What Am I?

Elyon knew she had to pick, and as months turned in to years, her childhood had suddenly run out. Here she was, as a fully grown adult. There was no more title to hide behind, there was no more excuses for her to not choose. She could be happy in either world; Altalar or Ailor. She had friends and family in each one, each as special as the other. There was Cyrus, brilliant and powerful. He was able to do anything in her eyes, and he could probably be considered another father figure in her life, although Aurelius took that role quite seriously. He was the one who took her from street rat to a respected commander, all while giving her love and cherishing her the only way a father could. He knew some of the most intimate things about her, even her own death.

There was Joycie, fiercely loving and loyal to her. And Caili- sweet and charming in her own little way. Taendross, intimidating and trustworthy. Faihis; well, suffice to say Elyon wouldn't mind seeing him more often. Even Siora, as mad as she was with her, would be a nostalgic sight for her sore eyes.

Jager was a different story. He was insane, and his story shifted every time she met him. At one point, he tried to seduce her! He was a maniac, and took advantage of her innocence. At one point, they had all seemed to do that, but he did it every single time. When she couldn't measure up, he used it against her. All her shortcomings, every little word she had ever uttered, he pinned it against her. You should never measure a race by one person, though, even if he had used the same strategy to try to win you over to his side, the Nelfin side.

There had also been those who worked by her side. Her commander Leufred trusted her word and valued her work so much more than many others had, and the others stood by her side when she was ready to depart into a rather risky venture. Most Greywitches opened their arms to welcome her in to their crowd, despite how obviously Elven she was.

But as she sat in their meeting, she didn't fit. She was a puzzle piece for an entirely different puzzle, the one that no matter how hard you tried to make it fit, it would never match up. She had felt that with the Ailor, but not to such a degree. You could always make her piece fit with a pair of scissors, though it'd never match the drawing.

Time would drag on, no matter how she picked. Her heart, however, would never heal if she chose wrong- but in this case, was there a wrong choice?

What was she?


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