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Novus closed 10/31/2022, after The Gentle Exodus

All Welcome  - The first round of the maze--

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Played by Offline Israfel [PM] Posts: 53 — Threads: 39
Signos: 0
#1

THE START OF THE MAZE
Tonight the night settles strangely, almost uneasy and unsure, as it bleeds away the last bit of brightness from the day. They stars seem almost duller, almost pale as bone when they settle in the sky above the maze. Tonight the maze in the brightest thing and it drowns out the silver-glow of the moon with firelight and other wild, glowing colors. 

Fires blaze beside the entrance and it looks darker for the bright setting of it. Shadows gather in the cracks of the hedges and are broken up only by a splash of color when the fires catch on a breeze and shine across a speckling of white flowers that look almost like stars. The maze looks almost like something that belongs in another world, a throwback to a time when gods were rabid magic and they created the world to look like their dreams and their nightmares. 

Alongside the maze tents flap in the breeze and when a strong enough wind rolls through with the promise of a summer storm the night sky sounds as if it might be alive with bat wings and raven wings. And oh, for a moment the world is alive with magic as if the center of Novus surely hides in the center of this sprawling and strange maze. 

Just as the last bit of light fades into black Isra walks out from the dark entrance of the maze. Her smile sits like the night, a little uneasy and unsure, and it waivers like a hummingbird wings when she looks at all the horses that have gathered. She pauses, inhales and shakes away her fear until her horn almost seems to glow with the reflection of the fires at her side. 

Her voice does not waiver or bleat and it rings clear as a bell through the sound of the flapping tents and the crack of the fires. “Welcome to the maze. When you enter reality might seem to shift and change the deeper you go into this new world. There will be choices aplenty, go alone or go together but please be brave enough to go.” Here her eyes shift towards the gathering of the Benevolent, and she dips her head in gratitude, hoping that the audiences eyes follow and catch on their motley group as her own do. 

Of course she could not do it alone, the traveling magicians did most of the work. 

But looking at the queen it's almost easy to see the sweat still gathered on her spine and the way her skin seems to hang almost loosely in exhaustion. And for a moment it's easy to wonder, how many pieces of the night queen have been stolen by this maze?

Isra shivers in the next breeze, eager to rest just a little while before the bravest of those gathered makes it to the center. “To start there are four paths and one might look more familiar than the others. Not all of these paths will lead anywhere. So choose wisely and above all be brave, and remember how to dream.” The queen says nothing more and her voice fades out to the sound of the fires and the breeze and perhaps the bit of song that drifts out from the dark entrance of the maze. 

Her expression as she watches the first horse enter that yawning darkness looks a little like joy and a little like sadness. 

The Start of the Maze


The dark entrance of the maze splits off into four different directions, each as lovely as the last and each as strange. 
 
THE FIRST--


The first path opens up directly to the left. At first it seems no different from the entrance, all green hedges and well-trodden ground (strange, that it's been traveled before), but then! Then there is a great, budding thing before you, and pathway seems almost alive with light and above a is a fresco. Clouds gone soft lavender and blush, above a trumpeting flower bud, taller than a horse. Nothing happens for a moment and it's uncertain if this is the final thing this path was leading to.  Golden-lit clouds shift on the fresco above (it could be canvas for the soft texture of it). And strangely, for a moment, the light shifts downwards like rays of sunlight. It is in this moment that the light touches the unopened petals and they begin to open. It is not without fanfare, there is the twittering of earliest morning birds and distantly, delicate woodwinds. 

Slowly, the red-pink petals peel themselves from the center, opening up to reveal what you must think to be some foreign goddess; though not one of Novus she is certainly similar in grandness! On a wide-open morning glory she stands, but so light is her form that the flower does not bow. Morning glories in the shades of dawn spill from between her ears, down her neck, her rump, becoming one with the bloom on which she stands but at what point it cannot be discerned. She is both awesome as a god and soft as a blossom, her height distorted by sheer glory, but, perhaps, she really is so tall. Her lashes are long and white, nose fading to the same pale ivory as her tiny, cloven hooves. Her eyes are large as suns and glow with youthful fire; it may be now that she looks to be only a child. And yet - she stands tall before everyone. She glows in the colors of fuchsia and buttercups, and when she speaks her voice is sweet as honeysuckle.

“Greetings, dear maze-goers,” she pauses, either for effect or a balloon of air into her fresh-petal lungs, “Welcome to the path of the morning glory. In moments you will go forth into the unknown and face both peril and beauty alike, and at times - both. If there is something you wish to ask of me, do so now, but know that I cannot answer all. If you wish to turn back, now is the time. After this point, you may not be able to find the entrance again.”

THE SECOND –-


In this part of the maze the hedges grow vibrant, slick and deep-green. The sun (from where? Magic? Something else?) beats down hot on your back, and there it is - summer solstice, midday-high-in-the-sky and it’s turned the world to gold. Dried-up grass and hard dirt are scuffed up by maze-goer hooves, again it's easy to wonder, who walked here already. Ahead lies a fathomless hole in the pathway, longer than it is wide, and infinitely black should you look down into it. A cicada buzzes somewhere unseen. Sweat dribbles down necks and flanks. 

Oh, how odd that the world seemed golden before.

Gilded sunlight  begins to pour out from the ditch, bathing the clearing and out of place sky itself so sunshine yellow it might seem as though Solis himself has come up from the underworld - but no. Scarlet, curling things peek out from the endless depths, now alight, near blindingly but not so one is blind to the show! Rising, rising, the deep red turning to saffron and there, they are flower petals! As they fully unfurl they are almost as wide as an entire rainforest canopy and for a moment all the leaves seems to swallow up the light. Two petals part, just enough, and out steps a blazing orange and white and yellow mare. Glowing pollen floats from her form, dispersing light throughout the shade. For a moment, it sounds as though every cicada that lives close by is screaming. Then - silence.

Day-lilies sprout at her feet, bouncing up from the dry ground fully-bloomed and incarnadine. She looks far less murderous than the conjured sun, but her lashes are short and brittle-looking, coat slick with sweat and her sparse mane is curled and damp. It may seem this is a path of summer instead of day. 

This summer mare speaks like wildfire. “Welcome to high-noon, maze-goers. You have chosen the path of the day-lily. In just a few breaths you will be thrust forth into the maze, a winding puzzle of trials and tribulations...but, also, great beauty. You may turn back now if you wish. Should you stay...you will have no such opportunity again.”

THE THIRD--


The cloth draped across the maze seems to grow lighter as the path goes deeper and deeper into the maze. Long stems bearing papery yellow blossoms reach for the legs of the horses who have traveled this way. Some blossoms are pale pink and are perhaps crushed under-hoof on occasion, though most are relegated to the base of the hedges. The surroundings here seem dim, gray-lavender painting of clouds dance on that cloth overhead.  It is certainly lighter than it was at the start. 

Before you opens up a wider spot in the path, all blooming with the yellow and pink-and-white little flowers, and while it seems the picture of spring or summer there is something like a chill wind blowing. The hedges are no longer shiny and green, but rather, they have gone orange and red. Both evening birds and migratory ones sing now, and crickets scatter the clearing, playing their tunes. 

At the center of the little widening is an enormous flower bud, dusky pink and sleeping sun yellow, petals like tissue paper, but hale in the dusk-autumn air. Slowly, quietly, the petals unfurl, revealing a mare colored bubblegum and butter, petals pouring down to feather her feet and stems growing up again to encircle her wide legs. She is powerful and all muscle, and could be charged with shooing out the day and ushering in the night. Her mane and tail are entirely made of blooms, and a few float away to glow on the damp ground. Her eyes shine dimly, half-sun half-moon, neither sleeping nor awake. She smiles, but it is not a lover’s smile. It isn’t a killer’s, either. 

Then the mare tilts her head, voice jumping and swirling like a leaf caught in a wind tunnel. “Good evening, dear maze-goers. Your first decision was not so difficult, was it? I am the obvious choice. The evening primrose. Congratulations for choosing correctly. The maze ahead may be frightening, and you may find yourself awestruck or running for your lives,” she glances up at the fabric sky, and the light of it has gone past the hedges, now, and says, “Good luck. I hope you didn't have questions.”

THE FOURTH--


For a moment this path seems very much like a plain, boring path. The hedges rustle in the wind, the night gone cool. It's a relief from the early summer heat. All is well, the only odd thing is bitterness on the air and the scent of unripened tomatoes. For a moment it might seem unnerving that everything here is so 'normal' when the queen promises dreams. This path has only green leaves and a sense of impending doom. But as the path continues it grows darker. 

And darker.

And darker.

 It is as if a weightless black cloud has descended upon the maze, bittersweet and opaque. Leaves and stems, flowers and buds start to reach into the path. Then a mist rises up from the ground, and this is clear, for it is silvery in the dark and laden with stars. It goes no higher than stomachs of most. The bitter scent in the air grows stronger. 

Suddenly, it is as if the ground is moving, and every there is movement a stem snakes from the ground and up through the star-mist, blossoming around shoulder height but delightfully uneven, some tower over hedges and others tickle against ankles. The blossoms are nightshade, though unusually colored, glowing violet and yellow-green. 

As the flowers reach closer to a curve in the path, their light intensifies, revealing a shadowed figured in the center of the mist-meadow. She steps into the brightest lights and not a single flower is crushed beneath her hooves - it is as though they made way for her. Her face is veiled with fabric like the night sky, twinkling stars and moons and planets throughout, but you can see two glowing white eyes, large and without pupils (like moons) Her name and tail are deep purple, almost black, and glitter with the tiniest of lights. They spill out onto the ground and it is impossible where her hair ends and the shadows begin. Black fabric is draped across her whole body, but it goes purplish and iridescent in the flower-light. Huge petals spill from her back to the ground,  and when the fabric slips great wings of nightshade flutter at her sides. 

When she speaks it is as if her words permeate the air itself and it's almost hard to see her in the gloom. Her voice is like honey and singing crickets, katydids and unfurling blooms. “My fair maze-goers, welcome to the path of the deadly nightshade. It is my pleasure to welcome you here to this maze, but if you wish to leave, now will be your only opportunity...Should you intend to stay, as I hope you will, great rewards could be yours.”

INSTRUCTIONS


Please reply below, order doesn't matter and you can post as much as you want. At the bottom of your post that picks a path please just write in bold which path you took so it's easy to reference is order to post the next round and tag the correct characters in the paths. 

This round will end December 20th

Otherwise enjoy and please message @nestle here or on discord with any questions. I promise the other rounds won't be novels. 

Credit to @Muirgen for the four pathways!
 










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Shrike
Guest
#2



She stands at the mouth of the maze, and remembers.

Oh, how many years now have passed, since she met Calliope in the land of Ravos? There had been a maze then, but the magic that shaped it had been feral and strange and so very hungry. This was something different; at least for now, it hid its teeth.

But Shrike had won that maze, and she was no more afraid of that one. It was something else that made a shiver wend its way down her skin, thoughts like biting flies.

At first she had thought that Novus was a world not so different than the one they had left - one they could impose their order upon, one that needed the kind of justice she and the lioness and the red man dealt. But while there were battles, and while there was blood, there was no home for the painted woman here. Not in the desert and not in the mountains and least of all in the cities, with their walls and their windows and their strange inhabitants.

Shrike misses the kingdom they had built in Ravos. She even misses the shifting lands of the Rift, no matter that she had met her death there, or that Calliope had had to spill her blood like rubies. Would she pay that price again?

Firelight flickers over those gathered, and the voice of the night queen rings like a bell over the evening, but Shrike listens to nothing but her own heartbeat, urging her onward.

When the world falls once more to stillness (what stillness is possible, in such a place, in such an event) she is one of the first to step forward, and allow herself to be swallowed up by the dark and verdant-smelling mouth of the maze. The beat of her heart remains even as she breathes in the deep scent of leaves, and when the paths split off before her Shrike chooses the fourth.



@Calliope


-fourth path-






don't do much these days
keep the wolves at bay













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Elif
Guest
#3

elif


Elif’s life had always been filled with small adventures - rough-and-tumble through the narrow marketplace, petty thievery (usually only from her brother’s rooms), the small rebellions of a girl growing up in a noble house. She was always covered in nicks, rough-coated with sand and burrs, but never had she done anything grand.

Until the day they drove the blizzard-elk from Solterra, with Solis himself leading them on, and the queen beside him. And Elif had never felt so alive.

It had put a taste for adventure in her mouth, a want for more than the burnished treasures the court might otherwise hold for her. So when the crows gathered on the desert city’s copper rooftops and sandy walls and gave their invitation, the pegasus was thrilled. The wait had seemed an eternity - longer than the time it took the snow to melt, cool and blue on the desert’s hills.

But at last the day is come. And now she stands before another adventure (for such a strange gathering of horses, such a magical hedgerow and the strange lights that leak through the leaves, could be nothing else), her heartbeat like a bird’s in her chest, more eager than anything.

When Isra steps forward the young mare is silent, tucking her long wings against her narrow sides, bending her angular head as she listens. There is no fear in her, only excitement, and her grass-green eyes shift between the queen and the others until Isra says be brave. Oh, she is, she is -

She is one of the first to step into the maze.

The first thing she knows is darkness and quiet, though she can still hear the cacophony of sounds outside and the stars blaze above. But the leaves muffle the sounds, and she looks at the four pathways before her, and chooses.

Of course she picks the one bleeding heat. At once it swallows her up, the sun beating hot and familiar on her back. For a moment she stops to wonder at it, but even this magic cannot hold her still for long, not when she knows how much more must lie ahead. Like a hawk she sweeps through the path, her hooves quick and sure on the dirt, and then - oh! the world turns red as bleeding, scarlet as the wool she wears still around her neck.

Elif feels the first hint of fear when the lilies sprout, when the cicadas go to screaming - but it lessens when the strange mare blooms, too. Instead she drops her chin in honor, though her eyes do not leave her, and she inhales the smell of a wildflower meadow, sweeter than anything she has known.

At last she straightens, her grin as bright and fierce and bold as the sun around them. “I will not turn back,” she says, and waits to begin.


—second path

“Do not be afraid to bare your teeth -”













Played by Offline Zombie [PM] Posts: 164 — Threads: 28
Signos: 385
Inactive Character
#4


She listens quietly to her queen, her eyes shifting around her to look at the other two gathered for the grand maze. She does not allow her eyes to linger long, for they are drawn to the speech her queen is making. She cannot help but notice how sweat is slick upon her hide, how she appears almost exhausted. She wonders if it was something she could have helped her queen with. But then again, she knows she could not enter this maze before everyone else that is gathered.

She listens, thinking about the four paths and which she might choose for herself. Does it really matter which path she chooses? Perhaps she should pick something that she is familiar with…then again, isn’t the point to experience something new? Perhaps picking something unfamiliar might just help her grow.

In the end, when given the go-ahead, Katniss steps behind the others, choosing to go onto the first path. She steers left, entering the maze and pausing when a large bud stands before her. Was this the end? Surely there was more to this maze. Eyes look at the clouds of lavender and pink. She cannot help but think that the canopy is beautiful. It reminds her of sunsets on Rift.

There is a light in the sky and Katniss watches as it begins to fall upon the blossomed petal. And suddenly it begins to bloom. Birds begin to chirp and Katniss cannot help but think how beautiful this is. But she is not so easily deceived by beauty.

And then the being appears. Katniss watches her closely, admiring her youth and beauty and yet not allowing herself to get drawn in. And when the being speaks, Katniss listens. She has no questions for the being, only confidence that she can triumph over all. “Show me the path.” And then she is silent, waiting.


First Path











Played by Offline Zombie [PM] Posts: 103 — Threads: 8
Signos: 325
Inactive Character
#5


She stands there in defiance. She does not want to appear weak by choosing a path chosen by another. She has always been a brave soul, but one who would not allow herself to be shadowed by the accomplishments of others. And so, after the speak of Isra, Sloane knows which path she must take. She is called to take the fourth path, the darkness drawing her in like a light. But there is that flicker of defiance in her eyes and instead, it steers her down the third path.

She begins her trek down the third path. Her eyes nearly roll at the abundance of flowers. Why did she have to pick a path of flowers? They were not beautiful to Sloane, only the darkness could be categorized as such.

And then the path opens up and Sloane steps forward. The flowers have seemed to dull their colors, the birds and insects abandoning the path altogether. Was this supposed to scare her? Was she supposed to feel fear? She does not feel fear. She feels excitement. It has been some time since the wandering woman has done something this exciting. If anything, it will curb her boredom for a time.

It was then that a mare blooms from the abyss and Sloane cannot help but grin at her slyly. She can admire the woman’s muscle, the way her looks could kill. Perhaps this was not as lame of an adventure as she once thought it to be. But perhaps what she liked the most about this mare was the way she introduced her path of the maze. Offering no questions and not sugar-coating it at all. She liked it. And so, Sloane steps forward, ready to take on the maze.

Third Path













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Mateo
Guest
#6


Mateo lands in a hurried tangle of legs and wings, nearly taking out two children with his grace. "Sorry!" He calls out in his youthful voice, which rings sharp and bright and terribly out of place amongst the dark mystery that surrounds him. He's late again. He hates being late.

He tries to focus on something other than his anxiety (late again, late again!) which is hard at first. But as he hurries down the well-worn path to the left, distraction becomes easy. There is color, and light, and sound, all of it warm and beautiful. He suddenly feels his god here. Oriens is smiling in the fresco that shifts with the color of dawn and he is coaxing morning glories to bloom from the most beautiful creature Mateo has ever seen.

When the woman says "peril and beauty" all the unwritten songs that lie in his heart, waiting for peril and beauty to give them the wings they need to soar, they shift like leaves in the morning breeze.

They are granted a question-- just one.

He folds into an exaggerated bow, one leg extended forward, wings tucked, tail feathers fanned out neatly. "What is your name?" He glances up to her, but remains bent in deference. And because the other maze-goer does not ask her question, and because faith emboldens him, he sneaks in another not-shy glance, and another question- "Will I see you again?" His tail feathers wiggle ever so slightly, a dog begging for a bone.

-  -  -  -  
Mateo chooses the first path
(provided he stops flirting)
art by empluvie










Played by Offline RB [PM] Posts: 89 — Threads: 13
Signos: 185
Inactive Character
#7



PRAY, WHAT SHALL I DO WITH MY SIX HUNDRED WINGS -
[Image: apolonia_by_erasvita_dcmlqry_by_beccazw-dcnhnsj.png]

Apolonia thinks of herself a dog on a chain-link leash. Like any good dog, she comes when called.

And so it was easy to come when the trumpets found her and wailed a sad, low song over the darkness, and it was easy to follow the soft-crying flute across the steppe and through the close-clustered darkness of pine trees, and easier still to know, when she saw the maze in the gloaming distance, that she had followed the right path step by miserable step. 

The sky simmers with stars. In the low light Apolonia is gold and soot and ivory and the hurlbat strapped to her hip shines at every saw-toothed edge. She feels the night’s drinks in her head like a cloud of cicada, feels the cool breeze more intensely as it passes over where she used to wear her mask. But none of that seems to matter. She draws to a stop at the mouth of the maze, gap-toothed and yawning, and thinks that this is the only thing that has seemed right to her this whole night.

She watches Isra with all three eyes. Her hair is pushed back, but in the summer-night dimness that glint of blue against her forehead might very well be a jewel, a crown, a little piece of seaglass. Her gaze does not linger on the crowd around her except for catching, in one brief moment of weakness, on Elif, lupine and beautiful as she is. But O tears her eyes away with military ease and focuses on the way Isra’s horn shines in the dark, and Elif is forgotten as soon as Isra finishes speaking and O slinks into the maze and down the first path.

(It is neither day nor night.)

She is surprised when the woman grows from that flower like dew grows from a blade of grass, but it is not fear that strikes a chord in her heart - it is awe, it is envy, it is excitement - she looks up at the goddess with huge, unblinking eyes and something almost like a smile crosses her face, fleeting as it is faint, and punctuating by the sound of her hurlbat spinning, spinning spinning at her side.

Good evening, she says, though it is not a question at all.

 










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Caine
Guest
#8










T
here are no silk ties keeping the mask of black satin and feathers — pulled from his own wings — pressed snugly against the Illusionist’s cheekbones. A carefully maintained stream of telekinesis did the job much more artfully, and the effect is mildly unnerving. Under the weak glow of the summer moon, the mask looks as if it is a part of him, satin melting into skin. Perhaps it does not even come off. 

Perhaps he has always had it on.

♢ ♦︎ ♢

The stifling night air hums with eager anticipation as Caine stands silently at the fringes of the gathered crowd, more out of habit than anything else. Loathe as he is of crowds — he has never felt truly at ease in the midst of jostling bodies, no matter how many times he’s had to act just the opposite for the sake of a job — tonight he is as curious as the rest of them for the spectacle that is the maze. 

When the Night Court’s newest Sovereign steps out from the darkness between one blink and the next, Caine adds one more item to the night’s list of curiosities. 

Isra of the sea, who speaks stories like music and wields magic like illusion. He has heard the rumors. It is a different thing entirely to finally see the source of them.

“Above all be brave, and remember how to dream.”

A half-smile flits like a shadow across Caine's masked features at the Night Queen’s parting words. How I wish I knew how. His silver eyes shine darkly with something much more than curiosity when they lock keenly on Isra’s ocean blues. But you, Queen Isra. I wonder what you dream of.

Because how wonderful her dreams must be, for her to conjure them into such dazzling reality. 

(Caine has conjured dreams too. The difference is, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, they had always turned into nightmares.)

He is one of the last to enter the maze. His smile eerily hollow, Caine does not hesitate in his step when he turns down the abyssal darkness of the fourth path. 

For in darkness he was born, and to darkness he shall return.





FOURTH PATH













Played by Offline Muirgen [PM] Posts: 114 — Threads: 16
Signos: 0
Day Court Champion of Battle
Male [He/Him/His]  |  15 [Year 496 Summer]  |  17.2 hh  |  Hth: 15 — Atk: 25 — Exp: 40  |    Active Magic: N/A  |    Bonded: Hajduk (Mythical Lion)
#9

Toro wasn’t exactly sure what compelled him to enter the maze. He was not one for mystery, and gave little attention to feats of magic. Perhaps it was the pretty Benevolent girls with their shimmering silks and inviting smiles, encouraging him to “go play.” “I’d rather play with you girls,” he’d said, and one flashed him the dagger on her hip, which he thought was very romantic.

Once black night had fallen, Isra appeared from the maze, strong and soft as silk. Her words were lost on Toro, who recalled immediately their moment on the mountaintop. He could not take his eyes from her till he passed into the dark, expressionless. 

Standing at the maze mouth, El Toro could see - and hear - the many strange features long before he entered. Crystalline shards here, blossoms there, and discomfortingly distant music. He wasn’t sure he liked the way the notes traveled leaden and trickled down his spine like sweat, or how even in the night certain sections shown sunlit. Nevertheless, he pressed forward, hardly getting anywhere before four paths appeared. Thinking back on the girl with the dagger, he chose one at random - better to get this over with, when such spoils awaited.

He was not anticipating the spectacle which met him. 

The world grew lighter, golden dawn clouds shifting in the sky above him, music and birdsong tickling his ears as the blossoms against his flesh. A dark mare is already there, and a pitch black pegasus.

Toro resolves to have a good time anyway. But he feels just as compelled to pitch the black colt over the hedges. It is then that the grand bud in the center of the clearing begins to unfurl, and the most beautiful girl in the world steps out. She glows like the dawn itself, and the white stallion thinks back on when Anzhelo thought him a god. She offers them an answer, if they have a question.

Both of the strangers have things they wish to know. Toro merely says, ”What are you?”

first path

((will make pretty later))




please always tag here and preferably discord for replies





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Toulouse
Guest
#10

TOULOUSE



Toulouse approaches the maze like a wolf drawn by the scent of blood, the promise of an easy reward far too strong to resist.

Like magic in the air.

A smile curves at his lips, pearlescent teeth shining in the dark. The golden man pays no mind to the others, doesn’t keep track of who chooses which path as they disappear into the maze. He is only weighing his options,

He’s here for himself after all, he, himself, and him alone.

Finally, finally, he steps forward, choosing the fourth path. It’s the look of it that draws him in, the very plainness that seems to suggest if he looks too close, he’ll see what the lack of extravagance is hiding. ’The queen promised dreams, he reminds himself as he walks farther and farther into the maze, ’would she really lie to us?

Of course everyone lies, he knows, he knows, but he’s willing to gamble tonight.

The darkness comes, subtly at first, then rushing in like a wave of death and despair. Flowers and their thorns brush against his sides but he presses on, rejecting their advances, only hoping they don’t snag on the crimson scarves draped from his horns and sides.

But they become harder to ignore, vines creeping across the ground and making every step treacherous, every move a calculation. But it is far too late to turn back now, nor does he want to. He is a wolf; fear is not known to him.

He hears her before he sees her; her voice curling through the mist like a snake through grass. She appears so slowly that he wonders if he is not imagining it.

She beckons for them to choose, leave or stay, and Toulouse is silent, still, unmoving.

He will not go. What harm could the witch’s flowers deal?




home is behind the world ahead
there are many paths to tread




toulouse chooses the fourth path.  


enfanir art










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