Dreamscape is making faces in the mirror. Not in the way of hatchlings, all wagging tongue and big eyes. This is an exercise in refinement. Control. A small arch of the eye ridge, and--Too much, she scolds. Feathers fluff, lay flat. Every line and curve must be accounted for. Dreamscape is living art, a vision made real, a sculpture so perfect in shape and poise that some might call her stone. A tiny smile cracks her façade. I am something to be adored. She notices the smile and banishes it, but it creeps back again. Again. Her mask is imperfect. She holds her head in manicured claws and tries to clear her thoughts, but he's still there. Fire to her ice, gold and elegant and brash and wild. Her heart flutters and beats against the bars of its shapely cage. She feels her whole body warm with excitement and embarrassment, a red blush marring the ice fields of her cheeks. Dreamscape moans softly as she slides off the vanity, her head whirling with beautiful Auroaoe. By the time her claws touch the ground, she is back in control. Icy perfection. Beauty and poise. I am no longer a hatchling lost in the snow. I have a job to do and a debt to repay. I encompass that lovely tundra which once tried to kill me, and I exceed it. I will be beautiful. I will make Northwind proud. But something soft still glows in the back of her mind, lighting her from within. It melts her iced-up heart until it drips on the floor.

~~Lore By Oranitha~~