anyone;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails The meadow is buzzing, whirring with faces. She watches quietly, her face stoic. With the Jungle gone Nayl is hollow, destroyed, but she gathers the pieces and tries desperately to cling to everything she was – is. The Jungle defined her; it embraced her and recognized her, but it hadn’t been enough. She failed, but she won’t again. Despite the kingdom having eaten itself, destroyed to nothing, Nayl clutches onto her memories and what knowledge she has attained. The Jungle is physically lost, but never forgotten, never truly gone. When she breathes in, it isn’t what she remembers of the meadow. It’s new, an innocent virgin, until months of trampling will wear it down. The meadow was where she met father before he passed away. It was a brief sanctuary where she met her sister and saw her mother truly smile. But everything – their faces, their scents, their words – are all wiped clean. It’s strange and Nayl’s body tightens as a wintery gust kisses her. She is unused to the change of seasons; the Jungle housed her and blanketed her in warmth year-round. Bitter and exhausted from the changes, she huddles near a tree where she can see the scrambling of horses. They’re finding homes and finding each other, stacking themselves like cards to petition for land. Nayl’s ears swivel and for a fleeting moment she wants to be them, to search and reunite with her family, but alas she is alone. Both mother and father have passed. Siblings? Who are they? She only knows Thorunn, Rhonan, and Tytos, but whether they survived the change, she is uncertain. A long breath is sighed. Her autumn eyes peer out curiously and she considers finding the sisters again, but the brief moment of solitude away from them is more tempting, suspending her in temporary solace. Nayl covet and myrina's creation