i've got an edge im holding
an edge i'm holding
an edge i'm holding
When the Island had shucked off to whatever mystical hell it'd boiled up from, Sabrina’d felt bittersweet. Sweet because the damn eyesore was gone, but bitter because if there was anything she’d learned about Novus in her short time here it was something in this accursed land, whether it be the frivolous jerks prancing about as gods or some more intangible power-that-was, could not leave well enough alone. The Island was gone, but something equally as stupid and equally as magical would surely rise up in its place.
And butter her butt and call her a biscuit, sure enough, hewn out of the very rock of the mountains or lifted out of the floor of the sea, there it was: a doorway. Sabrina could tell it was magic from miles off, and powerful, too, judging by how far away she was when she started to feel sick. The closer she got, the more her stomach rolled; the closer she got, the more a peppery, electric sort of feeling began to wind its way through her veins, like some sort of drug. Her joints felt loose and she could feel her head begin to float, so she chomped on her tongue for some nice, grounding pain, and climbed upwards.
Now, just a few feet away, Sabrina felt dizzy with magic that her body was never designed to tolerate. She wasn’t nervous, per se, because there was very little left in this world that rattled her. Mostly just tired and held together by grim recognition that, in her quest to find her sister, she could leave no stone unturned-- even if that stone was guaranteed to make her hurl her guts and stagger around like a giggly drugfiend for a while.
Maybe it felt different for other people but for her walking through the portal felt like walking through a sheet of glass-- as soon as her nose crossed the threshold it shattered, and scattered her with a thousand stinging shards, cutting invisible lines into her skin. By the time she’d forced the rest of her bulk through, stolen wings included, she was covered in a sheen of sweat and heaving like a paint huffer at a political muralist’s convention.
Her first thought was that she was trapped in some horrible flashback; she was engulfed in some marble coffin, and around her spun an intricate room of straight, rising bannisters, high balconies with decorate handrails, and, far above, a mixture of coved and cathedral ceilings belying the palace’s squares-and-triangles construction. There were a few nerve wracking moments of panic before she realized this was just a palace, not the palace. This was not Puck’s home. There was no Titania to come crashing down about her in a deadly swarm of velvet and leopard’s claws.
Sabrina tried to catch her ragged breath and failed, body buzzing like an addicts, and she shivered and trembled as she pushed her way through the cold, empty ballroom. Doors and archways branched off in every which direction; staircases led up to mysterious floors beyond. Out of the corner of her eye she saw another form uprooting a potted plant and digging in the dirt for something. Sabrina snorted loud enough to draw a dirty look and fought down almost uncontrollable laughter. And I thought I was the weird one.
The further she went, the more people she found engaging in odd activities, like rustling through sidetables or rolling up long, elaborate carpets. It reminded her, in a way that made her giggle almost drunkenly, of the childhood cartoon she used to watch with Delph, the ones about the group of kids that got together to solve mysteries. As an adult-minded child, they’d bored the shit out of her; but Delphine saw the wonder in everything (even stories with obvious endings) and the cartoons held endless fascination for her.
Approaching a crowd of people arguing loudly about something, Sabrina cut up a staircase with such a jagged, sudden turn she almost tumbled over. Her head spun from an overdose of magic and while she usually didn’t give a shit about what other people were doing, right now she didn’t quite feel in control of all her facilities. Pressing an invisible palm to her forehead to try and ground herself, she crested the stairs and staggered into a balustrade carved into intricate fleur de lis.
She stumbled like a drunk and pitched forward, flailing her wings in a last-ditch effort to get purchase, and only succeeding in making things worse by flooding her already overloaded system with more magic. Spots danced before her eyes as she careened off a doorway and finally lost control of her legs, eyes squeezing shut against impending blackness as her form hurtled forwards towards a small, brown smudge of a creature, which she came dangerously close to knocking broadside into an elaborate four-poster bed with a lavish maroon and gold comforter.
“Feeeee-yuck,” Sabrina exhaled, face scrunched up like she’d just taken a terrible punch. “I hate magic. Ihatemagicihatemagicihatemagic.” She leaned against the bed and fought to keep her wits about her-- though crawling into those warm, soft covers seemed like an excellent idea at the time.
The cold stone floor of the room was covered in an expensive looking damask rug in matching maroon gold which Sabrina promptly puked her guts all over, making it decidedly less expensive looking.
And butter her butt and call her a biscuit, sure enough, hewn out of the very rock of the mountains or lifted out of the floor of the sea, there it was: a doorway. Sabrina could tell it was magic from miles off, and powerful, too, judging by how far away she was when she started to feel sick. The closer she got, the more her stomach rolled; the closer she got, the more a peppery, electric sort of feeling began to wind its way through her veins, like some sort of drug. Her joints felt loose and she could feel her head begin to float, so she chomped on her tongue for some nice, grounding pain, and climbed upwards.
Now, just a few feet away, Sabrina felt dizzy with magic that her body was never designed to tolerate. She wasn’t nervous, per se, because there was very little left in this world that rattled her. Mostly just tired and held together by grim recognition that, in her quest to find her sister, she could leave no stone unturned-- even if that stone was guaranteed to make her hurl her guts and stagger around like a giggly drugfiend for a while.
Maybe it felt different for other people but for her walking through the portal felt like walking through a sheet of glass-- as soon as her nose crossed the threshold it shattered, and scattered her with a thousand stinging shards, cutting invisible lines into her skin. By the time she’d forced the rest of her bulk through, stolen wings included, she was covered in a sheen of sweat and heaving like a paint huffer at a political muralist’s convention.
Her first thought was that she was trapped in some horrible flashback; she was engulfed in some marble coffin, and around her spun an intricate room of straight, rising bannisters, high balconies with decorate handrails, and, far above, a mixture of coved and cathedral ceilings belying the palace’s squares-and-triangles construction. There were a few nerve wracking moments of panic before she realized this was just a palace, not the palace. This was not Puck’s home. There was no Titania to come crashing down about her in a deadly swarm of velvet and leopard’s claws.
Sabrina tried to catch her ragged breath and failed, body buzzing like an addicts, and she shivered and trembled as she pushed her way through the cold, empty ballroom. Doors and archways branched off in every which direction; staircases led up to mysterious floors beyond. Out of the corner of her eye she saw another form uprooting a potted plant and digging in the dirt for something. Sabrina snorted loud enough to draw a dirty look and fought down almost uncontrollable laughter. And I thought I was the weird one.
The further she went, the more people she found engaging in odd activities, like rustling through sidetables or rolling up long, elaborate carpets. It reminded her, in a way that made her giggle almost drunkenly, of the childhood cartoon she used to watch with Delph, the ones about the group of kids that got together to solve mysteries. As an adult-minded child, they’d bored the shit out of her; but Delphine saw the wonder in everything (even stories with obvious endings) and the cartoons held endless fascination for her.
Approaching a crowd of people arguing loudly about something, Sabrina cut up a staircase with such a jagged, sudden turn she almost tumbled over. Her head spun from an overdose of magic and while she usually didn’t give a shit about what other people were doing, right now she didn’t quite feel in control of all her facilities. Pressing an invisible palm to her forehead to try and ground herself, she crested the stairs and staggered into a balustrade carved into intricate fleur de lis.
She stumbled like a drunk and pitched forward, flailing her wings in a last-ditch effort to get purchase, and only succeeding in making things worse by flooding her already overloaded system with more magic. Spots danced before her eyes as she careened off a doorway and finally lost control of her legs, eyes squeezing shut against impending blackness as her form hurtled forwards towards a small, brown smudge of a creature, which she came dangerously close to knocking broadside into an elaborate four-poster bed with a lavish maroon and gold comforter.
“Feeeee-yuck,” Sabrina exhaled, face scrunched up like she’d just taken a terrible punch. “I hate magic. Ihatemagicihatemagicihatemagic.” She leaned against the bed and fought to keep her wits about her-- though crawling into those warm, soft covers seemed like an excellent idea at the time.
The cold stone floor of the room was covered in an expensive looking damask rug in matching maroon gold which Sabrina promptly puked her guts all over, making it decidedly less expensive looking.
@Callynite | im so sorry this is so long holy crap ANYWAY | "Speech."
