Ouroboros

Virga... The stranger's voice is agonizingly sincere. It reminds you — of someone. And the memory is a bitter taste in your mouth, twisting the delicate shape of your features. How dare you, a part of you wants to say. But you are silent. You stand, your small wings folded, your gaze a heavy darkness from the clean lines of your face. You want to hate him, but you can't. He does nothing worthy of hate. You wonder how he got here, if he's happy to live here, if he was born here — and you can't tell. "How noble," you sneer at last. Your body shifts. Some of the tension leaves. As he names himself, you answer with the faintest nod. Then your eyes flick from his blue and white shape to the trees around you both. The snow. The aching, ugly land. "You seem like a kind man, Rixen," you manage to say. Your voice is monotone, a low rumble a little at odds with the delicacy of your own shape, but you don't notice that. You're thinking. "How did you end up here?" you manage at last, your gaze flickering back to him. It comes out of your mouth so casually, this question, but it's important. It will decide the course of this interaction, for better or worse. But for his patience, you offer a small reward: "I'm Virga. Of the World's Edge." light shines brighter in the dark

littlewillow-art

@Rixen
ooc// no worries ;)