Time and time again, Israfel found herself returning to this spot. Golden hooves scraped at the edge of the cliff, mixing with snow, ice, and stone as she stared out towards the crashing waves far, far down below. Once, she would have thrown herself off of the edge just to see how close she could get to splatting against the stones sticking up from the ocean down below, tempting and toying with death. Diving from the edge to test the might and strength of her gilded wings had once been an event of pride for her, but now…

Now?

Israfel was tired.

Staring down into the churning water as it crashed against the rocky crags down below left her with little joy in her heart. She had seen these sights, had dove from the edge time and time again since arriving to Novus and had done so before, in Helovia, prior to her death. Monotony was slowly killing her, and she was growing listless. The realization was a terrifying one.

For too long she had felt shackled and chained to Terrastella. For too long she felt as though she couldn’t leave, because who would keep this land safe? Who would watch over it while she was gone? What would Marisol think? Oh, but she loved this land, there was never any doubt of that…

But did this land love her? Would it miss her when she was gone? Would she be mourned and grieved like Florentine had been? Like Asterion? Would a memorial vigil be done up in her memory? Doubt was a bitter taste on her tongue and Israfel detested the taste of it, anxiety cloying and clawing up her pale breast, talons digging into her throat as they crawled upwards, demanding and stealing everything she thought she knew. Nothing really made sense anymore, and the Sun Daughter hated it.

So, because she was a creature of habit, Israfel had returned to this spot, hooves dug into the stone and ice and snow, watching the churning water down below with a blank stare of empty vermillion… And not for the first time she pondered what it would be like to throw herself from the edge one last time, to see how long it would take for her to reach the bottom, and then…

Then…

The wind blew, brushing the hair from her face to reveal vermilion eyes glittering with unshed tears, and the maiden of ivory and gold mourned for a death not yet arrived. Somewhere, far away from Novus and watching two identical boys enjoy warmer weather, a Phoenix did the same.

@Elena

“Speaking.”