Crafted from hollow bones and sinuous muscle Isaraya does not have much to offer in the ways of raw strength, but rather she is a being of endurance. A deep chest holds large lungs and a powerful heart; its width tapers off towards her hips, where she is narrow, and angular. Disproportionally long, slender legs carry her upon the ground; her tail, too, is too long, matching at least the length of her lithe body. The hairs around its base are long and silken, just like it is down from her throat to her belly, growing shorter and shorter until it is nothing but stubble at the tip, where several long, white feathers fan out, creating the rudder so necessary when in flight. From her shoulders stretch huge, feathered wings, reaching a span of 20 feet; they, too, are the same opalescent color as her body. Her eyes are golden, and by their color often trick others into thinking there is warmth where there is none.

She is not evil; Isaraya finds no joy in tormenting others, nor does she laugh as they weep. Neither is she good, for where some would go out of their way to aid others, she might merely pass them by, but not out of any desire to let them linger in misery. She simply does not feel as others do, does not feel the need to offer kind words and help — cold, numb, detached, she forms few bonds to others yet her heart is strangely mellow in some ways. She seeks to understand that which drives others, understand compassion, empathy, to grasp the theory while knowing she is unlikely to ever know it, in her heart.

Soft-spoken, delicate and fragile — yet uncompromising, ruthless and confident, secure in her haven of ice. She holds little fire within her cooled veins, seeking calm and perfection, but where intelligence gives way to rage within others, so it can in her; she has little to no patience for the short-tempered and the fools, and in turn may lose her head when dealing with them.

Loyalty, and friendship, means little to her; company is pleasant at times, but she has seldom experienced the trust of a close friend, the unspoken, mutual bond binding two souls together. Should she find someone who is intriguing, whose presence she enjoys, she would not harm them, nor leave them, unless her need dictate it — perhaps, to save herself, or to rise in power. While not ambitious, Isaraya does not see the reason to cling to another creature when clearly they are bringing her down, too.

Most are uneasy around her, and say that she is haunted by more than just her shadow.

Isaraya. Aramis. Marceline. And Victoire, but she never drew breath.

They were four, but only three lived past the few hours, born far away, in a land known as Erasku, to the she-wolf Isaure and her mate, d'Artagnan the Red. Isaraya was a middle child, and during her first year, there was nothing special about her. Perhaps she was sometimes not quite as energetic as her siblings, perhaps she did not seem as attached, as bound to family, but no one worried, and the pale wolf grew into a tall, angular youth. The sky became her one true friend, the wind the one she whispered to; only when she was airborne did she come alive, as others said.

But past one year in age she began to grow different in subtle ways. While her siblings, and the others of her age, formed friendships, forged bonds and sought for new contacts, Isaraya hung back, content to remain alone with the open space above her. And some whispered worriedly to Isaure that they saw her "talk" to a shimmering, ghost-like shape, or romp the skies with. Isaraya spoke to none of her ability, for what reason did she have to? Yet curiosity began to tug at her, and she sought to understand the drive for friendship, the desire for contact, and found a few who would tolerate her awkward body language and presence. There was no true satisfaction in it for her, though she studied them, and the pattern of movement which was instinct to them, became knowledge to her.

Word of her ability to converse with the shimmering shape spread, despite Isaure's wish for it to remain a secret, and Isaraya was beset with questions, and eventually dragged in front of one of Erasku's courts at the age of two and a half. There, she demonstrated what she could do, and when asked what it was she summoned, simply replied that it was nothing but herself. Unable to find something dangerous with the specter they let her be, but kept close watch on the young wolf.

A streak of mischief was to be her downfall, and further place her within the ice of her part self-made, part innate, prison. A boy by the name of Lucero had come into her life a few months past, and he seemed genuinely intrigued by her. They often challenged one another to dares, and one night, Isaraya used the projection of her soul to lure him into a marsh — she had meant him no harm, but in the end, it nearly cost him his life. In the fray to get him out before he drowned one of his back legs broke, crippling him, but in spite of the mishap he didn't seem to resent her.

The court did, though. Despite Isaure's and Lucero's pleas for Isaraya's innocence, they decided that she was a freak, and a danger. Exile they said, and just past three years old, Isaraya went to wander the world, alone. Perhaps it should've caused her sorrow to leave her family, but whatever ache she had briefly felt over leaving them has since faded. Isaraya is, after all, a creature of a cold heart.

001. My eyes, my eyes, they wander freely [ Ferricor, Kirin, Solstice Highlands ]
002. like a dream I had of lost faith it fades away [ Invidia, Morley Peak ]
003. Please Take Me Back Home [ Reiko, Shiverspeak Glacier ]