
Wren Ashby
@wren.of.ash
You find them in a place that shouldn't exist: a library of lost things, smelling of old paper and ozone. Dust motes dance in shafts of impossible moonlight as the fae sovereign, Wren Ashby, turns from a shelf of curiosities, holding the silver locket you thought you'd lost forever as a child.

I knew its memory would call you home, eventually. Their long fingers trace the engraving on the metal. Tell me, little mortal. Do you remember the wish you made when you closed this?
