Wheeling Gull Isle Icarus Drowning

On and off again, the spectre awakened. 

Time had no meaning now, and so the spirit often spent what the living would describe as being months in a state of suspension; oblivious to the surroundings and the passing of time, the changing of seasons and even the sound of the tide rising high enough every now and again to caress the place where her body was buried. 

She had travelled through space in the blink of an eye, had glimpsed civilizations and wildernesses she never could have imagined, and had passed into the deep, dark waters where few creatures were able to dwell. She saw the death of a star and the birth of another, all without a sip of air to feed her. She did her best to leave pawprints on the moon but found herself incapable of leaving any trace of her presence; she cursed whatever powers had created that rule. 

But seeing everything in an instant, and then seeing more and more...She supposed she was meant to feel fulfilled, but there was something that ate away at her and the more she watched, the more sour she grew, knowing she could do nothing to interact with the world she now observed. She found she couldn't manipulate time the same way she could manipulate space- and so, to watch life unfold, she was destined to have to wait, wait, wait.

She refused any temptation to turn away from existence completely, though she caught glimpses every now and again of something dark that was lurking, waiting for her to choose to face her end. She'd never really expected for some light to beckon her- not after she'd died with children imprisoned within her. But the darkness seemed willing enough to indulge her, and allow her to travel and observe, for as long as she could.

She slumbered, for a lot of it. She awoke when someone thought of, or spoke her name. She awakened when her bloodline changed- whether by growing or by shrinking. She had watched in disbelief as fever stole away her son the way it had her mate- and when she had tried to reach out to him, he had rebelled. Nothing more than a coincidence but...It gave her hope. It made her want, again.

And so, an idea was planted. 

She had been awakened before, summoned perhaps by some dark whisper; called forth by those who knew how to sing the song of the dead. Something wicked had crooned, and amid the morning mist, she rose from the grave. Something this time felt different. She felt herself settle onto her feet, and while she could not move a grain of sand, she could feel it. And while she was no more opaque than the thinnest of veils, she could see the outline of her long, beautiful legs. She grinned. 

She was coming back.

Wraen had experienced difficulties remembering all of the details from her life, but sticking to places, where important events had taken place, helped her with that. Sun Mote Copse and Firebirds - for example - had felt as if it had happened centuries ago and to an entirely different person. Yet, the longer she wandered around the area, the more landmarks she recognized. And with them small snippets of memories. Most of them positive, but even the sad ones had lost the painful edge they had had. Now they had become facts, neither good, nor bad. 

She had to conclude that the year spent here had been one of the best. Before that Wraen had set out in the world, unsure of her place and role in it. Here she had risen to the ranks of the leader. She had become friends with Towhee - a very unlikely friendship, complicated relationship, that would stand the test of time and them going their separate ways, but remaining close. Who would have guessed that this would continue even in the afterlife? The old hag had challenged Wraen in so many ways and helped her grow.

She thought of Arcturus - a beautiful, bittersweet and deep relationship that was still a mystery to her even now and that had also changed her. This had happened here too. And Niamh. The firey-tempered blond, who would take the life by a storm. Headstrong and fiercely independent. A Firebird by definition. And as Wraen followed the thread of her friend's life she suddenly felt a pull. There was a moment of darkness and then she found herself no longer in the copse, but somewhere different. By the seaside.

There in the darkness she caught sight of Niamh's golden pelt. Shining brightly, because her presence was strong, fierce, like the sun itself. Not like Wraen, whose ghostly self was more like a wind. Here she was and then she was not. "You've not changed at all," she told the apparition, approaching her. "Just as dazzling in death as you were in life."