She carries herself in a layer of lightness like loom woven cotton wool armour. It fits her perfectly and is incredibly fetching, refracting the colour of magic in indescribable octarine shades of aura. By no means her best quality, for some, sadly, it’s the first and only they will ever see. Of course, I’ve had the luxury of peeking underneath, of unlacing her gauntlets and grieves, breastplate and chainmail carapace. Beneath this construction her true face is unobstructed, so much more than mythos, it’s the unglossed but lustrous blueprints for millions of magics, fantastic strengths, and supernaturally untethered ardour.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.