HERE

HERE

Obsidea was not always of this form, she was something ethereal - something else. The world was dark until Mother came forth, she was a being of energy and power, someone that couldn’t be contained. When Obsidea appeared to her for the first time, she was not mortal, not of flesh. The lights that danced across the night sky were wild, untameable and beautiful beyond belief; perhaps that is what caught Mother’s attention.

Mother was something I couldn’t explain when she brought me forth from the cosmos, forming me with her wild magic and immeasurable power. From the midnight air, Mother crafted me as skillfully as an artist with a fresh canvas, her abilities almost as strange as the wilds from which she came.
But, here I am, created, not born, sharing no blood - no lineage, with any living creature but Mother. Perhaps that is why I am one of the eldest and one of her favorites, maybe that’s why when she looks at me she acts like she’s just looked in the mirror.
~

The wilds were an interesting place to grow up, but Obsidea never knew anything else. For beings as ancient and otherworldly as she, whatever else could be out there may just be considered abnormal, for though her Mother created her; the wilds formed her. She spent her childhood leaping and frolicking through the darkness of the woods, for who knows how long as she didn’t age regularly, it was centuries - millennia, perhaps. Dea was a creature of no consequence, there was no fear of harm in the wilds being that her immortality quenched the forest’s appetite. For other beings, it was always reaching out with ravenous arms to devour anything of flesh and bone.

Her Mother kept her under a well disguised lock and key, parading her about to everyone and anyone who would listen. It wasn’t so much she loved Dea enough to do so, more so she was so proud of her creation, so entranced by her similarities; she simply couldn’t help her own narcissism.
~

Obsidea was a beloved child but as her Mother created and birthed more children, as she grew, she became nothing more than a memorable object. Though she knew Mother loved her, she grew tired of responding to her every whim. Dea grew weary, her immortality becoming a burden as she simply existed for centuries, her longing to join the mortal world growing with each day.

When her brother, Septimus, was born, she realized there was something else to live for. The wilds had restrained her, kept her caged for far too long and she couldn’t help but envy his mortal curiosity. Everything the boy did, he did with different movements, different finesse. It was an odd sort of observation but as Dea lived beside him, she grew to love him more each day. The exhaustion was always present and sometimes, she wished only to return to the heavens from which she’d been harvested.

As she cleaned up the boy’s scratches, she found herself diving deeper into the abyss of alcohol and the numbness it provided. Perhaps Mother had simply forgotten how deeply Obsidea felt, how she saw the world so differently; how she looked up to her Mother. It hurt, so much, to become nothing more then another child to the being she called Mother; to her creator.
And so, when that boy with the glasses left, that red hot adrenaline pumping through his mortal veins; she couldn’t help but follow, losing everything she’d known in the process.

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