Forget me Nots. That was what she learned they were called as she stared down at the flowers in her hand. The sweet smell was a gentle intoxication for the teleporter. Periwinkle blooms crushed in her palm and left to the wind. She was a Drifter. An outcast. Nothing ever would be the same.

"She is a demon. Be rid of the child. She is not like us. I do not care what they say... she is spawn. There is no way she could be human. Superior."

A scoff, a sneer down as the woman spat on the exposed face of the child. Lilac skinned and strangely marked. The woman pushed the swaddled infant into her husband's hands and stormed off.

He shuddered and set her in the basket. Murmuring a prayer and making the warding symbol. Surely this child could not be born of his wife's womb.

Opaque eyes stared up to the ceiling and the child wailed.

The first meeting of a child to her parents...


On rooftops, drenched in the summer rain, the outcast huddled in her cloak, hood kept low over features. Rain splattered her hands and her fingers clenched around the broken shards of javelin she carried. Death grip.

Opaque depths widened, a grit of jaw. Holding a snarl of pain between clenched teeth. Murderous rage slivered a blade through her passive thoughts as the whip lashed again at her back. "I didn't mean to."

A quiet defense her retort. Her eyes fell to her blood covered hands, flicked to the torn remains of the guard across from her. The gaping wound in his chest that had found its home far outside of the 'sanctuary' she was restrained in. Dor had vowed that she would not use her gift again. A touch had displaced the guard. Torn his heart from his chest and thrown it to the wall and out to the grounds of the sanctuary when a roaming nature of hands became the final thread for Dor's calm.


Perch upon railing, hands curling to wood. Perfect the balance. The nimble born grace of an acrobat. Her hood had fallen from the elf nature of her features. Born of humans or so believed, called the Superior of the race but even humanity in the nature of Dor was questionable. She did not belong.

Strangely marked, lilac skinned and jewel maned Dor found an odd moment in Rhy'din. Grinning at the wolven one with a head tilt and thoughtful look. Perhaps not an outcast any longer.

Tight ropes and Magic. Nimble and Fluid Motion. Strategy and Beauty. Side show. Freak show. The circus felt like home. A carnival claimed possession.

The hushed whispers fell around her. Points and gestures. No horror or shock as they would stare at the other carnival claimed. Dor found eyes watching her, inspecting her, staring at her. "Beautiful... but strange..." Eventually she stopped listening. Found herself staring vacant eyed at the ceiling as her fingers curled to the ropes at each side of her... and without a care in the world.. that swing would move. Back and forth sway.

There were moments she daydreamed of flying. Moments she dreamed of disappearing...

And that...

Was just...

What she did.


New faces. New places. Not quite home but perhaps a place to belong. The hood drawn over features.

She found her thoughts drifting over a memory. A notion.

The theory of the strange beauty of forget me nots.