Her eyes, piercing through the veil. Felt as if she was given, but she had chosen this way-in. Introverted visionaries of extroverted politics. Picking up rods and staffs out of the abyssal airs of Storm. Thunder in the hands of a victim, clenching the black sands of a vision-less torment. On the sands, on the sands of an Empath.
But out from the mud and clay of a silver and blue oasis. Through the steaming council of a warping wall. A Portal opened up her thirst to this thrall. Where the day's moon pocketed the corner, of her upper most thanks to think things over. She paced elegantly, closer and closer.
And through the mist, a mysterious bliss kissed the tip of her upper lips. The scent of a cool memory. This water of Mana, that quenched the flowering stanza's of a blue lotus vision. In depth and revision. Through the tingling sense of forgiveness. She was beautified and living.