â â°Â starter for @vaenndyr  â±
   How  easily  time  seemed  a  to  WITTLE  away  the  markers  long  since  inflicted  upon  the  world.  Weeks  had  turned  into  months,  and  thereafter  into  years  and  centuries,  and  all  that  was  once  right  and  fair  seemed  to  shift  into  a  realm  of  INFINITE  possibility.  RĂœn  had  long  understood  that  notion,  that  what  once  was  often  would  never  be  again.  That  was  why  she  treasured  time  with  old  things,  treasured  the  moments  where  the  glitz  and  glamor  of  the  Modern  world  could  not  CONSUME  her  gentle  heart.
   That  was  how  the  daughter  of  Bel  found  herself  amongst  a  collection  of  antiques  and  artifacts  from  the  many  long  centuries.  How  lucky  she  had  been  in  this  new  life,  coming  to  meet  the  welders  of  new  magic.  While  UNEQUIPPED  herself,  RĂœn  was  trying  to  unlock  the  many  fragments  of  mayhem  and  mystery  lost  to  her  people.  The  very  people  who  spurned  her,  destroyed  her,  and  for  what?  Who  she  was  BORN  to?  But  even  so,  millennia  had  passed,  and  so  many  rich  lives  had  fallen  between  then  and  now.Â
   Now  as  the  blooming  sorcerer  supreme  began  his  many  duties,  she  took  interest  in  the  dust  scattered  mystical  items  left  in  her  care.  One  particularly  being  the  Darkhold,  an  ancient  text  most  sought  by  ALL  manner  of  evil.  Delicate  hands  tackled  the  cleaning  and  inspection  of  the  binding,  fully  immersed in  her  work,  that  was  until  she  felt  the  prickle  of  downy  hairs  on  the  back  of  her  neck.  A  presence  surely,  even  one  CLOAKED  from  her  sight,  Strange  was  not  yet  due  back  --  so  the  uneasiness  sept  into  her  bones.  Slowly,  the  relic  is  placed  back  into  its  vault,  locked  while  the  girl  searches  throughout  the  room  for  a  sign.Â
   âTo  steal  from  this  place  would  be  FOOLISH,  even  if  you  managed  to  escape  its  master,  the  items  here  bend  their  wills  to  no  man.â  Perhaps  ushered  to  the  wind,  as  often  her  fears  and  scars  of  the  past  made  her  skittish,  but  this  seemed  real.  The  ice  in  her  veins  seemed  very  real.










