Myfanwy, may you spend your lifetime
“”
Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,
“”
Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,
Myfanwy had heard tell from the travelers through her forest - she called it her forest, displaying a possessive sort of fondness for the lush undergrowth and the creek glittering like crushed diamonds as it gurgled and leapt through the heart of the wood - of other gods, whose names were marked only as an afterthought by the kelpies in the swamp. Their god was Time, a mistress as mutable as the tides whose love waxed and waned with the seasons just as the séasúr did.
Just as Myfanwy did.
But Time could not give Myfanwy what her heart desired, for the goddess loved her wild children and the depth of their winter savagery as much as she loved their grace in spring. They were her promise to the future that beauty would always be dangerous, and civilization could not corrupt everything. But what good was that to the lilac girl whose love of adventure didn't ebb with the onset of her hunger, whose curiosity drove her to discover even as the seasons drove her to destroy? All she wanted was a way to marry the disparate edges of her nature. Was that too much to ask?
She followed the path worn by countless years of worshipful wandering, timid now so far from the water's edge. Never before had she ranged so far, and the hunger that bore her hence could not even be sated by blood. Exactly where they said it should be stood a grand, mysterious statue on a stone plinth, gazing resolutely out over the peak: Oriens, he of the morning.
Strange to see something so powerful and so solid. Time was insidiously invisible as she brought all things to heel.
Sweeping the veil from her eyes, she met the statue's sightless gaze. "Please." Self-consciousness surged into her silver-freckled cheeks. Was it arrogant to ask mercy from a god?
"Don't make me face the hunger alone."
Just as Myfanwy did.
But Time could not give Myfanwy what her heart desired, for the goddess loved her wild children and the depth of their winter savagery as much as she loved their grace in spring. They were her promise to the future that beauty would always be dangerous, and civilization could not corrupt everything. But what good was that to the lilac girl whose love of adventure didn't ebb with the onset of her hunger, whose curiosity drove her to discover even as the seasons drove her to destroy? All she wanted was a way to marry the disparate edges of her nature. Was that too much to ask?
She followed the path worn by countless years of worshipful wandering, timid now so far from the water's edge. Never before had she ranged so far, and the hunger that bore her hence could not even be sated by blood. Exactly where they said it should be stood a grand, mysterious statue on a stone plinth, gazing resolutely out over the peak: Oriens, he of the morning.
Strange to see something so powerful and so solid. Time was insidiously invisible as she brought all things to heel.
Sweeping the veil from her eyes, she met the statue's sightless gaze. "Please." Self-consciousness surged into her silver-freckled cheeks. Was it arrogant to ask mercy from a god?
"Don't make me face the hunger alone."
And on your cheeks O may the roses
“”
Dance for a hundred years or so.
“”
Dance for a hundred years or so.
@Random Events
