An Angel By Any Other Name

A girl with wings non-different from that of an angel, hair that carried golden purity, eyes more blue than and brighter than the skies above, dress as white as the robes of a goddess, stood atop the mountains, looking towards the sea for a moment, before turning to the lake afoot the mountain. In her hand she grasped a leather pouch, gently. Another hand, bearing a bracelet, folded over the pouch and in a silent prayer she went, eyes closed.

The words following the prayer, a faint mist clouding her sight from tears she refused to shed, expressed her purpose: "Mom, dad, this will be the end of our journey. While in life such thing could never happen, for she perished before conceiving me, and he has fallen into the eternal slumber, this child of their love has achieved it in their behalf. From now on, watch me from the heavens, I owe more than I could hope to convey with words, for here my growth is to continue from where it once halted. Farewell, Selena Seirín. Farewell, Steil Sirín."

Reaching into the pouch, she pulled the final handful of ashes, the one she had intentionally saved for Manta Carlos, and cast it to the winds. "We have now ventured the entire world."


It had been how long? Days? Weeks? ... Months? Ília barely remembered, but anyone who would have seen her back then maybe would. This time, she stood in silent prayer in front of the lake, a prayer for gratitude to many Gods she heard of in her journey, her wings concealed as part of her human disguise. The sky was far from clear, clouds hid the sun every now and then, if not most of the time, but that never bothered her. There was nothing between her and this rite of gratitude.

@Zora

Her prayer done, Ília extended her hands to the skies, giving a good stretch as her wings grew out of her back, each feather shedding a heavenly light. In this land, she could be herself more, the need to hide her not being human diminished. Even then, she was too passionate of her identity as one of them to cast it away, her glamour was the last gift her mother gave her before she could even be born...

And when she turned around, her eyes met with the figure of Edwin drawing closer to the lake through the forest. "Why, mister, is it that seems trouble clouds your thoughts?", step by step she would head to a rock and seat there, one wing half closed, the other more open than the former, unintentionally posing for him like a Siren who would sing for a sailor. Although her presence... Was something unique overall.

"Ah, apologies for my intrusion. Tis' just... I have seen that look before. Pray tell, have we been previously acquainted?", Ília couldn't help but wonder, if in her decades of venturing through the world she has met Edwin, even if by a passing glance. And by turning to face the lake again, she hugged her knees and closed her wings, her mind was briefly wandering through memories of herself, people she had met, artists who wanted to paint of photograph her when the era of photography has begun, people who mistook her for a divinity of sorts, but she was just a Greek passing through, one people seen and have forgotten of..

It was a possibility she couldn't deny, someone who wandered the entire world would surely have crossed paths with at least one person in this island. "Certainly is as I heard from scouts in the last decades of our journey.", a home for so many unique creatures, was it perfect or... No, there's no way for it to be perfect. Nothing can ever be truly perfect, no matter however one tries.

But did that bother her? "It is understandable, mister. I too care not for perfection. Having been to many places, the idea of variety makes it all more interesting. Many religions, beliefs, songs, poems, paintings, sculptures... Nothing is the same, and yet... Everything feels more lively.", it was then when Ília caught onto something.

"Say, you are a man of art, is this assumption correct? Those words are so similar to theirs."

"I couldn't get into art, our journey didn't let me. But I cannot deny having major interest into it. Every so often an artist in Athens would pawn off their pieces at Steil Seírin's Pawn Shop, they weren't very wealthy, nor skilled in anything other than painting, even then he couldn't make his name known. For him, art was his life and blood.", getting onto her feet and walking over to him, Ília saw him eye-to-eye.

One couldn't fear her, she never meant harm. For one to fear her they would need to believe she had any potential to actually harm. "Mister, would you take me, Ília Seírin, as your apprentice in the ways of art?", her tone in a faint plea for a knowledge she could not have had back then.