Maea
It's not a demon at your door
Regretting her lack of answers for more than one reason, the pale woman shook her head. "I don't know, sadly. Last time I saw it... was on the shoulders of a fae. But she died," Maea said, almost looking at her hands like they might still be red with Nephele's blood, "so either someone else took it or it's lost somewhere." Buried with some fallen warrior perhaps, or tucked into a dragon's hoard for a braver adventurer than herself to find. Perhaps if she hadn't been so self-deprecating at the time and kept the rags like she kept the fae's weapons, she would still have them now. But that's not what happened, and regrets wouldn't keep her warm at night.
"If you figure out a way to make clothes that keep an Ancient from becoming stone in the cold, do let me know," she added, as she gave up on her old treasure as lost along with her old life. "I'd pay a lot for something like that."
"If you figure out a way to make clothes that keep an Ancient from becoming stone in the cold, do let me know," she added, as she gave up on her old treasure as lost along with her old life. "I'd pay a lot for something like that."
It's just your shadow on the floor
