A mark as subtle as Cyrilla seemed near cryptic, or without form, and so too were the influences of her father and siblings. However, even in the thunder of creation, a soft hum shimmered in the complex weave of her mentality, her emotions. She admired them, each for their sources of essence and the foundations for their creations, and as she watched with silence and amusement she could hear the inevitable request to deliver what only she could: knowledge. The creatures below were beautiful in an ignorant fluency, yet she loved them as she loved herself, but the true depth of her curiosity and affection lay with the likeness created later. “I hear you,” she whispered in a loving tone. “I…see you.” 

In the partnership of her siblings, Cyrilla collapsed upon herself, sending the inevitable seed of potential in the masses about. She gleamed like a tear in the night, so very much connected to those that could perceive…and will perceive. However, she could not accept that in her own right, instead looking to her siblings to mark the way ahead of the created. “From this day, the seed of wisdom will call out for us…and the unknown. So let it be written, so let it be done.”