[AW] in our Makers' flames

[Khadija]

Fittingly, it is the hour of twilight. From east to west, the wide open sky overhead is a broad stroke of ocean-black and pink in a gradient only disrupted by the occasional deep purple strip of tattered orange-bellied clouds. The sun has fallen below the horizon and shadow is becoming indistinguishable from the night itself, creeping in like a flood, with stars winking into existence as glittering jewels strewn across fine velvet. The moon sits high and pale and alone, still shy of the light that remains. The cool spring air is filled with activity and noise as a gentle, tinkling breeze races across the land: the cricket orchestra begins to tune their instruments in a warm-up and from the tall grass small green lights flash in a coded pattern, dancing to the sweet harmonies of a nightingale's song. A few doe and their offspring have turned into dark silhouettes, their definition slowly bleeding into the darkness encroaching from behind. All of this Khadija watches, and listens, as she rests on a lush carpet of emerald clover. Earlier she had awoken from a deep, dark sleep in the middle of a swamp heavy with fog. Disorientated and aching. The last thing she remembered from prior was pain, a lot of searing pain, tearing her asunder while the blue nuclear glow from whatever foul magic was just used to rip her soul from her body turned her guardian's once pleasant face skeletal and gruesome as it hovered over her writhing form. It took her a good while merely blinking like a dull cow to wipe the memory away before she understood that she was very much not where she had, by all rights, just been. But it wasn't simply that she was somewhere different, for it felt different as if her whole life up to that point had merely been an effervescent but ultimately meaningless dream. One that had ended eons ago. Leaving the swamp for some civilization felt like the best decision after she gained her senses and could find her legs again, weak and jello-like at first as they were. It took the entire length of the day for her to finally end up here in a meadow that stretched beyond sight; where, unbeknownst to Khadija, the hub of the Dusk Court reigns -- as majestic as her ignorance of it. A sprig of lacy yellow Angel's Creep sits precariously between her lips, its prime chemical soaking in through the blood-rich gums and spreading a delicious relaxation through her nervous system. It mimics inebriation, but the amount she sucked on wouldn't express drunkness; instead, it allows her to enjoy a transcendent detachment. Her lean red body lays half-propped on her side; big beautiful wings dominated by a shade of luxurious ivory sit tightly against her strong back while a waterfall train of a tail in the same fair hue pools out around her like a molten platinum disaster. Exhausted but chill, she mulls over her current set of options: keep moving onward or sleep right here. The latter remained the most awfully tempting choice. It wasn't like she was afraid of anything, either; the scent or calls of wolves were lacking and crepuscular prey animals surrounded her. Nothing would go wrong, right? Right? oh no