WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT
It's been pleasant, here. In the extreme.
Once, long ago, she would have resented the pleasantries, the peace. But she is old now. Wizened. Come back from the dead, to boot. With powerful memories of exactly what war wrought, of the exact suffering it causes, Scorch knows better now than to be so foolhardily in favour of war. She had seen it kill her best friends, had seen it kill children, had seen it... Kill.
And even in the past, she hadn't been wont to kill. When the faeries had selected her for a quest, to be pitted against herself until she either died or conquered the apparition... Even then Scorch had chosen the lesser of evils, had sent her enemy into a portal into another realm instead of murdering the dreampt-up figure.
That is why she now can manipulate darkness as well as light - because she had always been an equal mix of both, through and through.
It's evening in Nerine, a dim light cascading down into the forest from where it sets along the sea-line just off the cliffs that she calls home. Her head is lowered, lips tearing off blades of grass, a quiet conversation taking place between herself and her deceased husband Hestoni, to whom she is connected via ghost whispering. They talk of their children, and sometimes a smile sneaks across the rat's lips as pleasant memories come to mind. Ea juts in sometimes to comment some inaccuracy or simply to also reminisce.
Her current children are off playing together, somewhere. But she is content.
Scorch
Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle
@[Leilan]