Permafrost Hollows kementári

kinda long, my apologies ;v;

" Astier, the Wraith of the Spires," the woman murmured the words under her breath, unblinking, as though she were peering through him. It sounded...foreign. Bestowed by thought. And as he stood unmoving, expressing sparingly, the title seemed far from unfit.

...Interesting.

She shifted in her position, breathing no more than a few words into the night air, "You may call me Siofra." 

It came hollow yet sure. As though she were presenting a blade that had once been wielded by a warrior, but now was weathered and dulled. Whether they were rooted in family or outward society, she had no right to claim her former titles. They would lie within the depths of her mind, buried, awaiting the potential day that they would be equipped once more. But that day did not loom within the horizon. It was just as he, Astier, had said.

Titles were fleeting. Up for interpretation.

However, within Siofra's mannerisms, it was still clear that she clung to the ghost of honor. Perhaps out of denial, perhaps out of a flickering authentic pride. It remained her, woven into the fibers of her being. The quiet stubbornness could not be removed from the veins. It kept her afloat. Even now as she sat in the lair of the unreadable. And it was because he was unreadable, and because she was stubborn, that she felt compelled to have a particularly gnawing question answered...

  Siofra gave a quiet hum, leaning in from the void. A subtle spark danced in her eye. Silently, she gestured with her tail for the wraith to come forth fully into the light. It was no command. It was a request, an invitation.