She is transfixed by the flame. She sees a cottage by the river.
There is nothing remarkable about the cottage except perhaps its extraordinary simplicity. In fact, the overgrown and crumbling place is rather shabby and somewhat of an eyesore. It is worlds away from the large, sprawling chambers filled with luxury and unnecessary expenses Polyxena has always preferred. Large, flat river stones arranged in a pathway lead up to an old, peeling door painted a horrid shade of avocado green. A wind chime made of sea-glass sways in the sweet, fresh breeze. Vines and flowers climb the cracked stone facade; the wings of bees and hummingbirds murmur and whisper as they flit from flower to flower. The river croons a soothing, tranquil lullaby, only interrupted by the sound of a man and child's laughter.
"Who do you remember?
The illusion ripples, as if someone has dropped a pebble into a pool of still water. She struggles to hold on, grasping desperately, hoping to see just around the corner of the cottage where she can hear them laughing and playing at the river's edge. But the sound of their laughter fades and distorts and she never sees their faces. The cottage disappears. There is only the flame of the waning candle and the weight of ambition on her shoulders.
"A daughter," she says at last, meeting his eyes. Pale eyes. Ghost eyes. Eyes of moonlight and crushed opal. If not for his strange eyes, she might have mistaken him for someone else. Someone from another life. The familiar way his silver hair falls freely and unkempt over the strong slope of his shoulder; how the serious line of his mouth is unforgiving and the masculine planes of his face are handsome and smooth. It could be him but for his strange eyes.
Her eyes linger on the crescent moon glowing on his shoulder and the way shadows seem to ripple and flow around him. The pendant at her throat is suddenly warm and humming on her skin. Curious. Her eyes meet his again. "And a lover. Among other things." She cracks a sly half-smile but it does not quite meet her eyes. A life I walked away from.
Erebos watches intensely but keeps a respectful distance. He knows how she gets, how even he can't be of comfort to the angry torment she feels when she thinks of them. He eyes the stranger warily but once the sausages are tossed to his paws he is immediately assuaged, although he does wrinkle his three noses once in slight distaste before he engages the enticing treats. His tail thumps gently on the ground as he daintily nibbles on the peace offering while listening to the sweet music a minstrel nearby plays.
"He prefers sweets. Honeycakes and such." She rolls her eyes at the hulking beast as he fights with his other heads over the last sausage, clear happily entertained by his dinner and the melancholy music floating through the air. "Terrifying, isn't he."
There is nothing remarkable about the cottage except perhaps its extraordinary simplicity. In fact, the overgrown and crumbling place is rather shabby and somewhat of an eyesore. It is worlds away from the large, sprawling chambers filled with luxury and unnecessary expenses Polyxena has always preferred. Large, flat river stones arranged in a pathway lead up to an old, peeling door painted a horrid shade of avocado green. A wind chime made of sea-glass sways in the sweet, fresh breeze. Vines and flowers climb the cracked stone facade; the wings of bees and hummingbirds murmur and whisper as they flit from flower to flower. The river croons a soothing, tranquil lullaby, only interrupted by the sound of a man and child's laughter.
"Who do you remember?
The illusion ripples, as if someone has dropped a pebble into a pool of still water. She struggles to hold on, grasping desperately, hoping to see just around the corner of the cottage where she can hear them laughing and playing at the river's edge. But the sound of their laughter fades and distorts and she never sees their faces. The cottage disappears. There is only the flame of the waning candle and the weight of ambition on her shoulders.
"A daughter," she says at last, meeting his eyes. Pale eyes. Ghost eyes. Eyes of moonlight and crushed opal. If not for his strange eyes, she might have mistaken him for someone else. Someone from another life. The familiar way his silver hair falls freely and unkempt over the strong slope of his shoulder; how the serious line of his mouth is unforgiving and the masculine planes of his face are handsome and smooth. It could be him but for his strange eyes.
Her eyes linger on the crescent moon glowing on his shoulder and the way shadows seem to ripple and flow around him. The pendant at her throat is suddenly warm and humming on her skin. Curious. Her eyes meet his again. "And a lover. Among other things." She cracks a sly half-smile but it does not quite meet her eyes. A life I walked away from.
Erebos watches intensely but keeps a respectful distance. He knows how she gets, how even he can't be of comfort to the angry torment she feels when she thinks of them. He eyes the stranger warily but once the sausages are tossed to his paws he is immediately assuaged, although he does wrinkle his three noses once in slight distaste before he engages the enticing treats. His tail thumps gently on the ground as he daintily nibbles on the peace offering while listening to the sweet music a minstrel nearby plays.
"He prefers sweets. Honeycakes and such." She rolls her eyes at the hulking beast as he fights with his other heads over the last sausage, clear happily entertained by his dinner and the melancholy music floating through the air. "Terrifying, isn't he."
@Tenebrae
