her whole, leaving nothing behind but ash. Was that why she could no longer call upon the magic of her birthright? Had it forsaken her, in the end? Had her father forsaken her? There was so much she just didn’t understand, but voraciously, she needed to.
 
“Help me understand! Please!”
 
The plea fell on deaf ears, her voice hoarse, torn asunder and wrought with forlorn emotions echoing through the ancient cathedral. She quivered, a trembling deity of ivory and gold, but whether it was from the weight of her grief or the freezing temperatures remained to be seen. Israfel stood like a creature of stone, as though nothing more than a part of the very cathedral she stood inside, unmoving save the subtle quiver of her flesh. Her throat was thick with emotions, with grief, with heartache and yearning for the impossible, forlorn vermilion eyes filled with unshed tears. Her breath came in shallow, desperate gasps, as though she couldn’t get enough air to fill her lungs, the weight of her emotions cloying and dragging her into an impregnable pit.
 
Upon her first reserved steps into this place, this hidden gem atop the mighty Veneror, Israfel had been in awe. The ancient craftsmanship of the cathedral was certain befitting of the Gods themselves, stealing the need to speak, and for some time she had simply appreciated the beauty of the place. It was cold, the air still frigid and thin and the wind outside howling angrily, but the snows had stopped midway through her travels. The sun was setting, casting the skies a brilliant tapestry of colors, but her gaze was drawn inwards, fiery orange eyes taking in the nooks, the crannies, and the hidden beauty of this sacred place.
 
Gilded, cloven hooves drew the Sun Daughter further into the heart of the sacred mountain, her steps reverberating off of mortar walls. Inevitably, her pace slow, reverent, she arrived at the heart of the temple. Offerings of old were placed variously throughout the room, trinkets, foods, flowers left in honor of their Gods. Standing still in the heart of it all, Israfel had finally allowed her own walls to crumble, the words pouring from pink lips unbidden, leaving her heart and soul bare for all to see.
 
“Papa…” But what of Helovia? What had happened to her home? What of her mother and father? Of her relatives? Of her friends? What had happened?!
 
Since arriving in Novus, Israfel had been lost. She had found a home within the Dusk Court, within Terrastella. They had welcomed her among their ranks with open hearts and minds, allowing her the title of soldier, to live, to serve for their cause. She had met others; Isorath, Florentine, Diarmuid, those who she might soon consider friends. Allies. Yet it seemed that no matter where she went, no matter who she asked, no one could give her the answers that she so desperately sought. No one knew of Helovia, nor what might have happened to it.
 
Tears spilled over somber vermilion eyes, salty rivulets staining pale cheeks. Rose-kissed lips parted upon a silent, suffering gasp, flanks shuddering. Israfel’s eyes slid closed, lowering her head, shoulders sagging in defeat.
 
She had tried so hard to remain strong. She tried, but it was just so hard. Most days she challenged the world, taunting death to come and steal her away again. She didn’t want to die again, not really, but she wondered that if this time, if she saw the Reaper coming, then she could demand justification as to why. Most days she was comfortable to simply be, but there were days like today when the darkness was just too much, when she simply wasn’t strong enough to hold up those protective walls.
 
Answers. That was all that she wanted, yet they remained so impossibly far from her grasp.
 
“Why can you not just tell me? I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.” The Gods of Novus were silent, and Israfel, blasphemous thought though it may be, wondered if they were even real. The Gods of Helovia had been distant, yes, but she, born of their flesh and blood, was proof of their existence. She had stood among Gods and Goddesses, of demi-Gods. She had felt their touch, their love, their loathing. She knew their magic, their flaws, the sounds of their voices.
 
“Please, if you can hear me… Please, help me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where I am supposed to go. I’ve tried. I just… I just need some guidance. Please.” The Daughter of the Sun didn’t even know just who she was begging. Her father? Her Gods of Helovia? The Gods of Novus? Anyone, really, who could give her some semblance of peace.
 
The echoing of her own voice bounced back at her before giving way to silence, but Israfel finally found herself out of words. The grief was simply too much, and along with answers, she yearned for comfort, to not feel so alone. It ached terribly, like a tear within her very heart, and slowly, the shield-maiden allowed her knees to buckle, lowering herself as elegantly to the floor as she could manage. Wings unfurled, silken feathers wrapping protectively around herself, legs drawn close to her body for warmth. The tears remained, but Israfel was done seeking answers. For now, at least. She was tired. So very tired.
 
Upon the cold ground did the Sun Daughter lay, allowing her gaze to once more roam the arching ceilings and walls, letting her grief-addled mind to drift. It was evening and nightfall would soon be upon the world, and Israfel did not want to be caught out in such frigid temperature. Should the Gods not mind, perhaps she could remain for the evening. Maybe, should they have mercy upon her, she could find some sort of salvation during her extended stay.
 
If only they would have the mercy.