Faye
(#67760410)
And seek yonder crossroads where we parted ways.
Familiar
Dwarf Unicorn
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Water.
Male Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
This dragon is under the permanent effect of a Silhouette Scroll. A toggle on the dragon's profile allows swapping between the artwork poses available for the breed.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
27.27 m
Wingspan
17.82 m
Weight
7878.21 kg
Genetics
Ice
Basic
Basic
Pearl
Blend
Blend
Moon
Runes
Runes
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Imperial
Max Level
STR
6
AGI
25
DEF
9
QCK
56
INT
101
VIT
35
MND
9
Biography
| __._ |
 Breathe in. She tasted the heavy, fertile soil as it filled her mouth, her throat, heavy on her chest and soft around her head. Blinding her eyes with the darkness of a shallow grave, she knows nothing and no one as she starts to stretch and climb. Up and up, until she breaks the blanket of grass with her bare hands, past roots and flowers, she pulls herself out of her bed of dark and cold. Breathe out. Warm, white fog hangs in the air after every exhale. There still is snow covering the ground, broken by the first bloom of spring. Her white dress is torn and soiled, by blood - dried, as black as tar - and by the earth’s embrace. She sees and sees nothing. Everything swims, blurs until all she sees is white, white snow, ice, white light. Her hair is still braided and sticky at the back but when she reaches up, touching the back of her head, past her crown of ivory horns and sparks of blue, she feels nothing. No wound, no weapon, only dried stickiness. Move on. Around her neck hangs heavily the hourglass, glass cracked open, glittering sand long gone. Doesn’t matter, she touches it and as her hand pulls back, there are no more tears and rips, the bottom half filled with golden sand. No pain, there was only the bite of the fading winter wind and the promising lull of the spring sun, she moves slowly, dragging the torn veil of her dress after her. It was white, white lace, white ribbons, pressed daisies and butterflies of fabric. Now it’s brown, black, grey. The daisies died during her slumber, the butterflies torn off from her climb. Remember. She can’t remember. She should know something, anything, at least her home, her origins. Her past. Beyond her name, nothing comes to her. And even then she is not sure if it really belongs to her, it’s ring alien and strange to her own ears. But then again, the sound of her own voice startles as she starts to call out. Gibberish, nonsensical words fall from her dirt caked lips. The trails she leaves in the last of the snow’s whiteness are tinged in old red. And she moves on. Where to? Nothing makes sense and yet, she understands. She knows the movement of her own body, one foot in front of the other. She changes her torn dress for the simple clothes offered to her by a kind traveller. She washes off the last of her bed’s dirt off of her skin and her hair. And the hourglass swings around her neck, a pendulum witnessing her every step. Decide. The fork in the road troubles her longer than it should. In the end she goes down the darker road, leading towards the heart of the forest. She is a simple looking girl and yet, they jump her, rust clinging to the weapons, breaths foul and hot, they have her on the ground in moments and as they rise their weapons, their blades and their spears, she closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she is back at the fork in the road. Back at the beginning. This time, she chooses to walk towards the light. Home, at least for a while. A kind family takes her in. They have the space and she is not lazy either. Digging in the soil instead of sleeping in it feels rewarding, she works day after day next to the family. Strangers become friends, become familiar, become family. They don’t believe her story but they accept. She wouldn’t believe herself either. It’s alright, they don’t ask again. During dinner, the younger daughter drops the pot of soup, burns her hands bad. They are poor, they can’t afford medicine. So she closes her eyes. And as she opens them, she is ready. Ready to spring in action, back at the point of time, before the pot falls and before the child burns her hands. She catches the pot, nothing happens. They go on happily. Departure At some point they notice she stays the same. Ageless, young while they slowly get eaten away by time. Grey hair and wrinkles, small pains that develop into bigger ones. She still works, digs in the fields, but she is the only one now. The son left decades ago to become a Knight. The daughter married a merchant. It’s been a while since she last heard of them, but they seemed happy. The couple remains kind but in the end, they pass on during their sleep. Hand in hand, in each other's arms, it's a kind death, a mercy. She was not prepared however and as she closes her eyes, she is back at the evening before. She embraces them, telling them how grateful she is, how much she loves them. Yet, the morning brings the same fate. She awakes in a cold house, the soul gone with the inhabitants. And so is she. Time. Time, the steady stream moving onwards, the one thing that people can’t have enough off and that seems so unstoppable, is a mere toy ball for her. it is an instinct that she can not explain, yet she is untouched by its current. The past is open to her gentle hand, adapts and puts the old future in a dust covered grave. She feels that the possibilities of years, decades, centuries even are there. But at the same time, she feels the danger by instinct alone. A feeling in her heart telling her to resist. To not give in. So she remains strong and never goes beyond hours. Kind. Fate meant it kindly with her, when it leads her down a wide road, towards huts with reed covered roofs and a grand oak in the heart of the village. The people welcome her with open arms. They know nothing and still make her part of them. This was the family all over. Peace. 
| ___ |
code & assets by archaic #19153
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