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Summary
Iverelle turns her head to study Ysayle. She’s no longer looking at Iverelle, and she is no longer smiling, her head instead tilted up towards the sky. Her neck is long. Her collar bones peek out through the gaps in the fabric of her robes. Why does Iverelle notice them? Umbral winds send motes of drifting aether across the sky, crackling magic deep within the clouds igniting the sky in glorious greens and beautiful blues. The light paints Ysayle’s canvas-white face in a myriad of cool tones, giving the appearance not of a woman but of something ethereal, ephemeral, something more. In the distance, a dragon patrols the sky, presumably hunting something far below. Further, there would be moogles going about their business. Further still was Sohm Al; beyond that, nothing worth mentioning. Iverelle wonders if she were to reach out and touch her, if she would fade away–a ghost, and nothing more.
(On a cold and lonely night, Ysayle reaches out to the Warrior of Light for company. Unfortunately, the Warrior of Light can't help but pick a fight where there isn't one to be found.)