Sawtooth Spire to endure steadfastly;

pri.

the nickname, small and simple, feels like a small blossom of a flower bud in her chest. she can't remember how long it's been since she heard it.

she's been of a variation of worlida and wanheda for so long ( not that she could actually shed the latter, to do so would mean her death ) that she is reminded, starkly, of how little she knows of 'pri'. the girl beneath the commander of death. that was the point of coming here, wasn't it? she asks herself. to find who she really is?

yeah. she answers softly; averting her gaze. she does not forget that she abandoned them, ran away. she does not try to defend herself or justify herself. she lets the shame nibble at her ...as she feels it should. a lot of places, she replies with a casual shrug of her shoulders. roangeda, moonspear. crogeda. each helped shape her and yet ...she still feels herself drifting; lost in a sea of what she's supposed to be, who she wants to be.