I THINK YOU WILL SET YOURSELF AFIRE BEFORE YOU
REALIZE THAT EVEN YOU CANNOT CONQUER THE SUN. REBELLION SITS WELL ON YOU; LIKE A RED COAT OR THE GILT GOLD BURNISH OF YOUTH. (I DO NOT BELIEVE WE SHALL EVER SEE HOW OLD AGE LOOKS ON YOU, YOU ARE BREAKING MY HEART)
REALIZE THAT EVEN YOU CANNOT CONQUER THE SUN. REBELLION SITS WELL ON YOU; LIKE A RED COAT OR THE GILT GOLD BURNISH OF YOUTH. (I DO NOT BELIEVE WE SHALL EVER SEE HOW OLD AGE LOOKS ON YOU, YOU ARE BREAKING MY HEART)
Once, there was only the Sea. She ate up the horizons, raged as she pleased, and went uncontested by all other powers. Her creatures were deep and dark and fathomless; her religion a song and flash of silver within her depths. As the story went, her sorrow drove her to creation—and from that creation came Storm. But rather than be a companion, Storm challenged Sea to better things; Storm shook the depths and raised the islands; Storm cracked open molten fissures beneath the Sea and seared her. Storm clouded the sky and brought fresh-water rain, and lakes, and chased away the salt.
Storm brought the Oresziah from the Sea; he gave them language to temper their carnal urges, and a land-shape to bind them to higher thought. Those who forsake his gift remained in the Sea, and they were the Khashran, and they were cursed to forever remain shapeless, and bearers of a thousand souls.
In Old Oresziah, these were the myths stallions and mares still practiced and believed. They were the root of the culture; but in Old Oresziah, they were a way of life, and children danced in storm-water rain and marriages were blessed with it. They prayed with bloodletting and demands, and wore iron charms. Most of her people no longer believed, truly believed, in the Old Ways. Boudika never had—but her father did, as did Orestes, and the old songs and dances and prayers could be called, unbidden, to her lips.
The religious fever of Novus was a different sort. And the dark goddess, Caligo, was spoken of as though she were among them. As far as Boudika knew, she had been, once. But the prayers fit oddly in Boudika’s mouth, and the name, Caligo, fit just as strangely. It was not that Boudika was disbelieving; simply that, in her mind, it made sense to worship the sea or the storm. Those were forces; they raged against mortality; they condemned, cursed, forced change. But the Night? The Day? The Dawn? The Dusk? Those were things, to Boudika, that possessed no force.
The foreigner was out wandering, however, in hopes of forming a better understanding of her new home. Boudika had been told of the eclipse, but she did not understand the significance, and she hoped that through first-hand experience it would become more clear to her. Boudika was walking, eyes cast upward toward the sky, when she heard a voice. It has only just begun. Boudika started, and then realised in her preoccupation she had nearly walked overtop a stranger nestled in the grass with glowing stones. They had moved aside, presumably to make room, and Boudika was struck by the casual kindness. Something in his voice sounded reverent, however, and his smile was brief before he returned his attention to the sky.
Boudika decided, after only a moment’s contemplation, to settle beside him. “Thank you,” she said, softly. And then watched the sky. And watched the sky. But it was so slow. The dancer shifted rather restlessly and the question rose, unbidden, before she could think better of it. “Why is this so important?” Boudika could not help but ask, realizing only after the fact it may have been rude to ask.
@Azrael
