Beauty over Wisdom- Just as beautiful as you are; It's so pitiful what you are.

Zafina · (This post was last modified: February 02, 2019, 09:17 PM by Zafina.)

AW for potential join!

Imprisoned, banished, into a nexus of my own design...
Now Time mocks me, and my sentence is Gravity.

It had been too long. Entirely way too long. The issues began to settle across her mind like some ravaging plague that picked and picked until all that remained from the crow's scavenge was a decepit shell. She had found none of her kind, and she felt lost on this world, adrift in this plane of mortality. She swore she saw the ugly of eons before, the despise of centuries past, but all of the knowledge she had trapped in the glorious mind she kept. But oh woe, was she tired.

Zafina, the Divine Goddess of Paradox. The woman who's beauty ran parallel to her lack of reason, the enchantress to woo hearts and hide her feigned knowledge behind false promises and hidden intent. The Celestial who sought to know all, but in the end-

learned naught.

Her choices were completely baffling now, straying from @Corvus whom she had truly grown to have attachment, to meet herself at the borders of wolves whom she knew nothing of. She felt her pride drain as her legacy became a joke to her, grim set of apathetic profession over a gorgeous face, all while sorrow swam in her ethereal garnet stare. Coming across such rough terrain bled into her mind to be tough, whereas her charms were hidden until the witch could find a host suitable to use them against. Until then, the Sahira Divine would search.
Until she found.

It was before her, this expanse of mountainscape which loomed a magnificent spire to the heavens, higher, higher and yet higher, until the Celestial was with utmost certainty that it had soared well past that of the Lone Star Mountain. Her chest ached as she drew in a rattled gasp - it was absolutely beautiful...and it was possibly as close to the other Celestials that she would be able to make it. Lone Star Mountain was a whimper - this place was a roar.
The magic here would be unfathomable.

Hesitantly her garnets scanned in case she had found company much sooner than had she been composed; she least wanted to be called a mad woman here. She wanted to have these mortals like her, to be pleased by her presence here. Either this, or she would be forced to scuttle back to Rosings which Onyx had confided in her of.

Forcing her mezmerising sway to halt, the Witch tilted a cursed crown to rise and sent forth a howl that would make the owls bate their breath and songbirds blush with envy.
A howl for whomever could save her lone soul from wandering to its' eventual perish.

But every sky will build my throne.