Ivorel's Fate

Ivorel sighed. Russ, her lively and impetuous toddler, was finally in bed. It had only taken an hour of "getting him" (chasing him around the house, interspersed with tickles, until he was exhausted), and a hot dog, but it was done. Now she had the luxury of checking her bandages. Stepping on that rune had done little good for her, even if she had avoided the worst of the resulting blast, and she wanted to see if the regenerating tissue was progressing at the rate she'd hoped. Her wings were KILLING HER, and missing a fair few of their long iridescent white feathers, and that didn't change even if she DID have them hidden.

She sighed heavily as she sat on the bed, not anticipating this event with much excitement. She procrastinated, appreciating the sunset thorugh her arched, curtained doorways that led to the outdoors. Having grown up in a more industrial setting, with little to no land to bring her peace from her abusive mother, she never took the view for granted.

Eventually, of course, it had to be done. ( Cut for length )