Altar of Twilight Sipping on fire

phone post but added a lil more!
ill color the quenya later oof

Lingering beneath the shadow of the Moonspire had become a bit more than habit; and why should it not be? She had been there, once upon a dream, by order and likewise invitation, had temporarily drawn four hatchlings beneath a wisping wing in the manner of tutelage. Why ever, then, should she return to this bright and fated hall? Why ever, even when a new soul had possessed her, refigured her? To haunt the old and waxen phantom of who-ever she had once been? Would not ever be again?

She knows not.

Still: she parts from the weald in the stronghold that is @Guildenstern's scrutiny; flits o'er the fracturing land to seek what she's yet to find. The stars are again gold-hot; the crescent in the heavens again gouache; yet her mem'ry cannot recall when or how she had been struck down, here ... she must believe the words of the hissant Hydra.

It is only when her misted halved-sight returns to the earth of this Hall that they alight upon another wandering argent — and then, with a lilting chirrup, begins to move towards the vagrant’s general way.  “Mára mesta,”  is the wisped greeting. Should their eyes meet, perchance she might spy the same wonderment of the celestium that had ensorcelled her so long ago.