grow wings and rage + o, visitor

[size=9pt]A lioness collapses at the Ascendant's border at sundown. Her fur lights up gold with the rays of the failing sun, and she lies, trembling, with her maw in the dirt. Her face is painted black, symbols decorating his cheekbones, so clearly having once been flawless in its application, but smeared and messy, now. From her neck is a gash so large and gruesome one would know from a mere glance that there was no saving her, but it's what seeps from it that steals the show; gold and shimmering is her blood as it begins to pool around her, and she stares, facing her last moments with such defiance, towards the Observatory. Because the lioness knows with such certainty that exactly who she's looking for will come bounding through those plains, kicking dust up in the Grim Reaper's face, far before her heart pumps its last beat.

That child always wanted to be a hero.