Israfel
Autumn was in full swing and change was in the air.
The breeze that filtered through the air was crisp with the oncoming dregs of winter. Israfel had no idea how to prepare herself. It had been a very long time since she had even had to worry about the winter season, being dead and all... And even before her death, she had been graced with the Godly magic of her father to keep her warm through the cold. Now, it was just her in mortal flesh, the flaming magic of her heritage stripped from her blood and leaving her floundering in its wake. Luckily, however, she was not without shelter or protection. The Citadel of Court would keep her warm through the winter, but until then, Israfel knew that she had a duty to uphold.
As a warrior of Terrastella, she knew that she always needed to be prepared for whatever might come, no matter the season. With the sudden fluctuation in power, from Rannveig to Florentine, Israfel felt herself deeply unsettled. What would this mean? What changes were to be had? While never exchanging a word with Rannveig, it had been a constant fact that it was she that lead the Dusk Court. Now? Well. It was all new. Life was full of change, and Israfel was trying to accustom herself to the inevitable. Nothing stayed the same. That was just how life was.
So, it was that change that spurred her out here, upon the narrow, dangerous cliff sides and rocky crags of the Praistigia Cliffs. The desire to succeed and improve were the reasons that she threw herself from the ledge of the cliffs with such voracious force, gilded wings outstretched, feathers poised upwards as the mighty appendages propelled her forward and into the rich blue sky.
The sun hung overhead, bright despite the fall chill. Israfel's fiery eyes were narrowed against the rushing wind, pale ears flat against gilded tresses, allowing her body to give in to the instincts of flight, to push herself harder, chest heaving, sweaty rivulets collecting with every aerial maneuver.
It could have been minutes or hours that she spent within the air, diving in graceful arcs towards the churning sea and deadly rocks below, wings furled close against her sides in a dangerous free-fall, only for gilded feathered appendages to unfurl at the last moment, billowing and collecting air mid-fall to halt her descent. Stronger. She had to get stronger.
By the time that her hooves touched the grassy earth once again, her sides were slick with sweat, steam raising from her aching body. It felt good. She felt free. Slowly, Israfel's vermilion eyes drifted upwards to the sun, staring as long as she could as the light burned into her eyes. She missed her family so much... "Would you be proud of me?" She asked the sun, her voice winded and weak despite the power she could feel rippling through bone and muscle, "Oh, Papa... Why do you not speak to me anymore?"
Something had happened in Helovia. Whatever it might be, Israfel just might never know.
The breeze that filtered through the air was crisp with the oncoming dregs of winter. Israfel had no idea how to prepare herself. It had been a very long time since she had even had to worry about the winter season, being dead and all... And even before her death, she had been graced with the Godly magic of her father to keep her warm through the cold. Now, it was just her in mortal flesh, the flaming magic of her heritage stripped from her blood and leaving her floundering in its wake. Luckily, however, she was not without shelter or protection. The Citadel of Court would keep her warm through the winter, but until then, Israfel knew that she had a duty to uphold.
As a warrior of Terrastella, she knew that she always needed to be prepared for whatever might come, no matter the season. With the sudden fluctuation in power, from Rannveig to Florentine, Israfel felt herself deeply unsettled. What would this mean? What changes were to be had? While never exchanging a word with Rannveig, it had been a constant fact that it was she that lead the Dusk Court. Now? Well. It was all new. Life was full of change, and Israfel was trying to accustom herself to the inevitable. Nothing stayed the same. That was just how life was.
So, it was that change that spurred her out here, upon the narrow, dangerous cliff sides and rocky crags of the Praistigia Cliffs. The desire to succeed and improve were the reasons that she threw herself from the ledge of the cliffs with such voracious force, gilded wings outstretched, feathers poised upwards as the mighty appendages propelled her forward and into the rich blue sky.
The sun hung overhead, bright despite the fall chill. Israfel's fiery eyes were narrowed against the rushing wind, pale ears flat against gilded tresses, allowing her body to give in to the instincts of flight, to push herself harder, chest heaving, sweaty rivulets collecting with every aerial maneuver.
It could have been minutes or hours that she spent within the air, diving in graceful arcs towards the churning sea and deadly rocks below, wings furled close against her sides in a dangerous free-fall, only for gilded feathered appendages to unfurl at the last moment, billowing and collecting air mid-fall to halt her descent. Stronger. She had to get stronger.
By the time that her hooves touched the grassy earth once again, her sides were slick with sweat, steam raising from her aching body. It felt good. She felt free. Slowly, Israfel's vermilion eyes drifted upwards to the sun, staring as long as she could as the light burned into her eyes. She missed her family so much... "Would you be proud of me?" She asked the sun, her voice winded and weak despite the power she could feel rippling through bone and muscle, "Oh, Papa... Why do you not speak to me anymore?"
Something had happened in Helovia. Whatever it might be, Israfel just might never know.
