Herbalists' Cache a body, troubled with secrets of a romantic affair with the stars.

Thin spirit curved towards the greeting, and she was otherwise slow to react. But Aure rose, indeed an inkling wary, yet replied all the same with her own wisp of ”Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo,” a frail ear shying back to where she guessed Opalia would be hovering near. Her voice, forever foreign, seemed to have a far-away quality; as if her star-numbed mind only now began to rouse itself from the prospect that No, you aren't meeting your reflection.

Still, she stared for a few moments longer, before her willowy, slighter body — save for the tender lull of her womb — flickered with muscle, which in turn shivered the fur along her taut form. As if the physical of herself ruffled her, returned her to her senses and she knew, then, that staring was impolite. ”Have... have you come to forage ze hollows, too?”

For although the porcelain-made Other was bedecked in rubies and just as spindly as the skayona, she was tall; drawn up up up with a height that Aure could never fathom to achieve. In another life, perhaps her make of frost was what Aure would've frozen to, had she stayed in Rhaesuial; could only wonder towards, as she did with feeble airs of regality that she herself clung to. But she was no heiress — not anymore.