?See, just another kind of clothing I reckon.? Was Alec?s soft, patient reply to the ever curious Sera. This night found the dark eyed maiden once more intrigued by the Journeyman?s gloves. Ever the obliger to her inquisitiveness, Alec had deposited one of the leather bits onto the bar for the owlish woman?s eager hands.

It was comical, because plain as it was already that the odd woman was so small, the loose drape of his glove around her digits while she tried the thing on? Well, it was almost too adorable. She laughed, that soft, chirrup of a song bird?s delight, onxy mirrors sparkling as Sera took her time inspecting the creaky, worn leather. Though it took a while, she finally slid the mundane bit of clothing back over to Alec, her smile tentative, yet still curious.

?Skin over skin? Why?? The melodic echo of her voice, it was gentle, dark brows furrowed in question as she gestured to her friend?s naked hand. Though Alec took a moment to discern her meaning, he nodded after a long moment.

?I?m a touch telepath? So even when I?m not using these to connect to another mind, my sense of touch is rather? sensitive. They?re a manner of protection I suppose.? Sipping his coffee, he watched the odd way she attempted to process what he?d explained to her. Another silent moment later, the normally quiet maiden gifted the patient glove owner with a true rarity; a full sentence.

?I do not? Understand. Would you show me, Alec?? Those slyph-like hands, so pale and soft, unfurled, palms extended up and out towards the man in question, the mirror like shine of her onyx hues no doubt reflecting the bulk of his own image back to him. This caused the journeyman to look down at Sera?s open palms. A quick glance was given into those doe eyes, pondering their darkness, he found himself not entirely sure about this? but the mental debate was over quickly, and a small, unobtrusive look, he decided, was all that was required.

Leaning into the mild bit of space between himself and the dark eyed maid, Alec reached out, extending his fore and middle fingers pressed together and they brushed lightly against one of Sera?s palms. A delicate pattern was traced in the fine contours of her palm before a firm, gentle hold was taken, and fingertips lined up pressing hand to hand; Alec?s larger one atop Sera?s smaller.

? Ul-mat ti?ar she?an?? His voice had lowered, muted and softened. Though foreign to the ears, there, she would feel the warm, ordered stream of his thoughts gently caressing the outer edges of her mind.

?Can you hear me, Sera?? Alec found the dark eyes maiden?s mental ether very much like an open picture book. Though his venture was very unobtrusive, as he?d meant it to be, the journeyman would find an underlying sense of wrongness in the murk of her thoughts. Memories were a blackened mess, even when sensed from the shallow depths he rested at with her, it was like a lurking chill that crept through the toes, this off kilter state of her mind.

It wasn?t long before a spark of some long forgotten recognition flared to life inside the tangle of her thoughts, and a voice called back to Alec. It was soft, very much in the same way her corporeal voice was, but yet, very different.

?Alec? Oh my, a telepathic empath? Is this what you meant? Goodness, you?ve quite the talent!? Such an eloquent, smooth sentence compared to the struggling linguistics her tongue faced every time she spoke in company. Was it the manner in which they were conversing or was it something to do with that wrongness hovering through the gnarled plethora of her thoughts just outside the soft echo of their voices? She certainly didn?t know, and wasn?t even aware of the difference.

Slowly but surely, Alec would pull back from this intimate mind touch, and when the connection was carefully severed, only then did his hands release hers. As his hands drew back though, Sera?s fingertips would drag ever so softly along the underside of his withdrawn ones. Once empty though, the lithe digits would furl, curling into her palms like a wilted set of petals in a forgotten, unwatered blossom. Despite the oddly personal gesture, Sera seemed no worse for wear. Ebony hues blinked back to the here and now, though there was this unmistakable feeling that hovered about the pair; the first pebble had been cast into the deep pool of her consciousness. When would the ripples begin?

A slow, sweet smile so uniquely Sera took root across the pretty porcelain of her face as her hands found a familiar place neatly folded in her lap. ?I understand? Thank you Alec.? Back to those tentative sentences again it seemed, how odd.

The journeyman offered the dark eyed maiden a smile in return, warmth flooding his features. He was nothing if not helpful, after all. Slowly, Alec pulled his glove back onto his nude fingers, only to notice a sweet, ambrosias scent not unlike vanilla clinging to the fitted leather. Sera?s hand, how it?d played in his glove, he remembered, and another small smile took hold of him before he turned to finish his coffee.

Time passed, the revolution of day and night continued their endless dance across the secluded bit of forest that cradled the dark eyed maiden's nest. Spring was kind to the tangles of flora that rooted themselves throughout the wilted stone structure, and new blossoms opened every day while old ones reemerged from a night's droopy sleep. The scent of sweet earth and new blooms were a heady perfume even long into the bewitching hours of twilight; it was only in the early hours just before dawn that those saccharine echos would fade.

It was quite the magical place for all it's lovely overgrowth, as if time would now stop it's slow creep to take this little cottage, and instead stood stock still for Sera. Every night, after her sandaled feet grew tired, she meandered back to her charming cranny to sleep. Clean, cotton sheets whispered a soothing comfort laced with heather and lady's straw; pillows stuffed with fresh cotton and sweet grass were the utmost of opulence, yet each night before succumbing to the call of her bed, the song bird released her most heartfelt dulcets to the glittering throng above.

Every night her sable hair caught in the wind's wicked play, pale hands clung, haunted and wanting, to the lip of a broken stone in the little mill tower that offset her cottage. Dark eyes, so polished and reflective, were filled with the bits of broken glass that decorated the skies. Soulful, ever deep, like forgotten wells with the faintest glimmer of water lacing the black bottoms to reflect the ripe howl of the moon; they stared towards the place that called her truest.

Her memories were still a mess, tangled and violent, filled with blood and pain; of falling, but from where? This is what she did not know. Lissome fingers leant their tips to the three, no, four feathers that decorated the midnight mane of her hair. A new one had appeared, dark and flecked with the barest hints of white that dominated the pristine plumage of the other three. Where had this little dark feather come from? In truth, it was a gift from a new, dear friend.

Thoughts were digressed, and her eyes turned skywards once more, lips quivering as if it were painful to keep them closed... Then. Whoosh....

It came bursting forth like nights past, something aching and sweet, bright and beguiling; it was Sera's voice, her song. Warbling and ethereal, captivating, entrancing, enlightening; so many words could be wrongly placed to this heavenly tenor, but poet's themselves would fail to find anything apt to describe the pure ardor that echoed from this small, dark eyed woman.

Like her heart was breaking and healing all at once, tears of joy and sorrow, the greatest treasure you've ever known and the harshest destruction you'd ever witnessed. A word, simple and pure; forever cast in the light of immortality and it's splendor.

Heaven.

Every night, this was the sound that would sonorously resonate, unbridled and unbidden all at once, Sera would sing herself until exhaustion claimed what little strength she had so late in the night. Yet every night, when the dark eyed songbird would clamber into her bed, life seemed to flourish all the more. Perhaps it was something about the mysterious power her voice seemed to hold? Like a touch straight to one's soul... Did the forest succumb to it's beauty as well?

Locals would note this odd spurt in the glory of this particular bit of woodland, as they would also mention hearing the echo of a voice only to be described as an angel's. It kept the curios at bay, for all of RhyDin knew when the mysterious was afoot, it didn't always bode well for noses to come poking. Every day that passed, Sera would too, and none seemed to take notice to her presence, nor link it with the beautiful, yet odd happenings as of late.
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Sera was as easy to spot as she was to miss. Her hair flared in the spring winds, wilting as the frail new leaves did in the sway, melting against the star in its broken illumination of the midnight sky. Pale, broken stones shared the same , moonlit brightness as her porcelain skin, and her fingers clung still to the blocks until her knuckles blanched. But the song, oh that wordless song; it seemed to echo through so much more than the physical world, but perhaps even the heavens itself.

It touched like fingers to the soul, curling sweetly, though pleading more than beckoning. Though the small songbird seemed not to know the power her voice held, it would call the intensely curious drow none the less... A call that sank much, much deeper than his ears, but called to his heart, despite whatever state it was in.

That heart, tainted with a love that was not his, and a bond in which he was given no choice, was tugged on by the wordless song. Those sweet, tones met those dark, ever keen ears had him moving swiftly toward the source, as if finding it would solve the answer to some age old mystery that had been plaguing him constantly.

There was a need in that search, something in his hunt that went beyond simple curiosity.

And it was there? Right there. She felt something; like a stone who's ripples had echoed out in a vast lake, only to have bounced into a wader.

"Vilrath..."Beneath the overwhelming grandiose tenor of her heavenly voice, his name would come a whispering echo. Those vast, encompassing eyes opened, though her lips were still claimed in the fervor of her song. "Vilrath Arisa.. Child of the Underdark, puppet of an unrequited love. Come to me, let me take your pain, dear quarry of Evil." So unlike the quiet utterances of the Sera many had come to grow used to.

Still, those who would hear the words through the ether of her song; they would know it to be the same, small, dark eyed maiden. She seemed in a zealous thrall, engulfed in the sublime divinity that poured from within through the tenor of her voice. It looked as of a stricken match met the wick of a candle beneath her lily-white skin, truly a vision; wingless angel.

Vilrath answered the call as feet carrying him, possessed, towards the maiden without him even being aware. So enthralled, lost in that all encompassing song. Those words made that heart of his, that undead organ beat once, jumping even though it should have been still and lifeless. He could not and would not resist, the thought of it never crossed his mind.

His progress would be half me, for Sera?s own feet mimicked the unconscious possession of the bespelled drow. Pale, willowy hands reached for the moonlit darkness of his cheeks, warmth flooding from her fingertips. It was not a burning touch, but one that spoke of a visceral ardor unknown to the corporal realm.

Her voice rang on, but it was merely white noise now, her tenor echoed inside him now, as if pouring from the tips of her fingers. That cleansing power sought, like fingers that sifted with the utmost love through hair. "Do you seek a clean slate, dear one?"

His hands lifted, fingers of silky smooth ebon curled around the glowing maiden?s, welcoming that warming touch, staring with an amazement that was so unlike his norm. Indifference was usually the way he'd go, but the song still had him enthralled, the words and touch drawing out a simple honesty, that wasn't characteristic in the drow's nature.

He could only nod softly in response, the thought of speak along with such a heavenly voice, of diminishing it's beauty with his own less ethereal one, was appalling.

"Be freed by fire, dear child of Underdark. Vilrath Arisa, walk now without a heart and body leaded down by Evil...." Fingers would curl, and those doe eyes that normally sank so deeply seemed filled with an unearthly light. The fallen angel seemed as entranced as the drow, senses engulfed by the power she echoed. Would she even remember any of this? Only time would tell.

Then a word came, simple and sweet, breaking the timbre of her heavenly song.

"Breathe."

A quake, a pulse, something burning and bright, it would burst forth from within his very body; claiming and cleansing his heart, body, and soul. Where there was death, life would be restored.

Suddenly he starved with need for air, and silken ebon lips parted for a sharp intake of breath. It was a surprising thing, that breath, as well as the cleansing; his body purged of it?s undead curse. The memories that had plagued his mind in that short time, of the family that wasn't his and the love he never chose... All gone.

Moonlit eyes seemed suddenly distant with the purification of his heart, the second chance to start anew being given once more. But they caught the sight of his ardorous savior falling towards the ground. It was near instantaneous; the moment his life was given back, forever wiped clean to the time before his taint, Sera fell.

If not for the quick, dark hands that shot out to catch the fragile creature, the small woman would have tumbled in a lifeless crumple. Though with the sudden loss of memory, he had no idea of where he was, who she was, or what had happened. He knew only that he was Vilrath Arisa, he was alive, and somewhere near Rhy'Din.

The rest of the past months in the city were a blank spot, to him, he'd only arrived a few days ago. He cradled the small form, not sure of what to do, of how he'd got there, or where he'd take her.

Fortunately for the severely confused drow and his unconscious companion, Sera had done a fair job of making the little broken cottage look like someone actually lived there. The garden looked more tended, curtains untouched by time lined the windows, and a small pair of boots sat beside a watering can by the crooked door frame.

Simple clues with simple solutions, easy enough to grasp for even a mind missing patches of time and memory like his own. Inside he'd likely find more modest increments of living comforts. The woman in question breathed slow and steady, like a maiden from fairytales stuck in a sleeping spell, as the drow carried her into the small cottage.

Slinking silently, he was a shadow amongst shadows as he entered that humble home. Glancing around, he looked for a place to lay her, feeling the need to at least make sure she was all right. As he placed her on the bed he?s spotted from across the small, one roomed interior of the cottage, Vilrath couldn?t help but feel he owed her for some reason.

His memories felt a holey mess, and though confused, that feeling of indebt stayed deeply rooted in the man?s subconscious. As his careful hold on her was lost to the contour of the bed, he stared at the fragile creature he?d awoken to?

Why was he even there to begin with?

"He-here... It's. It's a present. Well.. I noticed you liked f-feathers. So. So I got you this!" Grubby fingers as stuttering and unsure as the voice they belonged to were busy brushing flecks of mud from a dark, dark feather.

It was long and slender like the white ones Sera wore in her own hair, but the only white on this feather was in dusty, fine misted flecks from the base of it's downy fluff, up into the long, fine stem of the plume.

Eyes that surpassed the delicate feather in darkness widened, surprised and overjoyed as lissome digits plucked up the presented feather. The pale fingers stroked the plume with the utmost delicacy before it joined the small trio of feathers already tucked into the midnight nest of Sera's hair.

Desaid fidgeted while all this went on, cheeks furiously colored, dirty fingernails still fussing with one another as he aimed for some semblance of cleanliness in the pristine creature's presence.

"Desaid, thank you so much! It is beautiful!"
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With this memory tucked happily in her mind, it was a reinforcement for the small, dark eyed maiden to palm the little river stone she'd found during her bath in the creek. Fleet feet padded softly down the mossy path back to her cottage, and it was all the owlish woman could do not to tremble from excitement.

Her equally small friend, Desaid, had been so upset when he'd left! It was only proper she apologize, and if not, more so proper to repay his kind gift with another.

The stone she held gently against her chest was small and fairly egg shaped. Years of caressing from the river gave the small token a sheen that even the finest craftsman couldn't have polished it more perfectly. It was pale and shiny, almost crystallin in it's interior light. This was only the bottom heft of it though, and all that fine, pretty paleness melted into the darkest, deepest black; mimicking very much the feather her awkward friend had gifted her with near a week before!

A trip to the market was in order, Sera decided as she dressed. The towel she now hung out to dry did what it could to dry her midnight tresses, and now under the bright, merry shine of sun, nature would finish the rest. The four feathers were tucked with their normal care and the gentle bounce in her sandaled step made them sway as prettily as any leaf upon the trees.

Of course it was blessed luck that the owlish maiden stumbled across her friend whilst leaving the tanner's shop with the scrap of leather she sought. Clever fingers were just near done with their last deft braids and secure knots as she came across Desaid lounging on the edge of the forest that bordered the market place.

The lad stumbled to his feet as the lass cradled her gift in cupped hands behind the slender width of her back. It was truly a meeting of children, and from a distance it no doubt looked to be that, for either body was lithe and slight. For all the innocence their presences echoed, Sera glowed the most pristine, if only for her sage like patience and lack of flushing cheeks.

Desaid was a charming young man, but he was not ignorant as the dark eyed maiden was when it came to humble nature and shame. Because the boy could blush showed this large difference between them, like when Eve and Adam learned to cover their nakedness once they fell from God's garden.

Sera did not know to cover her nakedness, Desaid did; this was their major difference. Either way, it did not stop the two of them from becoming fast, sweet friends.

It was no surprise to any casual onlooker that the young man was a bumbling mess when the little maiden handed over her gift. A stone for a feather. Each a visceral, mundane token taken from the earth; only finding meaning through the innocent exchange of hands between kindly friends.

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Night fell oh so gracefully upon the Delicate maiden's home. Ever clad in white, in the time of Twilight and Midnight hours, she seemed the whisper of a vision. A Wraith? No.. Far too harsh a creature. Perhaps a sprite, a nymph, some dark haired sprite with an owl's bright eyes, mayhaps even a will'o'wisp that harbored a home near such a broken little cottage.

As the small woman washed her hands in the rain barrel, a fair distance off, the shadowy, silent slip of Vilrath took to the trees; ever vigilant. Upon nearing the small, crooked little house, the drow dropped without a sound into the night's sprawl of shadows, emerging as if he were a creature born from the dark itself. The movement, however silent, was enough to draw Sera's attention, and it wasn't long before the drow had his arms full of her slight, hugging frame.

Though their exchanges of hellos were soft, Vilrath's were softer still. The Dark Elf always had that crisp, quietness in comparison to Sera's own demure dulcet. Without keen eyes, one would not notice the slight weariness that settled heavily upon the drow's shoulders; so it was a given the warrior was quick to inquire about the maiden's health.

"Busy... but good." Was her rather sunny reply, though her stomach was a gurgling betrayal, it's displeasure at the small woman who'd been neglecting her body's needs quite evident. Doe eyes looked up, prepared then for the impending doom of Vilrath's palpable displeasure.

"Have you eaten at all today, Sera? And your legs... Have they gotten any better?" If anyone looked upon this very unlikely pair, they would no doubt laugh; for in his own way, the drow was acting a brotherly sentient to the frail, now sheepish woman.

Inside they went as the delicate creature offered her dark companion the best answers she could. Her speech had improved greatly, but Sera still had a natural disposition towards quiet, and full sentenced replies were still quite rare. What the drow did not quite know was that she was much more apt to eat was in the company of another. Such an obliging little thing, she cared more for others than her own needs; Desaid's belly rumbled quite often, so when he was hungry, she would take notice of her own needs and follow suite. The lad in question, her bumbling, stuttering friend and close confident, he'd been away as of late, and Vilrath would note the lack of the young man's scent.

"The others are better as well." Came the small woman's helpful chirp, but it was a short lived pride, for her smile melted with Vilrath's snowy knit of brows; his discontentedness was quite evident as he queried what she meant by, others.

Thin straps of her gown were lowered, and the thick midnight mane of her hair was pulled back. Silvery hues widened in mild shock before they narrowed just as quickly, calculating, pensive, and irate. His first thoughts were of course towards the lad; Desaid. But no, he thought; the boy was a nuisance, but he was not a threat.

Perhaps creatures? Vilrath had seen animals during his days that could cause such marks as the ones that marred Sera's delicate flesh. Three pairs of wickedly deep looking ovals, heavy scar tissue still pink with the healing process. Pain came to mind, a great suffering, for the healing wounds spoke of a deep root that'd been ripped up from the soil. Except this was flesh, there was no gentle way to rip limbs from flesh...

Such traumatic looking things, so deep and angry; such extensive ruin to otherwise flawlessly smooth, lily-white flesh.

A gentleness one would not often expect to see coming from a drow was shown then. Dark digits ushered the pool of her gown back up towards her shoulders, his silent signal that his inspection was at an end. A velvet whisper, smooth with a faint lilt of threat, of the desire to harm in manners much more agonizing than what the dark eyed maiden had.

"Sera... What happened here? Who did this?" Sera, now shy from the drow's adverse reactions to her marred tissue, could only shake her head very slightly. Her own voice was little more than the tease of a passing breeze, a silent, wispy tickle in the face of Vilrath's swollen, quiet rage.

"You don't know? When did these appear?" He pressed her still in his quiet, yet insistent voice. His small charge could still do no more than shake her head just ever so.

"When I woke up..." The delicate creature of course meant when she awoke in Rhydin. Memories were a snarled mess for Sera, painful and tinted violent shades of blood, pain, and feathers. Tangles of it haunted her now, spinning a torment behind the wide, doe softness of her dark eyes.

"I-I.. I found them when I cleaned myself off. But.." She paused then, feeling her normally fluid voice growing thick. A lengthy swallow then as her hands began to fidget, fingers curling and twisting one with the other. "...but. I did not go too good a job, because an old woman whom I'd stumbled across had the same reaction that you're having now."

Vilrath's intense, silver shine studied her every gesture; not to gauge the truth of her words, but in some vain hope to understand what she did not. Who were these people she'd stumbled upon? This old woman. Throx. The Witch from the Red Dragon... So many people, such unwarranted kindness the drow did not seem to want to believe was worthy of his innocent sister.

At long last the drow spoke, and with his words came that fragile tenderness. Silken ebon drew a slender pair of fingers beneath Sera's fallen chin, drawn by the thick shine that'd taken her dark eyes. Tears had begun to pool beside lowered lashes, falling fat and silent down the porcelain paleness of her cheeks. "One.. I'm going to be staying here with you for a while. Secondly, you will take me to this spot in the forest you woke in."

A thumb across the silent maiden's cheeks served as a pause in the drow's words. Tears were wiped away with the utmost care, as if her very skin were a precious glass far too fragile for anything but such tenderness. "And lastly.. You will take me to meet this old woman." Vilrath felt compelled, driven, determined; his words filling the sorrowful silence that hovered about Sera.

"Don't worry. We'll find out, Sera." There. A promise, a token of the drow's need. An obligation he was almost zealous to take, his desire to protect and aide this delicate creature was a deep one, his want a thick taste on the back of his tongue.

Tears turned to the most wane of smiles, and soon even to laughter and relief, as the dark eyed maiden found her stomach interjecting their seriousness once again with more protests of neglect. Lissome digits wound softly around the hand that held her cheek, and Sera could only stare with soulful, still glimmering eyes; a silent attest to her thanks.

Life with Sera was oddly calming. What had originally been arranged for protection had become an accepted way of life. Vilrath found himself at a strange sense of piece with the delicate woman, perhaps it was the simple innocence with which she lived, that so calmed his whirling thoughts. Or maybe it was the sense of connection, that there was more to his meeting her, than a simple blackout.

The days he?d spend in her small, homely residence, were spent in quiet comfort. He didn?t need much room, had very little personal belongings, and wasn?t picky about where he?d sit, or sleep. And though it took time for him to grow accustomed to sleeping in the same bed as Sera, he'd managed. Luckily, Vilrath excelled at keeping things to himself, he?d caused enough confusion for her as it was, he didn?t think he should have to explain to her why it was strange, that they?d sleep together.

When she wasn?t home, and he was, he did little other than double check the locks, fortify security, and keep watch over the path for her return, an ever vigilant guardian. Vilrath loved Sera, this was something he?d come to accept rather readily. Though that?s not to say that he was ?in love? with her, His love for Sera, was a familial bond, a close kinship, a friend he?d miss dearly, should she ever go away. Odd, that the callous drow would let himself become so attached to her.

Vilrath?s days were spent mostly with hard labor. He?d move around the wilderness nearby, making sure it was devoid of any threatening life, so that his precious Sera would be safe. Or, they?d be spent in the market, selling animal pelts, and buying food and other goods, to take back home.

It was a strange little niche he?d found himself in. But slowly, Vilrath was crawling out of that callous shell, that wall of anger he displayed toward so many. Some nights at the inn, when Sera wasn?t around, he?d sit, he?d watch, he?d return polite greetings, with equally polite ones, and while that wasn?t a lot for the average citizen, it was quite a thing for ex-Dread Fang.

Lolth; that cursed Spider Queen, she plagued his mind forever, nothing could truly rid him of her whispers. It was a curse, he?d forever have to cope with, but he was coping well. Her whispers were insistent things, though their power over him had lessened considerably in the few weeks he?d spent with Sera. Again, another positive effect the small woman had on him.

Her habits had become ingrained into his mind. Her daily chores, her way of moving, he?d even begun to notice the lack of a fourth feather in her hair. One of her habits though, had the drow mildly confused.

It was a nighttime thing, that confusing habit of her?s. Sera would go out in the early hours of the morning, just pass the stroke of midnight. And she?d sing she?d wander out and sing with that heavenly voice. It was an enthralling sound, that?d escape her lips, something deeply moving, alluring, but most importantly, familiar. He?d heard it before discovering her nighttime habit, but when and where, was a mystery.

This was an enigmatic thing that the drow had been faced with. Something that was often on the front of his thoughts, causing him, not distress, but confusion, unease, that it sounded so right and familiar to his keen ears, yet remained so unknown.