Mika Dang

Writer, narrative designer.
George Mason University: Creative Writing B.F.A., Game Design Minor.

Motto: If you love the games you play and aim to have the most fun possible, the games will always love you back.I’m an East Coast Asian-American who often draws from my personal hunger to create stories. My gluttony has only ever been matched by my cat, who won’t stop until he dominates the world.Although I write more commonly in the horror genre, I’m flexible and can transfer my skills to suit your palette. Regardless, I always make sure my readers and players dine on the finest stories, and leave with full bellies!

Writing Samples

I’m a firm believer of “simple story, complex characters.” Let me show you what I mean!

• Barks and Dialogue
• Character Design
• Prose
• Quests (COMING SOON)
• Miscellaneous

Related Works and Experiences

Character Designs

_{Commissioned art by Ayane.}

Nora

Assistant Director

Race:	Horned Elf
Weapon:	Memory Magic, Jellyfish Umbra
Goal:	To uncover the secrets of magic and prove her doubters wrong
Role:	Antagonist

Physical Description

Nora is a horned elf with long, choppy, iridescent hair. Her skin and eyes are void of pigment, and she's often seen smiling. Using her illusory magic, she hides her horn while she works in the Sanctorium.

Personality

Outwardly, Nora is usually cheery, optimistic, and supportive. However, upon engaging in discussion, Nora reveals her obsessive, one-track mind aimed towards discovering the secrets of magic. With little more than her passion and spite to drive her, Nora easily becomes engrossed with her goals. She's more accustomed to working alone than with others, but she'll mesh well with teammates as long as they're intelligent and match her vigorous work ethic. Nora often looks down on others and would rather use magic to manipulate her peers to do her bidding than befriend them.

Backstory

Nora never fit with her peers in Aversyld. As a scientist in a magic-focused country, her profession wasn't only rare but looked down on. However, Nora continued to follow her passion, pouring her efforts into researching magic through a scientific lens. She wanted to not only help her country but also prove that science and magic can help one another.One day, Nora theorizes that because magic stems from the energy of the living, there may be magic that can stem from the energy of the dead. Eager to explore her new thesis, Nora performs experiment after experiment, each more morally questionable than the next. The Aversyld Council catches wind of her activities, and within days, Nora is deemed a criminal and exiled.At first, the exile stung. All she wanted was to help further developments in Aversyld and still stay true to her desires, but clearly, her fellow horned elves never appreciated her sentiment. Nora wanders aimlessly before approaching Tychen territory. She had always heard of the technologically-advanced human country and knew that if she were to continue her research, she would need the support of Tychenian equipment. Fueled by the betrayal of the country she tried to work hard for, she steals whatever she can to survive and continue her research with intent to sell her findings to the Tychenian government.Looking for a cave to sleep in for the night, Nora finds an advanced research facility in a dense forest. She couldn't resist—such a secluded building wouldn't have enough personnel to notice a few tools missing, she reasoned. But as she was about to make her escape, a man approached her and kindly asked if she needed help. He told her he was searching to harness a new form of energy, something ancient from beyond the stars. His story moved her; finally, she had someone who understood the sacrifices of the pursuit of knowledge. He asks her if she needed a partner in her research as he's currently looking for one as well. After a short negotiation, Nora agrees to work for him under the condition he provided space for her to also perform personal experiments.

_{Commissioned art by Seon.}

Daeori Eytherannia

The Moonflower Elf

Race:	Flora Elf
Weapon:	Saber, Poison
Goal:	To find other moonflower elves
Role:	Supporting character, love interest

Physical Description

Daeori has pale skin, white hair, and light lilac eyes. Moonflowers bloom from her hair and on various parts of her body, mainly her arms. Although she used to be ashamed of her flowers, she now only covers them with a light, white cloak to protect them during the day, then uncovers them during the night when they bloom.

Personality

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Backstory

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Barks and Dialogue

Prose Samples

Three-Day Weekend

By Mika Dang

Mom made bacon that morning, but she had forgotten to take the pan off the stove when she came to wake me up.

“Go get breakfast once you’re dressed,” she said. She turned on my lights and vanished to comfort the twins, leaving the door propped open by her usual fluttering.

Squashing a groan, I rolled out of bed. I was still fighting off a robot shark with a surfboard-turned-sword, and my calves still felt logged with the frigid, sticky water they never stepped through. But I threw my blankets back onto my bed from their cold spot on the floor and put on my day clothes.

The smell of char had already filled the house by the time I got to the too-bright kitchen. The twins wailed in their high chairs. I rubbed my eyes.

“Is it really time for school already? I thought I didn’t need to get up for another hour,” I yawned. “Mom, you won’t believe what I dreamt about last night.”

“You’re not going to school today, dear.” She was cleaning out the pan in the sink.

“Cool.” I eyed my siblings. They tugged at the same teddy bear, whining like dogs. “To watch these guys again? Are you going to work today?”

“No,” she said, “we’re all staying home.”

“Oh. Cool.”

We stood there for a bit, her back still turned to me. The twins kept crying, so I gave them their favorite toys. They joined our silence, too.
I turned back to Mom. I wasn’t sure if I was truly awake yet. “So, why are we all home today?”

“I just wanted to have some time with you kids. I haven’t been home as much since I started the new job, so I miss you all a lot.”

“Cool.” I pretended to understand and nodded. Mom didn’t have any issues with her job when she started. But Mom had always been the type to tie away her problems and put them in a bag. She rarely recognizes them once they come back as zombies.

Retreating back to our silence, Mom scrubbed the pan a little more, and I let my eyes wander. I watched a little imaginary man dive off the cabinets, tumble over the toaster, and cartwheel from the silverware in the drying rack. He landed on the windowsill, right in front of the vast, empty darkness outside.

“It’s pretty dark outside, huh,” I said.

The pan banged against the bottom of the sink, and Mom whispered a bad word. She picked it back up and apologized. “Because winter is near.”

I couldn’t see the outline of the oak tree in our yard, or the mailbox in the street, or the car in our driveway. Even in the darkest nights, I would’ve seen at least the bushes under the window.

I raised an eyebrow. Not that she could see. “You think so? It looks a little darker than usual.”

“That reminds me,” she said, “we haven’t scheduled your optometrist appointment. Maybe we can go this weekend.”

I walked up to the window and pressed my face to the glass. Still, nothing. The glass was cool under my skin, like velvet or cream.

Hand gripped my shoulders.

“Let’s not do that,” Mom said. She spun me around and pushed me toward the table. As soon as I touched my chair, she fussed over the twins, who had begun whimpering since the big bang.

An empty plate sat in front of me. I waited for her to explain why we should not do that, but she went back to the sink, silent again.

Something was a little too frigid, a little too stifling. The stillness was heavy, almost painful. In the middle of the table—along with the stack of books, old cups, an abandoned newspaper—was the TV remote. I pressed the little red button at the top and felt the little gummy silicon under my nail.

‘We’re tuning into our reporter on the ground; Jerry, how’s it going?’

‘Well, it’s going as well as you’d expect. Folks, can you see me at home? No? No worries, not a technical glitch—we can’t see me, either!’

Mom dropped the pan and whirled, eyes wide and teeth gritted. Her cheeks were stiff as she glared at me. “Turn that off,” she hissed.

‘Jerry, can you see anything?’

‘Absolutely not, no, nothing! It’s like someone blindfolded me as soon as I stepped outside! I’ve never seen anything like it. And just to let our viewers know, I’m perfectly safe out here. I’m just a little scared of the dark.’

“I am going to count down,” she said, scrabbling for a nearby ladle, “and if it’s not off by the time I’m done, you—”

‘Why don’t you come back inside so that our viewers could actually see you? It’s really eerie doing a report while staring at a black screen, you know.’

‘Sure, sure! Here, let’s step this way. Oh, ouch, that’s a step.’

‘Take your time, don’t hurt yourself.’

Her fist closed around the handle and shook off the food remnants. She approached the table. “Three.”

‘Hey, Jerry?’

As she rounded the corner, her hip caught the edge of her chair. She wrenched it out from its spot and shoved it behind her. The twins started to cry.

‘Jerry, are you still there?’

“Two.” She lifted the ladle.

The little silicon bit the tip of my finger, and my nail caught on the scratchy plastic. The voices yelled about switching to commercials for a moment. The TV turned black.

And the silence was back. Mom put her arm back down. Her cheeks sagged. “Thank you, dear.”

She walked back to the sink, dropping the ladle back where it came from. The pan was almost clean at this point, just one splodge left in the very middle. She started scrubbing again.

“Hey, Mom?”

The splodge came off in one piece and plopped to the bottom of the sink.

“Mom, did Dad go to work today?”

The Last Wish, the First Star

By Mika Dang

For a moment, moonlight slipped through the carmine soot clouds, and the mountains of bloodied concrete before him gleamed with an eerie glow. Broken pipes and charred remains lay scattered across the corpse of the town. The sickeningly sweet smoke from magicborn fire still choked the air, leaden and silent with grief.

Shifting the rifle strap over his shoulder, he bent over to pick up the doll lying half-buried in the rubble. He dragged a thumb across the coarse fabric to brush away the dirt and straightened, cradling the toy in his palm. The once-red dress hung around its body in tatters. Straw bled from the gaping rips in its worn, fabric skin—a sickening omen of its owner’s fate. One button eye dangled from its face by a thread; the other was missing. Above, the illuminated clouds faded back to their matted maroon. Shadows reclaimed the ruins.

His daughter was meant to have a similar doll had he returned from deployment sooner, but when the bombardment began, the Council called all troops back to the field. Now, he wondered if he’d get to buy her anything after the war settled. He wondered if she had evacuated in time or if—his vision blurred—she shared a face with the scraps in his hand.

Behind his eyelids, he could see her ecstatic smile, her bouncing curls of blonde. Tears warmed his grime-caked cheeks. Old words bubbled from memories of a warm home. “Hey, sweetheart.”

He melted to his knees, his chest tightening. His hoarse voice sank under the weight of his thoughts as he let them slip into the smog. “It’s been a while. I miss you.” A drifting finger smoothed the remaining rags of hair.

“It’s been hard out here. I haven’t seen you in a while,” he choked. “I hope you’re okay.”

The doll leaned against his palm, her mouth still and shut, her face unchanging. A silence bloated between them. In his mind, he replaced it with his daughter’s laughter, each giggle slicing through his gut. Splotches of color and decay blended together as concrete, rebar, and fire smeared his skin, his lungs, his stomach. His sobs threatened to drown him. He wrapped his arms around himself, a makeshift life preserver.

“I’m sorry.” The words burbled from his throat. “I wish I could fix this. I wish I knew what I was doing. I just want to be with you, sweetheart, I promise. I just wish—”

A flash lit the night sky.

His rifle swung from his shoulder. To his right, the remnants of a wall sat high enough—he dove. He pressed his back to the concrete. His heart pounded in his ears. A last teardrop dripped from his chin. The rest laid forgotten under his lashes.

He sat still. Eyes flickered back and forth, from the edge of the wall to the darkness just beyond.

Your wish can be granted. The words rang out, melodic and sonorous, as if they came from the depths of a sunset. The air in his lungs trembled. Do not hide. I am not your enemy.

The weapon in his hands felt heavy, almost impossible to aim and fire. The mages of Aversyld had nothing like this. Nothing that filled his mind with incomprehensible fear, or a voice that melted his own into nonexistence. Nothing that made him feel weak, insignificant, pathetic.

Look. Come gaze upon me, wishling.

The words—commands—trickled into his body. The rifle fell to his side.

Look.

Look.

See me.

They soaked into his legs.

His feet.

His toes.

His torso slackened.

Sluggish, he slumped under the weight of the world. Fate wound through the fibers of his muscles. He stood and turned.

Standing on the rubble, on the pitiful residuals of a happy family, stood the incarnation of something he should have recognized. A centaurian creature towered over the fragments of the building, its entire body shimmering like an empty, cloudless sky. Four long, stag-like legs stepped over the blocks of concrete with slow, eerie grace. A humanoid head perched above an elongated neck, void of any features and strangely small compared to the rest of its body. Ears jutted from the sides with long, drooping lobes, and antlers sprouted from its forehead, curving upward. A shock of hair cascaded down its back. Each strand glided through the air, ignoring the laws of gravity; whenever the creature moved, light flickered between the dark locks like falling silver.

He remembered stories and songs of similar sights in ancient skies, when the clouds weren’t crimson with fumes.

In a voice of both old and new, it responded. Once upon a time, little wishling. When the vast universe was empty and lifeless. When we were void of little beings like you.

There it was again. That word. Wishling. Like he was someone important.

Yes. Little worlds like you—little beings like you, wishling—are all here because of someone’s wish. They are the foundation and fuel of our universe.

His mind slipped more and more into the voice surrounding him, into the magesmoke.

You’ve made the last wish I needed, wishling. You’ve given me all I needed. As such, I will be your benefactor.

And its face opened. A million eyes of infinite wisdom, a mouth stretching wider with lights of infinite truths—they engulfed his vision. They filled him with promises of everything. Power and heat and beauty and passion for something he didn’t understand. All they wanted was to fix this. He knew the children can be saved.

In accordance with your wish, your wishling children will no longer suffer from the war. With time, mine shall walk in their stead.

Heiress

By Mika Dang

Sera hated dresses, especially the ones that glittered and sparkled and occasionally shat rose petals in her wake. The girl tugged at her polyester sleeves, which the maids quickly placed back into their proper spots. She pouted.

"Miss Sera, please do not ruin this dress. Lady Nasio has requested you wear it for your first ball to debut the item," the head maid said patiently as she tucked the folds for the fourth time. With a wrinkled hand, she gestured to the other maids to finish the fixes as she grabbed the jewelry box.

"I know," Sera sighed, "but it doesn't make it any less uncomfortable. I don't care if it's a new item—I feel like a botfucker in this."

"Language."

Sera ignored her.

The dress' silvery cloth scratched her skin, and the decorative petal dispenser under the fabric weighed her down like an anchor. Rubies pressed heavily against her collarbone, blazing as brightly as her wide, crimson eyes, the infamous insignia of the Nasio family. Her emerald hair had been brushed and braided, then pinned against her scalp like a crown. Powder clung to her cheeks and eyelids, giving them more color, and a shiny, berry-scented gel coated her lips.

She looked older now—beautiful, poised, and pristine. She looked like the proper heiress to her grandmother's company, just as she was raised to be. She looked nothing like herself.

"And I'm supposed to go looking like this?" Sera jabbed at herself in the mirror with a long, pointed nail. "How am I supposed to have any kind of fun?"

"You aren't."

Sera scowled. "Luke will laugh at me."

"You aren't here for Sir Lucius, Miss. City guards aren't allowed in the venue, anyway. All safety and precautionary personnel belong to Lady Nasio." As the head maid plucked a bottle of Muse from the box, she took Sera's hand from her reflection and launched into a speech the girl had already memorized days ago.

The chastisement of her brash attitude and the reminder of the significance of this ball to her grandmother—and the business—were filtered out from between her ears. Now, she was more focused on the bottle. Her stomach clenched at the sight of its shimmering, deep purple contents.

"Did Grandmother say I had to take some Muse now too?"

The head maid shook her head. "Not to drink, Miss Sera. Lady Nasio has expressed interest in having you put your lessons to use at the ball."

Sera's heart froze. "Today? Tonight?" She swallowed. "Now?"

The head maid grabbed a small brush. "Yes, Miss." Without meeting Sera's eyes, she dipped the brush into the bottle of Muse and began to paint the trembling nails in her palm. Soon, all ten were covered with the thick layers of the drug.

Now Sera realized why her grandmother had requested her presence at such an important event. Even though she had been a legal adult for two years, Lady Nasio had always forbidden her from attending balls. Calling for her now wasn't just to officially announce her as the company's heiress; it was a test to see if she was ready. To see if she could truly use the Muse to her fullest potential. And to use her to capture the company's new "business partners."

She gazed at her hands as the Muse dried. She felt the familiar, dream-like warmth as they seeped through the keratin, through her fingers, and into her bloodstream. Her body had already been trained to withstand the drug's alluring embrace. The ball guests, however, had not. All she had to do was touch them before the night was over.

Sera glanced up to see the head maid staring at her, a strange expression on her face.
"What?"

"You must succeed, Miss Sera." The old woman's voice quivered, her age becoming apparent in her uneasy tone. She cleared her throat. "The guests tonight are of utmost importance, is what I mean. Please take care to charm them well."

And for a moment, Sera noticed the infectious anxiety in the air. Her maids were buzzing with it, fidgeting with their pins and focusing a little too much on their tasks. As they worked to perfect her first ball dress, some spared her looks filled with fear. Others, looks of pity.

Before she could let herself feel as they did, she flexed her fingers, tapping each nail into her palm. She felt—savored—the lull of the seductive drug where her nails had touched the skin. Her eyes snapped back to the mirror and bore into her own. She steeled her gaze. Sharpened her resolve. Forced her blazing eyes to smolder and turn cold, just like her grandmother’s.

Her chin straightened as she held her head high, as regal as an empress. The corners of her lips curled in a poisonous smile.

"I am Sera Nasio," she declared, staring down the haughty woman in her reflection. Behind her, she could hear soft gasps and suppressed sobs. She forced them from her mind and plowed forward, reciting the lines she had practiced all of her life. "I am the granddaughter of Elenor Nasio, the one true heiress of the Scarlet Letter. And you will kneel before me as you have with her. Failure, of course, will not be tolerated. Such is the way of the Nasio family."

She turned to the head maid. Her smile softened. "I assure you, no harm will come to me. No one would dare stand in my way."

Quest Lines

Miscellaneous Writing

Father Justice

By Mika Dang

Kilam blew on his stew as he waited for his wife to return from the battlefield. Mihira’s bowl waited across the table, perfect and untouched; it would be cold when she returned.

He wasn’t even sure if she would respond to that name anymore. She was The Aspect of Justice now.

Gazing out the window and into the night, Kilam recalled his fear as Mihira turned from his loving wife to something bigger than herself, something more grand. Something different than who he loved before. He could still see the brilliant light as the cosmos above Mount Targon blessed his beloved with their power, bestowing their gifts of shadows and flames upon her. The mountain wind sliced his cheeks, still warmer than Mihira’s triumphant smile. Although they climbed the treacherous mountain together, searching for celestial power to protect their tribe, all he could do now was hope that her thirst for their tribe’s liberation would soon be quenched. He hoped for the bloodshed to end. He hoped that his wife would return to him. Safely.

Kilam turned back to his food. He’ll never understand why the stars chose Mihira instead or why she had to be the one to answer their call. He missed her cooking. He missed her smile. He missed her so, so deeply.

A sharp wail dragged him from his memories. Kilam lept to his feet. He clambered to his—their—bedroom as the screams and sobbing grew louder, and threw open the door.

Toys had been strewn all over the floor. In their crib, two babies floundered, chubby fists flying into each others’ distraught and openly disgusted faces. The blonde girl screamed louder than her raven-haired sister, who whined and cried out indignantly when caught in her sister’s storm of fists. She responded to one awkward punch with another, and their cycle continued.

Kilam would have laughed. Instead, he pressed a toy figure into one girl’s hand, then gave the other a plush. They both quieted.

Thank you, Kalim prayed. He didn’t know who to pray to anymore, but he prayed nevertheless. The girls stared at him. He stared back.

“I see Kayle and Morgana have been noisy again,” a clear voice said behind him. “I do hope they weren’t like this all day.”

The pit in his stomach grew wider. Kalim turned to face his wife.

“They weren’t,” he replied. “They’ve been sleeping, for the most part.”

She hadn’t taken off her armor. She rarely did, except to clean herself; Kalim couldn’t remember what she looked like without it. The glistening gold glowed softly as wisps of black flames flickered across its surface.

“Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” the Aspect smiled. Her battle-worn eyes softened as they landed on her children. For a brief moment, she was no longer the Aspect of Justice. She was Mihira, mother of two adorable little girls and his true love. She was the same Mihira who climbed Mount Targon by his side.

Then she tore her eyes away. Her attention flickered between their door and Kalim.

“I came to ask you to take our children and leave.”

“What?”

“The battles are getting closer,” Mihira explained. “I’m not sure how long we will last, but I want to at least ensure that you and the girls are safe.”

“You said you’d stay with us today.”

Emotions tangled together in his chest, and he struggled to maintain his composure. Was he sad? Angry? Disappointed? Frustrated? At her, or at himself? Or at the cursed mountain and the celestial beings laughing from above?

She tried to be gentle. “Beautiful husband, you know war does not wait for love.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said.” Her armor clattered as she walked. Kalim didn’t know how he didn’t hear her when she came in. “Please listen to what I’m telling you now. You are not safe here. Kayle and Morgana are not safe here. Please, I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you, too.”

She stood beside the crib. Kayle, recognizing the celestial light as her mother’s, babbled and raised her arms. Morgana tended to her plush, unimpressed. Kalim was proud.

Something about Mihira’s words bothered him. Too. Lose you, too.

“Mihira?”

She turned to him.

“Where are our tribe?”

Silence.

In an instant, his hands latched onto her shoulders. His fingers pressed into her shoulder plates.

“Tell me they’re safe,” he begged. “They’re in hiding, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Some. A few women and most of the children are seeking shelter with warriors of the Rakkor tribe.”

“And the rest?”

Mihira looked away.

Kilam released her. His hands trembled. “I see.”

“I’m sorry, my love. I know they were your people.”

Tears fell down his cheeks. His heart wanted to stop. He was in pain and felt nothing. He wanted to scream, but his throat was clogged.

He looked at her, eyes blurred. “They were your people, too.”

She nodded.

“And yet, you don’t weep for them.”

She nodded again. “My tears mean nothing. My flames and my sword, however, will bring their deaths to justice.” She reached for his hand and squeezed. “Their deaths will not be in vain.”

“That’s not the point!”

Kalim ripped his hand from her grasp. His anger burned underneath his skin. For a moment, pain flickered across Mihira’s face—finally, finally—but the expression was extinguished as quickly as a candle. In the crib, Morgana whimpered.

Maybe if he was stronger, he could’ve helped the tribe. Or maybe the stars would’ve chosen him instead, and Mihira could spend time with her children. Kayle and Morgana would have their mother. Or maybe this could’ve all been avoided had he told Mihira ‘no’ when she begged him to climb the mountain with her.

He opened his mouth, ready to tell his wife everything, when an explosion rocked his house. The sound nearly ruptured his eardrums as he was knocked to the floor. The walls swayed unnaturally. Kayle and Morgana screamed.

“They’re here,” the Aspect of Justice said. She grabbed her children and pressed them into Kalim’s arms in one motion. “You must go. Now. There’s a boat on the river. Take it and flee. The boatman claims to know of a city where magic cannot harm you. Take the children and go, Kalim.”

“What about you?”

She paused. “I must fight. You know this.”

“Come with us,” Kalim begged. He was tired of begging. But for her, he’d beg as many times as needed. Just please, please don’t leave me again. Don’t leave me like this.

“I can’t.”

“You can! Let’s leave all this behind. Please, Kayle and Morgana need you. I need you.”

“I am the Aspect of Justice.” Her armor glowed brighter now as the house shook again. They were getting closer. “I must stay. I will make sure they never touch you or the girls, I promise.”

From her back, three pairs of golden wings began to unfurl. Each feather gleamed like the sun. They illuminated the room, suddenly turning the night to day. Kalim had never felt so small.

The Aspect of Justice looked down at him one last time. She smiled. “As soon as my task is complete, I will come find you.”

“But—”

“On my name, my honor, and my love, I swear to you. I will be home soon.”

He wanted to grab her, but he knew the celestial armor would only burn him alive. His ears roared as a third explosion shook the floor. The babies screamed louder.

“It’s time. Through the backdoor, quickly.”

Kalim never got a chance to say goodbye. With a flick of her wrist, Mihira sent her sword into the floor at his feet and turned. The heat from the blade seared his front as he scrambled away. Around the blade, flames began to eat away at his wooden house. He had no time to gather his belongings or any toys outside of the ones in his children’s hands. Fire engulfed the room.

So he ran. He sprinted from his house through the smoke and into the night. He knew the way to the river like the back of his hand; he and Mihira would race down the path all the time. And as she had told him, a small boat waited where she usually beat him and would douse him in water as punishment. A cloaked figure stood on board, a lantern in hand.

“Are you Kalim?” they called. “The Aspect of Justice has tasked me with your safe travel.”

Stiffly, he nodded. He wanted to look back at his house, but he knew nothing would be there. Instead, he asked, “Where are we going?”

“Zeffira. They are calling it the first city of Demacia, a new nation safe from all magic. It’s in West Valoran,” the cloaked figure said as they grabbed the oars.

Of course. Mihira never did anything half-heartedly. They would be an entire continent away from the war. Away from her.

Kalim was tired. “Okay.”

Kayle and Morgana squirmed in his arms, but he rocked them gently, and they stilled in the cool, night air. Kayle had Mihira’s nose, he noticed. Morgana had her eyes. But he prayed they’d never smile like her, and that they would never find the starfire.