N I M U E
CERTAIN AS THE SUN, RISING IN THE EAST
TALE AS OLD AS TIME, BEAUTY AND THE BEAST -
TALE AS OLD AS TIME, BEAUTY AND THE BEAST -
She despised crowds; loathed them, hated them.. desiring to curse all of the souls that flocked to their court. A good hex would do it, but alas, her magic did not work in such a way. Even a wildfire gone haywire could have gotten the job done. The smoke and threat of burning into a pile of ash and dust driving all of the snooping, unwanted beasties from the other kingdoms back into their own lands. Away from her court.. and most importantly, away from her. But alas, her crankiness did not hold sway over the powers that be. Without regards to her comfort, the borders of her new-found kingdom had been opened. Stupidly, unguarded, with no thought of thinking to protect what she held most dear — herself, and the multitude of ancient books in their castle's grand plethora of libraries. The protection and welfare of Dawn was not her job however. She was in charge of knowledge, a keeper of wisdom, and unfortunately, a teacher as well. Why her king had decided a witch was the best one for the job, to teach younglings.. she would never know.
Despite her hatred for crowds and celebration and anything that teemed with glowing happiness, the rose-touched witch found herself weaving through the outskirts of the festival. Her curiosity, an unfortunate, cursed part of her now mortal soul, had burned and gotten the best of her. A wildfire of unknowns that had torn and shredded even the most shadowed parts of her until she could not ignore the music of thrumming drums and the rich smoke of spiced rum and cider. Delicate hooves padded against the soft earth as she took in the festivities with her haunting gaze. Orbs of milky white and blue-violets in spring bright and catching nothing. Her magic swirled in her blood and bones, teeming with power and aching for use. Usually, she would have answered it, unleashing her Sight. But not now, not yet. Instead, she traveled; through the crowds she despised, her nose peeking into tents and through eateries that smelled of roasted pumpkin and sugar and apples.
She could not deny that the drums thrummed with the beat of her heart; although she would not ever, not once, admit to such a thing. One tent in particular caught her eye; a woman glad in coins and swathed silk, her mind tediously shuffling a gorgeous deck of cards that were lined in shining gold and hand painted with pictures. Nimue caught the crone's gaze, a mischievous smile tugging her lips upward as she entered the smoke-filled tent, her eyes noticing the constellations glowing above her.
Your soul is Old, is it not?
A muscle twitched in her upper lip as she shook her wild mane at the mystic's words. The amethyst at her throat pulsing and glowing, illuminating the delicate curves and planes of her face. "Your power is borrowed, is it not?" she replied, her Sight snapping and curling towards the other woman. Nimue's orbs narrowed as she peered at the deck the woman was arranging with tenders tendrils of her mind, and back up to her face. "I seek answers from your cards," she stated, "or should I find another mystic?"
The woman's brow furrowed at the rose witch, her pointed gaze flicking towards a wicker basket of golden coins. Payment, then answers.
Nimue produced a thin, small silver coin and tossed it into the pile with a soft clink. "Does he love me?" An all-knowing, wicked grin tugged the crone's lips crudely, revealing rows of rotting teeth. She shuffled the deck in the air between them, the mist surrounding them thickening as she cut the tarots into thirds. With expert precision, she pulled three cards, laying them on a boulder between them both; a cloth depicting the night sky covering it in shimmering gold and silver threads. One by one, she flipped them, revealing them to her as her voice enveloped her with shadow:
You are doomed.. old, wicked One.
The woman's eyes flickered with something that she could not catch. Nimue nearly slapped over a goblet on a neighboring table, Her frustration and anger were a palpable, unchained beast. "Your magic is full of lies," she spat, before she rushed out of the tent in a flurry of smoke and rage. Nimue cantered through the crowd, despite the screams of surprise and knocking over a guest or two; blinded, literally, by her crimson anger. She found herself finding solace beneath a tree burnished in gold in the dying sunlight, her chest heaving and her muscles burning with anger. Her lungs filled with incense and her heart shriveled into almost nothing. For if he did not love her, then she would be damned to this mortal existence for nothing.. and she did not know how to fix such a thing.
For even though she was as old as time, Nimue was a beast in a world where he was the only beauty she could ever See.. and she did not have an inkling on how to mend such a lovely, broken thing that lay unspoken between them both. Her heart thundered at the thought.
Astarael.. what do I do? How do I fix what is between us?
Despite her hatred for crowds and celebration and anything that teemed with glowing happiness, the rose-touched witch found herself weaving through the outskirts of the festival. Her curiosity, an unfortunate, cursed part of her now mortal soul, had burned and gotten the best of her. A wildfire of unknowns that had torn and shredded even the most shadowed parts of her until she could not ignore the music of thrumming drums and the rich smoke of spiced rum and cider. Delicate hooves padded against the soft earth as she took in the festivities with her haunting gaze. Orbs of milky white and blue-violets in spring bright and catching nothing. Her magic swirled in her blood and bones, teeming with power and aching for use. Usually, she would have answered it, unleashing her Sight. But not now, not yet. Instead, she traveled; through the crowds she despised, her nose peeking into tents and through eateries that smelled of roasted pumpkin and sugar and apples.
She could not deny that the drums thrummed with the beat of her heart; although she would not ever, not once, admit to such a thing. One tent in particular caught her eye; a woman glad in coins and swathed silk, her mind tediously shuffling a gorgeous deck of cards that were lined in shining gold and hand painted with pictures. Nimue caught the crone's gaze, a mischievous smile tugging her lips upward as she entered the smoke-filled tent, her eyes noticing the constellations glowing above her.
Your soul is Old, is it not?
A muscle twitched in her upper lip as she shook her wild mane at the mystic's words. The amethyst at her throat pulsing and glowing, illuminating the delicate curves and planes of her face. "Your power is borrowed, is it not?" she replied, her Sight snapping and curling towards the other woman. Nimue's orbs narrowed as she peered at the deck the woman was arranging with tenders tendrils of her mind, and back up to her face. "I seek answers from your cards," she stated, "or should I find another mystic?"
The woman's brow furrowed at the rose witch, her pointed gaze flicking towards a wicker basket of golden coins. Payment, then answers.
Nimue produced a thin, small silver coin and tossed it into the pile with a soft clink. "Does he love me?" An all-knowing, wicked grin tugged the crone's lips crudely, revealing rows of rotting teeth. She shuffled the deck in the air between them, the mist surrounding them thickening as she cut the tarots into thirds. With expert precision, she pulled three cards, laying them on a boulder between them both; a cloth depicting the night sky covering it in shimmering gold and silver threads. One by one, she flipped them, revealing them to her as her voice enveloped her with shadow:
You are doomed.. old, wicked One.
The woman's eyes flickered with something that she could not catch. Nimue nearly slapped over a goblet on a neighboring table, Her frustration and anger were a palpable, unchained beast. "Your magic is full of lies," she spat, before she rushed out of the tent in a flurry of smoke and rage. Nimue cantered through the crowd, despite the screams of surprise and knocking over a guest or two; blinded, literally, by her crimson anger. She found herself finding solace beneath a tree burnished in gold in the dying sunlight, her chest heaving and her muscles burning with anger. Her lungs filled with incense and her heart shriveled into almost nothing. For if he did not love her, then she would be damned to this mortal existence for nothing.. and she did not know how to fix such a thing.
For even though she was as old as time, Nimue was a beast in a world where he was the only beauty she could ever See.. and she did not have an inkling on how to mend such a lovely, broken thing that lay unspoken between them both. Her heart thundered at the thought.
Astarael.. what do I do? How do I fix what is between us?
@astarael <3 since they haven't met in a wee bit c:
"Nimue speech."
