Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20191026122532/@comment-5583506-20191027184348

Cloudrest seemed to be just like any other city she had visited. She wandered the streets and the past the buildings with the same amount of interest as would have been expected from a 200-year-old resident who constantly saw the same sights over and over.

She could feel the people staring her down, but didn't let it bother her. She was well aware that she stuck out like a sewer rat among mice.

For the first time in months she contemplated as to why she was even here. Lysilde had claimed that she was a part of something greater, but that was a lie. There was no such thing as a greater plan. And if there was, it was an impossibility for her to be a part of it.

The threads of fate had been severed from her very being the moment she had been born. She had died and come back, bereft of a purpose. She didn't know why she lingered as she felt like she didn't belong.

Death was the only promised truth the thing called fate had to offer. And she dreamily waited for it, biding her time. She even dreamed of it on rare occasions. Dreaming that one day she would fall asleep, and never wake up. That all her troubles of pains of the past would cease to exist, and she would simply drift away, carried by mist clear as silver glass.

This cause was a lie, but she humored the idea and simply followed, looking for an excuse in which her life could end without her resorting to taking it herself. She did not want others to think of her as cowardly.

She simply wished that it all would go away one day.