[open] I never met a more impossible girl; any

[Cordis]

When death comes to Beqanna, she is hopeful. There are tales of horses returning, and she listens to all their names, hoping to hear one, specifically. She doesn’t, of course, and she should have known better, but hope is a pathetic and determined thing, even in creatures so worn-down as she. She aches from her, the virus of hope in her body, and she tries to heal herself of this sickness, goes on about her own life, mundane as it is. Part of the mundanity is wandering. She knows the nomadic lands of Beqanna well, frequents them often when she is inside its borders. She moves and looks for faces she recognizes, and rarely sees anything there. The world is full of strangers, and though their eyes land heavy on her - bright sliver and crackling with electricity, she is a sight to behold – she turns away. She looks, yet she knows her search is in vain, she knows the cold truth of it – that the things she loves most are all gone. That she, Cordis, is alone, a magician with no meaning and with two hearts beating in her chest, a souvenir of her grief. She moves through the forest, walking brisk even though she is ultimately directionless. This was a lesson she had kept to for years – to always move. The pace had slowed, in the years, from a run to a walk, but she moves nonetheless, moves away from one thing and towards another, even though, if asked, she couldn’t tell you what those things were. c o r d i s I’ll touch you all and make damn sure that no one touches me