Ankyra Sound i got to take what i’m making, and turn it into something for you.

so the wraith sped from rusalka, the taste of iron and defeat stunning her senses. by instinct alone she returned to where it all began; the coast - ankyra.

as caiaphas stood upon the shattered lip of a cliff that had once been part of drageda, she looked down upon the wreckage of the sound. a bitter laugh pealed from her lips, lonesome and unsettling — had she known this would be the order of her life when she first set foot in ankyra, would she ever had dared live at all?

so much had changed. the grotto was swallowed in saltwater. the cliffs that hugged the sound had tumbled down. nereides, ankyra, grimnismal, rusalka. how many iterations had lived and died here, how many lives?

she thought of raleska; how she had turned from her blood and denied her birthright. many times caiaphas had felt the knife square in her back - yet she had never expected betrayal in the form of her own blood. cursing rosalyn and rusalka as a whole, the crone set her back against a column of upended stone and stared in shellshocked silence across the cold bay. grimly caiaphas swore, she would never love — or trust — again.