Learning to be mortal had been… amusing, as much as it was infuriating. The breathing thing had finally lost its novelty, leaving behind a strange, persistent ache in her chest. Eating and drinking were an entirely different beast. And why, exactly, were mortals so fragile?

Melinoë had spilled blood a time or two during her wanderings, always a fascinating experience. She would pause, studying with quiet wonder the crimson slick that trickled from scratch or abrasion alike. She would never admit it to anyone, but she had face-planted into several trees when she forgot she had a corporeal form now. How much simpler life had been when she could traverse the world as she pleased.

But alas, reminiscing was a waste of energy. She was the Ghost Queen. She would adapt and thrive, as she always had.

Tonight she had settled herself across a sturdy branch, tucked comfortably in the crook of the tree. Being able to look down at whatever shifted below brought her an odd sort of comfort. Her tail swayed lazily as her saffron gaze drifted from flora to fauna and back again. Her interactions with mortals in this shape had been limited, and she had decided to simply exist, peacefully observing.

Movement flickered at the edge of her vision. She turned, focusing on the figure emerging from the shadows. His coat shimmered with the colors of the night sky, uncannily similar to her own in a way, and his eyes, the color of dark ichor, seemed wholly uninterested in the world around him.

Her head tilted as she watched him in silence, curiosity stirring.

For now, she decided, she would simply observe.