see how the flowers dance, wonderf'ly gliding together
every tulip leads a violet, while the pink petunias pirouette
Callynite
daisies do a gentle jig with each little sprig of heather
now they're whirling and they're twirling
The sovereign was pleased so far. When it had been brought to her attention that someone had wanted to hold a festival in Delumine, she had been skeptical. A stranger asking for such an obscure festival was hard to agree to, particularly when they merely stated it as a means of peddling wares. It wasn't until she had sat them down and asked about it in detail that she had agreed to it. And now, she was glad she had, rather than dismissing it right away. She'd spent the better part of a week making sure the area set aside in Illuster Meadow was perfect for the event, had found all kinds of tents and booths for anyone to rent out, had made the area a formidable festive square, with a large bonfire built in the center to dance around later.
The doe was more than just a little pleased with the looks. She moved quietly, her gaze warm as she nodded her greeting to a few of the citizens of Delumine who bowed and greeted her in respect and warmth - proof in her mind that she was doing her job right. But others greeted her, some knew who she was others, just happy and bright with the current affair. The doe moved smoothly towards one of the shops selling cakes and sweets, purchasing a few pastries. Three or four were handed out to nearby eager fools, while the remaining one she unwrapped for herself. She smiled as she relaxed, occasionally engaging in bright chatter with those nearby who asked her how her day was.
Coy was likely around somewhere - though she was surprised he wasn't already by her side dragging her from stall to stall while trying to coerce her into trying on every piece of jewelry he could find in one moment. Her buck rarely missed a chance to spoil her. But while she missed Coy's company, she hoped that meant he was enjoying himself somewhere in the mass of individuals (likely bothering someone to the point of shrieking if she knew her vain and obnoxious mate as well as she did). The bond they shared told her he was at least in the festival somewhere (and she'd make not to catch up with him prior to the bonfire, to steal him away for a night of dancing).
But for now she was happy to stroll around at a leisure pace, and making company with those who spoke to her. Finishing her treat she moved to the next stall, flipping through some colorful scarfs, standing still among the flowers and grasses that eagerly wrapped themselves around her limbs in an eager embrace, as the former nature goddess, now druid continued her slow path through the festivals.
do you believe in reinarnation?
'cause i thought i saw your soul
I stared curiously at the note.
I smirked quietly, amusement on my features to see my adopted father's handwriting scrawled out a plea to use the doors, to stop making my exit and entrances by windows.
Didn't he realize how FUN it was, to feel the rush of excitement hum in my bones, balancing atop rooftops and just being able to RUSH. The citadel, the city of Dusk, it was all perfect for me to race by roof top and just feel alive. So I sat the note down, took an ink as red as I could find, and across the note itself, over his very own writing, the flourish script scrawled out No. I pause, frowning. It wasn't personal enough, wasn't nice enough. So I followed it with a scribbled heart, and then a smiley face to show my good nature about the situation. It was at this point that I carried it with me to my fathers' door. I grinned, knocked, slid it beneath the door and playfully calling out to the door, I like my windows! They make life more fun! If you want to argue more about it, I'll be in the library! Love you! Before skipping away, the fabrics of my shawl dancing around my shoulders, and humming in amusement.
I throw open the doors to the library with a snicker, tilting my head and finding a random history book to open.
I'm not really reading it however, my gaze is on the door, waiting for the large, exasperated form of my father, a playful smile already awaiting to hear what his arguments would be. Silly father, I haven't hurt myself yet, after all. And I've leapt through glass! I turn the page waywardly, before the sound of hoof beats reach my ears, and I immediately pretend to be busy with the book propped against my leg, trying to hide the amused twist of my muzzle, and the eager excitement in my eyes at just what Liam planned to present as his argument next. Silly stallion, I was old enough to be his great, great, great, great, great, great, great [well to many to name really] grandmother.
Jane’s relationship with her husband was a curious, unnamed thing. He was ten years her senior, a veteran of combat with a good rank among the court. He was also a widower, having lost his beloved Isador four years before. He was a strange creature, two hands taller than Jane but more interested in his studies than he ever was in Jane. Battles with other clans had left the sergeant with a noticeable limp and a broad scar that stretched from the centre of his forehead to the corner of his mouth. This was not the only scar, but it was the most noticeable.
Oh, and the sterility.
That was an important one.
In one of the former battles, against a small nation of insurgents who called themselves the Starlets, he had been captured and promptly castrated. His bloodline and his pride stolen, Isaar had returned to the Angora as a shadow of his former self. He had returned widowed, lonely, and broken.
How had Jane come to marry this man, you may be asking. She had certainly asked herself that question many a sleepless night.
The truth was that Jane’s ranking had completely tanked after her exile from Angora. It had not helped when her aunt and uncle had kicked her out of their house in Solterra. Months of living among the supposed filth and squalor of the lower Day Court had unalterably tainted her with unlearnedness and brashness. She had become used to the feeling of an empty stomach, to the gnawing of hunger that bit against all of those soft layers of woman that they had been training to become.
Hunger had blackened her sight and made her bloodthirsty after the offer of return from her mother. General Isaar was looking for a wife, a pretty young wife who he could spoil and make rich. And what would you know it, Jane had been mentioned and her portrait had been shown.
You can help our family, darling. Jane knew that she had embarrassed her family. Indeed, how could she not know.
Later, Jane would feel ashamed at how quickly she had left everyone. Her farewells had not been many, only reserved for Veil as well as the assurance that she would send back gifts and money. She hadn’t. She had been so hungry.
Jane was married on the second day after her arrival, when her figure was still full and beautiful. She had worn jewels, and gone in peace to the side of her new husband. She had known him when she was yet a filly; had known him as a stern yet fair stallion who was deeply in love with his young wife. Isaar had not known Jane. He had not laid with her on their wedding night, nor any night that followed- there had been no point, after all.
The only thing he had done was come to Jane’s chambers, where she sat with her new maid, and whispered Thank you for this, before leaving her to her solitude. What a queer fellow, the maid had said to her lady. Jane was inclined to agree.
And now she was in Delumine. What a name, the soft taste of possession on the tongue. Delumine, Delu mine, my Delu. Jane hummed to herself as she passed a stall of pastries. Sugar burnt the edge of her nostrils; not the catered pastries of court but the lovemade creations of the horses who wanted to show their crafts or gain money. The fact that she had been one of them, for a short time, was nothing short of impossible.
She had been with Sol Bestiam here. The reds had touched her flank and she had woken up in his home. She had laughed and flirted and been good, so good for him. So wickedly good. Not like now, where she was just… good.
Jane smiled, but there was no joy in it as she stood among the field of poppies with the scent of winter still cloying behind her.
It had only been a year since Jane had last been in Novus but time had passed. She was not as young as she once had been, though she still had not passed a decade on earth. She was young, and spry, and full of energy, but there was something of the darkness that had slid into her and taken purchase of her golden eyes. They were no longer the honey of a bee’s flank, but the calm burn of amber. Night had taken hold of her, just as the Vogelsteins once had. To think that only a year ago, just a bit more than, she had been a young maiden living in the shacks and hide aways of the Day Court.
She had gained it back. She had bowed and written to her mother and begged, and alas it had been received. Jane had made her way back home, but her presence had not been long. A whirlwind meeting with the older cousin of that same knight who had once damned her, proved to be a marriageable match. He had proposed, and they had wed, and then life had… carried on. Life, and Jane, had continued to breathe and move.
She had gained her place once more in that court that had once adored her. The gossip and laughter had followed her, just as it had used to, but the tongues were now more barbed than they had ever been. Of course, Jane could not take up her position at the flank of the Queen, but she had been in the palace. And her husband, Isaar had been her mate and all had been good.
At first, at least, it had been good. She had got the jewels and the wishes and everything. Her name had been no longer associated with shame. She lived, once more, in the light.
Now, she was in the cool Spring of Delumine. She had been here once before, when she was a girlthing. The red flowers of the meadows brushed against her hocks, kissed her tender pelt. She couldn’t help but shiver at a wayward wind, no longer used to it. Stalls had been set up at regular intervals, sending from them the scents of food and drink and horseflesh. This was a busy place.
She pulled her coat tighter around her frame, soft velvet and mink pressing down against her throat as she pushed away some of the last winter chill. Jane lowered her head and stepped forward through the gates, quiet as a ghost.
Posted by: Aeon - 02-22-2022, 11:32 AM - Forum: Spring Festival
- No Replies
I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
It had taken almost an entire season for his fluff and feathers to grow back. In this time he had grown into his features a little better as well. The maturity of his age is beginning to show in his muscular figure, definition of muscles and strength more apparent. No longer covered in charred skin and soot, he was barely recognisable to the sooty mess that had fallen. The excellent work of Caelum’s diligent dressing changes and that of the hospital of dusk, resulted in limited scarring.
His wings had grown as well, but he had yet summoned the courage to try to fly. Trying to fly opened that whole can of worms about whether he would go looking for the volcano. It had been more than a year since he had done his original tumble down the volcano side. No one had come looking for him, and he didn’t particularly miss them. Each and every day proved that Novus was a better fit for him. It had provided him with opportunities for a kind of family, and plenty of personal growth. They had saved his life after all. He was loyal to the Dusk court and he would continue to look for ways to serve them.
He had accepted to work as security at the spring festival event. Standing taller than most he could gaze over crowds with relative ease. His horns were finally grown in, they resembled those of his mothers. It was the main thing he could remember of his mother, was her curling lethal horns. They would now provide an extra intimidation factor in his guarding. Aeon was nervous about providing his muscle for security - this was something he hadn’t experienced before. But how hard could it be to stand around, greet folks and try and break up fights?
I'm tugging at my hair
I'm pulling at my clothes
I'm tryna keep my cool
I know it shows
The vision before her was painful.
More so than she had been prepared for. All around, colorful tents shimmered into life, vibrant and welcoming, and full of life. The colorful fabrics danced in the wind, welcoming spring. But the scene that brought joy to others tainted her heart with melancholy and remorse. Her eyes drifted shut, sealing those warm chocolate eyes from the world. She could hear the music now, swaying around the entire place, encouraging those of non-fae blood to dance. She could see the mushrooms growing up in a circle around the festivities, as the fabrics of those tents paled into pastels, rather than bold hues. And fae danced through the air, laughing, and fluttering, and free, wild as their hearts, as fun-loving as their nature proclaimed them to be.
Her eyes opened back to the Novus Festivities.
The visions of fae were gone, the mushrooms died in her memory, and she was once more alone, a single fae hiding her true position from the world. The Queen of Summer refused to think on this, and instead she moved her way into the festival, her tail wafting on the slight spring breeze, but the flowers that blossomed at her temple a vibrant purple against the ivory of her mane, the hyacinth vibrant, but for those who could read the story in the flower, it would represent something far more than just a pretty flower. She moved slowly through festivals to the tent that was set aside for her. Her hooves carried her forward, leaving a trail of flowers in her wake: lilies, purple hyacinth, pale gladiolus, small forget-me-nots all growing in a light covering of Chamaecyparis. A beautiful arrangement for the summer fae, but wrote the story of sorrow these festivities filled her heart with.
She only hoped once the masses began to come together, she'd forget the pain.
She approached her shop, before pulling her bags off her back and atop her table, and for a moment her eyes closed before she allowed her magic to rush through her. Vines grew up the poles of her tent, blooming out in an array of bright, colorful flowers, that converged over the top of the tent itself, wrapping around the sign that had been hung advertising 'Fae Gardens Emporium'. Once her quick decorating was done, she got to work lighting the fires, heating the water, and setting out a variety of tea bags, all carefully labeled, and platters of sweet treats made from a less condescend sugar (so she could snack herself without risking everyone else's sanity).
Once her area was set up, the fae looked out, seeing the crowd was denser now.
She nodded her head in greeting to some, others she offered a cup of tea too, or wrapped a sweet treat for a happy foal, all while smiling, despite the hyacinths that continued to grow around her temple, shedding purple petals with her every movement. Finally, enough time had passed, she set up a simple sign that stated to others to 'help themselves to a cup of tea' with small business cards of where they could go for more of the delicious tea and snacks. Stepping away from her booth, the fae wove her way through stalls, greeting others warmly when she saw familiar vendors, pausing long enough to drop off a snack and drink for Gareth and his Saurian companion at the medic tent he was running with a playful wink, before continuing along her way, weaving a path that continued to dot the landscape with an abundance of flowers, looking for anything to distract her heart from the pain of the past that wanted to swallow her alive.
Festivities were the life of the fae.
And she had always hated celebrating alone.
"Speech" Thoughts
Open to Any Notes: Cael is distracting herself <3
I'm staring at my feet
My cheeks are turning red
I'm searching for the words inside my head
let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going, no feeling is final
He comes upon that first night of the festival, as the pregnant moon hangs low within the sky. She whispers to the half-moon sigils upon his brow, his shoulders. They twinge and glow in answer and that is how the blind man knows there is a full moon within the sky that night.
Tenebrae's blinded eyes are silver as the moonlight that soaks his skin. They swirl with feverish light, unabashed sunlight that still burns the magic out of his eyes. Once he had been great among his brothers, a true Disciple of Caligo, but now the once-monk wanders quietly, no longer Denocte's Regent, merely a blinded boy.
Thia prowls ahead of him. She is black as pitch, her body formed from his shadow magic. In his ears her voice directs him, her black eyes his eyes. In the distance a song strikes up, instruments fill the air with a melody and the air is filled with laughter and want.
He should not be here. It was a festival where he danced with Elena for the first time. It was a festival where he danced with Boudika then told her he had slept with Elena. Then he was blinded and cursed, cast out as a monk. Oh, Tenebrae, such a fool. For all his body has not aged, for all that he walks as a young man, a warrior honed for battle, his soul is weathered, it is old and wise. Regret has bent him. Tenebrae has become crooked.
Beside the bonfire light, that seeks to bathe him in red, to warn any who look at him - Sinner! Sinner! - the Denoctian's shadows swell. Black creeps and smothers the bonfire light. Darkness consumes him and Thia slinks back to him, shifting from panther into smoke. What do you want, Tenebrae? She breathes to him.
And he laughs, low, rough, ragged.
For what does he not want?
So the blind man waits, in darkness, beyond where the dancers swirl and perilously close to where the holy offer their spring prayers up to their gods.
let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going, no feeling is final
The snow grows thick upon his back, settling into the grooves of his whiplash scars. Spring cannot reach her green fingers up the mountain to this height. So the vegetation grows more sparse and the winds grow louder, stronger, ever more frigid. As frost begins to feather along his torso, settling into the grooves of his jaw and ribs, a part of him might begin to wander if it was worth it. But always, she is worth it and, of course, he would find her here.
Thia drives on through the bleak blizzard. Her form this day is a mountain cat, black as a panther. But she takes no material form, remaining as shadow in ordee to glide over the snow. She waits for him, still breathing out his every step. Ever his partner, his guide. Tenebrae sees nothing, white eyes unhealed despite his attempts to heal them. Caligo's magic lingers within them, destructive, depriving me of sight. A punishment that resides, always.
Eventually, the ragged path levels off and bends around the mountainside, opening up into the sacred temple. He once stood guard here, a young and foolish monk and warrior. It was where they first met, where they first shed each other's blood. Silence greets him and he stops just within the temple's open mouth. He listens, Thia silent at his side.
Ah, there it is. The soft breath of air pulled in, pushed out through slumbering lungs.
Tenebrae turns to that soft, whispering sound. He is silent, his shadows filling every corner of the temple, billowing, calling out for the light of the girl who slumbers. Beside his eyes, he looks the same as he always has. Young, only just out of adolescence, barely over 3. Immortality was always a curse and oh how he wishes he could see her too. Has immortality kept her frozen too? He is sure she is as cursed as he, for two souls as bonded as theirs could only ever be as cursed as each other. And Tenebrae was so terribly cursed.
He stops when Thia says, when he is above the slumbering mare. He can see her red, her gold, her light in his mind's eye. She is more beautiful there, he thinks, he hopes. Yet he lowers his lips all the same to brush over her brow, to remember the contours of her face, the heat of her skin. "Moira," the once-monk murmurs, voice rough, broken with disuse. He breathes her name against her skin, letting his lips run to her temple, lightly to where her eyelashes still press together. "Wake up for me. I cannot be here alone." And oh, how his voice breaks at the last, shattering and with it, his shadows obliterate.
let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going, no feeling is final
It is natural that the first place he would come is here. As if it knows the woodland shrouding the entrance parts, branches lifting like gnarled arms upon the wind. Leaves point like fingers, there. Though he does not see them. Thia gathers her darkness at his ear whispering the steps he should take, directing him. His sight was never restored since the Night Order punished him for his transgressions. Still his eyes are milky white, dull, not filled with light as they once were. His ears twitch, listening to the rustle of leaves that whisper to him below Thia's directions. Obediently he goes as directed, stepping over root and vine and rock. The Night Order gate of hewed stone swallows him into black.
Of course they would have never welcomed a disgraced monk back warmly. The air from the brethren is as cool as the air that clings to icy, mountain walls. His breath is frigid, the ice freezes his lungs. Tenebrae blinks, pointlessly, and turns from them. Down, down the spiralling steps he treads, down into the gut of the mountain where the smell of herbs and ointments rise. Thia whispering still in his ear. She directs him to an old friend, a healer, talented.
"Can you heal them?" He asks, rough, ears tilting to catch the sounds of his old friend's movements. The silence is long, painful. Thia breathes, irritated and his shadow magic blooms at her irritation. Claws climb the walls and the once-monk murmurs for her quiet, her calm. Deflated they shrink, the walls no longer squealing like splitting stars.
Fixing Solterra hadn't been easy - it still isn't . But signing up for a Festival seems to have been one of his worse plans . But he's on decent terms with Delumine , and selling his wares here may provide the funds and items necessary to build the Court up , and foster good connections . He can't keep burning bridges , though he's lit so many that the world is ash and smoke around him , to match his coat .
Large ears swivel , and he feels the claws digging into his spine , dragging over the fresh scars as the adolescent Indoraptor sits on his haunches , much bigger than she's been . Enyo is growing fast , and he adores her entirely .
" Are you going to sit and preen your feathers , or are you going to help me ? " He snorts it at her as he finishes off setting up the stall , only to buck slightly until she dislodges herself with a grumble and shakes her body , sending dust from the feathers up as she finishes cleaning the keratin off of a bunch of them to free them from their casings to be on full display . " Coming , coming . " It's a grumble of a reply but she flashes a mouth full of teeth at him , and he flashes his own golden fangs in return to her , earning a soft chirrup .
With her help , it's easier to set up the array of necklaces and other forged beauties he's created in his off time . Blacksmithing is one way to keep his mind off of ... well . Everything else .
