#maylyn

An elf-turned-manticore, Maylyn did not even attempt to use her wings for a long time, scoffing at her friend Ari’s audacity to suggest that she even try.

She was an elf! Her feet should be on the ground! She was not going to lean further into the embrace of this damned form, she wanted out!

At least those were the excuses she vocalized; really, she’d just never been in the air before and grappled with a fear of heights that was perfectly normal and which she did not ever need to face if she didn’t want to, thank you very much.

…The body of the manticore thought otherwise, however. She was a beast with wings now, whether she wanted to be or not. The wings wanted to be used. Instinct tugged at her insistently. The fear shifted and reformed into curiosity. And after so many days of Maylyn finding herself stretching her wings to the sky, after so many days of experimental flaps and letting the breeze pass over every feather and staring upwards with an increasingly intense longing, she muttered a highly unamused, “damned be it all,” and launched herself into the very air which beckoned her.

It took a few tumbles and awkward landings and curses spat between her teeth, of course, for she had about as much experience as a fledgling bird while being far, far larger, but soon enough she was diving through the clouds, warming herself beneath sunbeams that were closer than ever.