DISCONTINUED | ❝ We protect those who cannot protect themselves. ❞
━ the fae are undoubtedly a bizarre kind of folk. a little something that ilyarra knows truly well as supposed to having parents labeled as the town's famous nutcases.
it...
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ILYARRA WASN'T STUPID. Yes, she did only get average grades in school and most of the time had difficulty with them but that didn't entirely mean that she was clueless to the world around her.
At a young age, she had achieved far more than what children did at her times. Because as others played with instruments of entertainment and ran around in the muddy grass of the playground, she was stuck in her house and produced various mechanical instructions inside her youthful mind.
After all, Ilyarra Petrov was a girl with belief that she could create the future out of mere scraps and metal.
And in a sense, she actually did.
If having big organizations see to her to aid them in advancements to their own technologies would mean that she was creating the future, then yes, she did. Her skills was some sort of miracle, her works ranging from subtle enhancements on already existing things up to generating upgraded weapons piece by piece. She worked with various groups and all of them were more than satisfied with what she could give them. And in return, the one thing that Ilyarra wished for was to have her creations remain anonymous amongst others outside their compounds. It was a humble request and they wholeheartedly respected her decision.
Far, deep in the woods, lay a large stump that stretched for a good distance. It was situated in a silent clearing with trees barricading it away from society. On top of it sat a girl with busy hands, other tools and materials scattered around the wooden surface that surrounded her cross-legged position. She liked it here. Her favorite place in the whole Beacon Hills because being here gave her ultimate peace that silenced any insolence from out there. Like an extension to the home where she tinkered away her thoughts and worries.
And each time she came, the Nemeton always eagerly answered to her presence.
No animals ever came to this area, nor any bird nested in these parts of the woods. It was quiet.
Though it wasn't long before she was no longer alone. Someone had entered the vicinity yet it still unfazed the girl. Even if there had been a sight of birds conjured out of sparkling water circling her form, she still continued her task.
Piccolo Petrov approached his young daughter with heed, sensing the chirp of trouble coming from her. As always, he stayed silent, just sitting beside her and instinctively handed her the tools she needed as she worked.
For a few minutes, the tension on her shoulders slowly eased up.
"There's a girl," she spoke, still tinkering. "Or was once a girl. Now she's a woman."
Piccolo nodded at her to continue.
"I mean, there's a lot of them here. But hers is louder."
