She. Ashra. A Seraseph. One who bathed in the radiance of the stars, who could tie a thread of time around her fingers, who knew the song of souls. One of a species whose existence had caused a war within the middle planes. One who had saved Solomon Sorrows from that war and numerous other times since. One who continued to keep his soul protected, who had fallen in love while doing so. She. Ashra. A monster. It was both ironic and incredibly frustrating.
Mortals were too delicate. They lacked the necessary astral structures for planar bonding. They burned like dry leaves in the flame. They decayed. They became—as Solomon Sorrows described—monsters. It was hardly her fault. And given his misunderstanding of past events, it created complications.
But the body of Ivra Jace was different. The body of a gods-born elf. An Archmage. It withstood the lashing of void plane to astral, physical, temporal. It was a good body. A body freely given. A body that had allowed Ashra to explore her desires for Sorrows, which was intoxicating. She’d often wondered what his touch would be like. Now that she had felt his body against hers, she knew she would need that closeness again.
If time were a rope as thick as the world, the future would be a frayed end with countless threads showing countless possibilities. Ashra had peered into the haze of time still forming, exploring those possibilities as best she could. She hoped for some. Feared others. Perhaps Ivra Jace was the body Sorrows would come to love. Perhaps it was not. But it would allow Ashra opportunities to explore her desires, to experience the closeness she craved. That pleased her. It pleased her enough that she smiled, patted her cheeks, rubbed her arms. It pleased her enough that she hummed as she stepped around the pool of blood on her way out the door. Pleased her enough that her humming turned to quiet song as she walked into the alley. The air was cold; the moon was hidden. She took a deep breath and sighed.
Of all the things she was and all the things she could become, at that moment she wanted nothing more than the night on her skin, and the memory of Solomon Sorrows on her lips.
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