How long has it been? Months? Years? Decades? Didn't matter, as time had passed, that haunting feeling has come and gone, only to come back again. There was no running from it for Ília, but isolation is where she found... Peace? More like an illusion of death, something she could only long but never truly reach. Roosted in a circle of large branches that she broke from nearby trees with care, an improvised nest, head rested under her left wing, hiding the crystalline tears under closed eyes. Has she cried to her sleep? Maybe.
Such a majestic bird she was, and with a potential to predate on many creatures, yet so fragile... So vulnerable. What does a phoenix woven of sun dreams? What goes through their bird brain? What might creep on her, and will they succeed?
Such a majestic bird she was, and with a potential to predate on many creatures, yet so fragile... So vulnerable. What does a phoenix woven of sun dreams? What goes through their bird brain? What might creep on her, and will they succeed?