She found herself often staring at the night sky, not because she was entranced by the twinkling stars or the veiled mystery of the night -- no...she considered the ways that she might take one of Caligo's stars for her own. If she had a pair of strong wings, she wondered if she might ever return to the earth or if she might choose to live among the stars and leave behind the pain of her life at last. Darkly lashed lids slid over the fae's glass eyes, her face void of the pain that she felt stirring in her gut. She looked at peace, save for the subtle twist of her mouth -- the way that her ears pinned back against her dark curls.
Despite her appearance on the peak, Freya was not there to worship. No, far from it -- her disdain for the gods just as potent as the one she held for men. How many nights in her youth had she cried out for the help of the gods....any god, and they had stood silently by as she suffered? They did not deserve her praise...nor that of anyone else. The gods were just silly stories that parents told their foals in order to keep them in line, lest they invoke wrath. The blue roan allowed her head to lower slowly, her nares flaring in order to take in the heady scent of a summer night. Even here, on the mount, where snow still touched the ground and the air was thin it was apparent that the summer season was in full swing.
Her feet moved with an abstract rhythm to a song that only she could hear, the click of her hooves loud in the cavernous space. Her back to the opening, she ventured further into the realm of worship -- a hushed whisper of wind and the sound of chirping insects the only companions. The inside of the cave was like a wonder of the world, spiraling stone columns holding the cave's roof far above her head. The thick blankets of moss and flowering ivy kept the cavern from echoing too much, allowing the privacy of those seeking to truly worship. Freya siged softly, approaching the altar meant for Caligo. Another role to play, that of a devout servant to an unseen master. At least... She thought. I can understand her pain.
Her offering was measly, certainly not her best -- no that had all gone to the Night King, Reichenbach and his crows. He had shown her a kindness when she had arrived in Denocte, and had kept her out of any real trouble. She repaid him now with the coin she earned as a dancer and entertainer -- but rarely hung around the Crows now. She had little interest in keeping friends or company anyway, and most of the Crows her age...well they had found their place in the Court. They became functioning members of society -- but Freya was still caught in the snares of her past, and didn't allow her to move forward. So she continued as she always had -- like a ghost, never fully free.
She set the gold down on the altar, muttering a small prayer if only for the appearance. And perhaps...somewhere in the depth of her heart, where she did not allow anyone to see...she meant what she asked for.
first post! tagging a couple of night court people who may be interested, but anyone from any court welcome!
@Reichenbach @Aislinn @Camdis @Mila @Raum
Despite her appearance on the peak, Freya was not there to worship. No, far from it -- her disdain for the gods just as potent as the one she held for men. How many nights in her youth had she cried out for the help of the gods....any god, and they had stood silently by as she suffered? They did not deserve her praise...nor that of anyone else. The gods were just silly stories that parents told their foals in order to keep them in line, lest they invoke wrath. The blue roan allowed her head to lower slowly, her nares flaring in order to take in the heady scent of a summer night. Even here, on the mount, where snow still touched the ground and the air was thin it was apparent that the summer season was in full swing.
Her feet moved with an abstract rhythm to a song that only she could hear, the click of her hooves loud in the cavernous space. Her back to the opening, she ventured further into the realm of worship -- a hushed whisper of wind and the sound of chirping insects the only companions. The inside of the cave was like a wonder of the world, spiraling stone columns holding the cave's roof far above her head. The thick blankets of moss and flowering ivy kept the cavern from echoing too much, allowing the privacy of those seeking to truly worship. Freya siged softly, approaching the altar meant for Caligo. Another role to play, that of a devout servant to an unseen master. At least... She thought. I can understand her pain.
Her offering was measly, certainly not her best -- no that had all gone to the Night King, Reichenbach and his crows. He had shown her a kindness when she had arrived in Denocte, and had kept her out of any real trouble. She repaid him now with the coin she earned as a dancer and entertainer -- but rarely hung around the Crows now. She had little interest in keeping friends or company anyway, and most of the Crows her age...well they had found their place in the Court. They became functioning members of society -- but Freya was still caught in the snares of her past, and didn't allow her to move forward. So she continued as she always had -- like a ghost, never fully free.
She set the gold down on the altar, muttering a small prayer if only for the appearance. And perhaps...somewhere in the depth of her heart, where she did not allow anyone to see...she meant what she asked for.
@Reichenbach @Aislinn @Camdis @Mila @Raum
