Illysia Vaine

Tavern Rooftop

The young woman sat on the roof, bare feet against the shingles and cloak discarded beside her. Hair the shade of obsidian blended with the darkness of the night, ice blue eyes piercing the shadows. Blue flames danced on her fingertips, watched by eyes filled with sadness. She had not been home in years - lifetimes, perhaps even generations - and the ache had begun to swell up again as she stared at the always familiar sky. Some days she urged to lift her wings and fly until she could not any longer, but she knew that she would always begin again. Much like Ouroboros, there was no end to her.