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Magic was a dangerous thing.

For centuries now in the light of middle earth, magic had made its home there, in the beings that walked it, in the trees that had immortalized the land with their age, magic was, and always would be there like an echo of more. And of course, like many things in life, magic could be as gentle and as loving as a mother's embrace, the type that fills you with comfort and warms the very bones that lie beneath your fragile skin...and yet in that same damed breath, it could be cold and unjust, blistering with hatred, sharp teeth at your throat threatening to bite and soak the ground with crimson death merely be cause it could.

Of course, Nymeria knew from a young age that she had to be careful with the magic that curled beneath her golden veins of elixir, that felt like aching, that felt like fire as it danced through boned damnation. She had to be careful with the sharp fangs that nicked wt the bottom of her lip, bathing them in a permanent glow of red sin. And she most definitely had to be careful with the dark wings that trailed behind her like an ominous shadow, like a saint to her sonnet, powerful and strong and just as rotten as the poetry in her stomach clawing to be set free. She had to be careful with everything about herself, lest she become something truly monstrous...lest she become something to fear instead of worship.

However, no being had ever taught her such causation, to hold herself into such hesitant regard but her own pale humiliation, something that she had learned by watching the startling creature around her, remembering with her keen gaze as mothering animals taught their young to hunt, to fly, to kill with their pointed claws and ravenous teeth, ripping into flesh, layer by layer to reveal something new and bloody, a feral catastrophe of something old, of something that had long since became a whispered legend, a myth, a horror story, a monster waiting in the darkness of the Moors to condemn your wicked soul.

Because as Nymeria grew older, she had become something monstrous indeed, a trick of the light, a phantom curling through the darkness with the creatures she'd grown with sheltered under the ominous shadow of her wings that stained the very earth she walked upon. Raw divinity spilling from the bodies of men she was forced to leave in her wake yo protect what was hers, what was her home, where her magic had blistered and scarred the very trees her dark fingers had touched in her blessing...becoming the mother of all creation, of monsters great and small, their saviour, their salvation, their bloodied god with healing hands that bestowed upon them life.

And in the end...it had been her own desires that that had been her ruin, one night healing something that had been cast aside, abandoned for the shape they had taken, for the space they had absorbed with nothing more than their wasted breath. She had gave, and gave, and gave until she had become nothing more than a hollowed out corpse, that had been once full of love and understanding now left cold...and it was then that her magic finally became something to be feared, something that could bring empires crumbling down to mere dust and the mountains and skies down to their knees.

The truth was that she had never known the selfishness of others, of humanity, of the race of man, of dwarf, of elf...of beings that could look like her, could talk and smell like her but hold not a candle to her light, to her kindness, with nothing in their heart but greed. And it was because of her ignorance that she allowed her trust...her love to fall into the wrong, dirty hands of someone foul and truly monstrous, who'd left her alone, bleeding and screaming into the heavens above, begging them to know that if this what they called salvation? Two gaping holes where beauty once resided, torn away to be sold for a pretty penny.

Now, there was a saying that had went around middle-earth many years ago, whispered by the masses of old and believed by them too...and that is that the loveliest Angel's safe up in the heavens above could make the cruelest demons when what they held dear was taken away from them, that it would turn them ugly, sickening, ruined and hungry for retribution...and young, darling Nymeria was once so kind and beautiful, before she was dragged to the horrors below...nothing in the age was to ever end gently, poetically...it just ended. And all of that blood spilled that night was never once beautiful, it was just red.

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"AND WHAT IS A FAÈ WITHOUT HER WINGS?"

"DANGEROUS."