Forget me Nots. That was what she learned they were called as she stared down at the flowers in her hand. The sweet smell was a gentle intoxication for the teleporter. Periwinkle blooms crushed in her palm and left to the wind. She was a Drifter. An outcast. Nothing ever would be the same.

"She is a demon. Be rid of the child. She is not like us. I do not care what they say....she is spawn. There is no way she could be human. Superior."

A scoff, a sneer down as the woman spat on the exposed face of the child. Lilac skinned and strangely marked. The woman pushed the swaddled infant into her husband's hands and stormed off.

He shuddered and set her in the basket. Murmuring a prayer and making the warding symbol. Surely this child could not be born of his wife's womb.

Opaque eyes stared up to the ceiling and the child wailed.

The first meeting of a child to her parents...

On rooftops, drenched in the summer rain, the outcast huddled in her cloak, hood kept low over features. Rain splattered her hands and her fingers clenched around the broken shards of javelin she carried. Death grip.

Opaque depths widened, a grit of jaw. Holding a snarl of pain between clenched teeth. Murderous rage slivered a blade through her passive thoughts as the whip lashed again at her back. "I didn't mean to."

A quiet defense her retort. Her eyes fell to her blood covered hands, flicked to the torn remains of the guard across from her. The gaping wound in his chest that had found its home far outside of the 'sanctuary' she was restrained in. Dor had vowed that she would not use her gift again. A touch had displaced the guard. Torn his heart from his chest and thrown it to the wall and out to the grounds of the sanctuary when a roaming nature of hands became the final thread for Dor's calm.

Perch upon railing, hands curling to wood. Perfect the balance. The nimble born grace of an acrobat. Her hood had fallen from the elf nature of her features. Born of humans or so believed, called the Superior of the race but even humanity in the nature of Dor was questionable. She did not belong.

Strangely marked, lilac skinned and jewel maned Dor found an odd moment in Rhy'din. Grinning at the wolven one with a head tilt and thoughtful look. Perhaps not an outcast any longer.

Tight ropes and Magic. Nimble and Fluid Motion. Strategy and Beauty. Side show. Freak show. The circus felt like home. A carnival claimed possession.

The hushed whispers fell around her. Points and gestures. No horror or shock as they would stare at the other carnival claimed. Dor found eyes watching her, inspecting her, staring at her. "Beautiful....but strange..." Eventually she stopped listening. Found herself staring vacant eyed at the ceiling as her fingers curled to the ropes at each side of her....and without a care in the world...that swing would move. Back and forth sway.

There were moments she daydreamed of flying. Moments she dreamed of disappearing....

And that...

Was just...

What she did.

New faces. New places. Not quite home but perhaps a place to belong. The hood drawn over features.

She found her thoughts drifting over a memory. A notion.

The theory of the strange beauty of forget me nots.

Comfort was there, drowsy hours in the Southern Glen. Lilac palm-kissed the mug of tea she catered indulgence to.

It was calming. Chased away the nightmares. A relax against the thick branches. Nimble sinew of limbs stretched before her. Balanced within branches as some wild plumed avian rather then the nature of Dor. A sip of tea. She remembered well.

She was running, the broken shard of javelin palmed from the quiver as her pace increased. Like a deer hunted she was graceful and swift. A glance behind before pace sped up.

This was what it was to be hunted. Opaque depths took on the moonstone hardness, narrowing.

Was it not just yesterday he had left her in the rain" So different now. He hunted her.

A realization that hardened her heart, placed a wild knot in her spirit.

Untamed.

She was dangerous in the savage garden. An abomination he had called her.

Dor turned to face him. Waited for the right moment.

"Dor. Just give in. It will be easier this way." "Nothing is ever easy." "I can take the pain from you." "You cannot take away what you have brought to me." "I was once like you. Freed now, do you even understand the bliss of it?" "You're nothing like me." "That is how it is to be then?" "Yes." "So be it."

She knew the cry of alarms as he pressed the button as his wrist. He would not longer be so generous in his hunt. Dor was meant for the project.

They took her down but not without her bringing down one of their own. The javelin shard found its way through his ribs. Pierced vulnerable muscle.

A heart could be so strong and yet so weak. The shard gleamed amethyst before Dor was blinded. Blood soaked her features, plastered her hair as his heart was displaced, rendered from his body by the nature of her 'gift'. Enforced by the javelin shard.

There was darkness then as they took her down. No remorse.

Viktor would not hurt her again. They were never the same....

Sunrise. She watched it with a partial indifference. Turned her eyes away. Her life was hardly a portrait of innocence and joy. Opaque pair watched the gold thread of light through summer leaves.

A lick of lips, lapped away the tea before draining the mug. Dor recalled discussion of other portraits. Living portraits.

Knew those that she crossed paths with now wore their own hidden scars. Some not so hidden.

These things, she did not forget. Forget them she would not.

She knew what she was or more so what she was becoming. It had caused a rift. Well she knew this. It was not the first time.

Rifts. The Drifter knew them well. Perched on a rooftop as a lilac skinned gargoyle. Wishing for rain.

But it was far too still to fly kites.

What sweetens you...

"Mongrel. Wolf's Bane. Mutt." It were the least violent and cruel of the names she had been called.

The Drifter struggled against the shackles, knowing well that crisp copper scent in the air was her blood. Painted lilac flesh a darker shade.

The color of bruises and broken dreams.

"Take care of her. She will be in the ring tonight." "And her adversary." "Send in Vihiar."

There was a corruptive dispute, a dark blade of fury and panic that crept through the Drifter's spirit.

Vihiar.

The man was a beast.

Chin lifted. Gripping sharp line.

"Do you fear, Vihiar?" "There is no reason to fear wolves" "And why not, Drifter?" "They bleed the same as us all."

Teeh bared in a smile. A feral sharp thing, opaque depths the cold severity of moonstone.

"So you will face him then?" "I will be the death of him."

Wolf's Bane.

Another name worn. Her fingers gripped into the roof before she was lunging off of it. Near in soaring flight. A twisting turn in the air even as two of the javelin shards were drawn from the quiver.

Arms thrown out, Legs pulled towards her chest as she called out a sharp and solitaire word. The portal opened before her and she was devoured by it.

A willing sacrifice.

Rain and Kites. Misguidance and the feeling of not being strong enough.

There never was enough time to confess to Lucky that along that broken passage, she had lost all that could sweeten the spirit.

Everything was cold and bitter now, burning and brittle.

Her road was broken and that passage to hope was barricaded and filled with sharp blades and barbwire.

Wolfs Bane. Forget me Not. Where is your Sweetness now" Gone...I have chased it away. Like a kite in a hurricane, the rain keeps pouring down.

I am drowning...