She was born of fire and ice, shadow and light. She had deep, violet eyes, and purple-black wings that trailed behind her as she walked, and could curve about and around her, covering her entirely. They changed color with the seasons; white with electric blue tendrils glittering in the warmth of the summer sun; black with purple strikes shimmering in the cool fall air; black with deeper shades of darkness throbbing in the crisp winter dusk; fading to silver with turquoise wisps flickering in the spring breeze.
For a long time, she walked in the shadowed dells with the faye-kind, not speaking, merely watching. Then, one day, she heard the stars call her and she left. It could have been for a thousand lifetimes she learned to speak with the stars, hearing their tales of birth, rebirth, and destruction. She learned of things in the universe older that the faye, older yet than the dragons. She learned of the One Without a Name, the One who was made, the stars said, of the blackness before there was light.
It was said he came before the blackness or maybe was carved from it. Even the stars did not know his name; even the dragons called him All-Father. When the moons became dark, men and faye alike blamed him. When the sun returned after winter, they thanked him. He was said to be neither good nor evil, of dragon form but not a dragon, maker of stars but shadow over moons. Dragons claimed he made them but had not bred them. There were none alive, even among the most wizened of dragons, who remembered his name, what his other forms might be, or where he could be found.
So she, the Wandered, as the stars called her, searched for him. In all the crevices of the universe, she looked, her long wings billowing in the wind made by the echoes of stars and nebulae. She peered into the darkest holes of galaxies, and found many ancient, sleeping things. Stars who had seen the birth of the universe, now swollen and brittle with age. Planet clusters who shivered and whimpered in the cold, pale light of their dying stars. Creatures who sang of the exquisite abyss of black before light existed. These last especially she sought but most had faded and blended into the black long ago. Those left alive mostly hibernated in cavernous cracks, some so sunken that light was turned to darkness by their depths. These creatures, silken things which seem to constantly shifted in size, she could not wake.