Wolf RPG - oh the sweet tune I miss

Disclaimer: These are not the full lyrics to the original song, as they were shortened to prevent too long of a post.

Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender's green
When I am king, dilly, dilly
You shall be queen:

Who told you so, dilly, dilly
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly
That told me so.

Lavender's green, dilly, dilly
Lavender's blue
If you love me, dilly, dilly
I will love you.

Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly
And the lambs play
We shall be safe, dilly, dilly
Out of harm's way

I love to dance, dilly, dilly
I love to sing
When I am queen, dilly, dilly
You'll be my king:
Who told me so, dilly, dilly
Who told me so?
I told myself, dilly, dilly
I told me so.

Oh, how the sweet melody was missed. From her mother's voice, it came as a child. Angelic and soft; never could it be missed or mistaken. When the nights were long and the storms raged, this was kept the soul calm.

Now it is gone and the song shall never be sung again... -- not in this lifetime. Perhaps in another.

Time has passed. A heart has grown stronger. The sabbatical was well spent. But now, the soul aches to return to reality; so it shall.

The sabbatical was well spent, but now the life must continue.

There is another voice she wishes to hear now. She has been kept from it for long, but will now relish it ringing through her ears. It is the voice of @Sabah. A woman always considered a sister, even if not by blood.

If it is not fate to set eyes upon her, then feet shall carry elsewhere. But, should their paths cross, it is likely that a second separation will be refused. There is none left of shared blood, and so, an ally will be sought to carry the soul until its demise.

She had kept walking.

Her wounds no longer wept blood, had slowly begun to pull scabs over them, but she was cautious to not break the scabs. She would not succumb to infection. The unbroken would not bow again.

As she walked, she thought.

And with thought, came her new reality. She was a lawmaker now, she had power over those she gathered under her own umbrella, and with that came the thought.

She had defined herself around running away when she became Nephele. She defined herself by Akashingo when she was Sabah. It was time to change the meaning of her existence. It was time she stopped defining herself by her situation.

It was time she chose who she was, once and for all.

Thus, she pressed into her memory, and dug out the name she had used once, a night of passion.

Themis was a Titan of natural law and custom, chained by a blindfold over her eyes. But she had broken her chains. Sabah was remaking herself, why not take the name of a woman forced to blindness, then break that which held her once.

Themis to Alysothrafstikó
Themis the Chainbreaker

Themis lifted her head from her musings when the scent of another washed over her, familiar in ways she did not wish to revisit most of the time. It was the feminine touch that made her focus on it more.

Could it be..?

Little time (despite feeling like it could have been hours) passed before the sought woman came to view.

She had traveled afar, so could be told by the exhibit before her. They both had done much walking, but now, for Ouraniós, she would no longer be alone.

Nephele! Or so she had last known her as.

A small trot had grown into a canter; fur swayed through the breeze, glistening beneath the sun's light.

Her friend would be spared the distance. Ouraniós would close the gap on her own.

It was.

Ouraniós

She eagerly awaited her friend’s arrival, her tail happily wagging as she got closer, close enough for Themis to look her over.

Its actually Themis, now. She hoped the Alchemist wouldn’t think she was presumptuous by choosing the name of a Titan.

The woman trotted forward with eagerness in each step.

Ouraniós came close and initiated a tender embraced, snout brushing against her shoulder with sincere affection.

Themis, you say? The Alchemist repeated curiously.

With a small step back, she paused to observe. Then with a nod displaying finality of a thought, a chuff of approval sounded. The name suites you, my friend.