Ariel, The Dream of the Gods. The Virgin of Hergos

                          (Vÿr'Arim'Äriel. Javier Charri original sketch. Copyrights reserved.)

"She was Vÿr'Arim'Äriel; Hergos Virgin, Lord of Magic. Wind rider of Father's Dragon Dorai priestesses. The most fascinating creature, the most intense woman nobody can imagine ever. It has never born again such a gift for a heart . She was also half-blood. It took me a long time to realize that purity means empty beings. She mixed the legacy of the elves. Silvänn omnipotence became full of richness thanks to the exotic hues of golden Nësttor, desert lonely trekkers. Sandy skin and black hair fit her purple eyes. Ariel was not just beauty. Her beauty did not mean anything to us. She was intense, magical. She could see things that no one else could see. She was touched by a mystical gift, a present from the father of Magic. She had the power to enchant with her voice and her words. Her presence calmed the beast. Her smile, worthy for lighting any God’s wishes, could break down and make fall down the most hard man. Everything about her was hypnotic. One of her gazes was enough for anyone to sin. For one night in her arms we had sold our soul. To get her heart, what wouldn’t have we done? "

Here she is, the woman whom killing and dying for everyday in a lifetime. Here is the name that the heartbeats repeat to continue running. The impossible woman that is always possible. She is the miracle, the hole in the stars, the reason to exist and fight until bleeding. Ariel is much more real than anyone can imagine. She dwells beyond the lines and text. Embodied and engendered, back and restored. When someone finds such a woman, born from a spell, from a poem, placed on your way to be found, with no other reason than to meet you, with no other reason than to exist to be the reason of another being... when someone finds an impossible woman you will steal her from a God, if it is necessary, unless you are mad. Allwënn didn’t do it. There was not God scary enough to keep her out of his hand, to avoid his last breath whispered into her lips, an ultimate drop of blood, to stop him saying her name or take her away from his memory. He did not stop. He always fought. Stealing himself was worthy, getting lost along the way, falling into madness if it was necessary. I  would had done it too. Moreover, it is what I am doing right now. This is what I will not stop doing.