Serena

She grew into her name.

Often she wondered why she had been named for peace. Surrounded by the destruction of her family as they carved their dominance into the land around them, she felt like a hollow mockery.

She would daub her scales in the bright earth. Golden trails, glittering runes, spiraling patterns running intricate weaves across her body. Those whom she passed by would whisper that she was an emissary, a being sent by the sun, by the Lightweaver herself, for the singing of her presence.

Her wings were as of stained glass, glowing with tones reminiscent of a warm evening, of late summer. Sweeping low over the horizon, over the bones of the past, she painted a world deep violet.

She grew into her name.

Serenity; it meant peace. It meant tranquility. It was the calm, she realized, that swirled in the wake of slaughter. It was the silence that only death could bring.

The sun may well not have shone that day for all the blinding glory in her revelation. Gold dust ran regal swirls through her path of crimson. The air was heavy with the heat of nothingness; her breath was all that remained-

She grew into her name.

She was Serena, the shroud of the sun, the silence of death.