grow wings and rage + o, visitor

[Feyre]

☽  ☽  ☽

Feyre didn't know why she was here. She was no hero, no healer, nothing but a witch fascinated by the intricacies of death; a living voice for her deceased ancestors. She hated blood, the crimson - or in this case, gold - substance always capable of twisting her stomach into knots. That stench alone should have been enough to drive her away, sending her back to the Observatory to poke around as she usually did. But today was different. Gagging and coughing aside (more of a dramatic presentation, really), she was made fascinated by the scene that expanded before her, lavender eyes gleaming with an undeniable curiosity even in the face of what she surely saw as another's death. Her perception of death was skewed anyways, the gash that decorated Ahkuli not providing her with an end but rather, a beginning.

It was Moonmade that confused her most, head tilting ever so slightly to the left as she regarded him. [color=#3f5351]"Aren't you supposed to... uh... Not lay there?" She inquired bluntly, her words delivered in a far harsher tone than she initially intended. She remained relatively unfazed though, white-mitted paws instead shuffling absently against the grass, a million different ideas dancing in that head of hers. [color=#3f5351]"If I made a fire, would that help? I'm good at fire!" She extended brightly, not knowing how a fire would resolve this predicament but willing to offer her services regardless. In the mind of Feyre, there was always a use for fire.