Green-blue webbed fingers close around the provided quill, cheeks dimple with delight as she contemplates the miniature artwork painted ever so delicately on sky blue polished nails. How Detiey would have adored this simple elegant display of femininity, if only she were here the nolthrir thought. She next meticulously scribes each letter of the name she's gone by and grown to accept as the lone link to her past. She sets the quill aside and starts to leave, then reconsiders as a thought comes and turns back. Plucking then pressing a few smaller starphire petals against the parchment, she fosters a concentration of red way heat under her palm. Following slight wisps of escaping smoke, then bending to puff away the now withered petals, she admires a darkened aura left behind around the edge where the petals had been, now intermingled with the letters, defining their form forever in the parchment.
