N I M U E
YOUR MINE AND I'M YOURS,
AND IF WE DIE, WE DIE. BUT FIRST, WE LIVE -
AND IF WE DIE, WE DIE. BUT FIRST, WE LIVE -
As the sun slowly slipped below the horizon, falling deeper into stupor as the inky black of night spilled across the sky above her, the rose witch only knew one thing. One thing, that reverberated through her skull, and all of the way down the lengths of every vein and nerve, to the very core of her bones.
Winter was coming; blessed, cold, and endless winter. Once-immortal, now cursed into a body made of flesh and meat and scarlet blood, she hailed from a kingdom of ice and snow. Once upon a time, in a land far, far away.. in a world that was old, maybe as old as she was young. Young and naive in this timeline, compared to the multiple millennia where she lived amongst the stars. A being of everything and nothing, all at once, existing in every inkling, every timeline and possibility that could be born and burned to ash. She lived in the past, present, and future; co-existing in the In-Between, as a watcher. A guardian. A goddess; her gifts and powers that be ruling over the continuum of space and time. Relativity was her godsend; her breath turning worlds into pyres, her heartbeat coaxing newborn universes into life. With every blink, she saw All. Everything the was, that is, that would be. Could be. Her existence was absolute, as one half to the whole that they were. She and him; twins to the master of Time itself. Not Tempus, not this world's father of the gods. But someone far older; a crone god that witnessed the beginning; had birthed two children by weaving stardust and space into beings.
He blessed them with knowledge, with patience, and understanding. Their father had given them the best gift of all: the Sight; power wielded with great care, with pride, and bound by one rule that must not be broken above all.
Do not fall in love.
The moment that she had first laid eyes on him; her curse-in-the-flesh, her lover, her damnation, she was mortal-bound. A shred of her soul had shriveled up and died, replaced by a terminal heartbeat that counted every breath she took until her last. For the first time in her existence, she had felt the fingers of Death stroke her star-kissed skin, laying it's ugly hands over her chest, squeezing her heart with a mighty fist. But she did not falter, instead, she was curious. Curious and full of child's wonder; for having watched every timeline, the birth and death of kingdoms come and gone, she noticed him with newfound detail.
Maybe she knew then, maybe she did not. Either way, no matter how many different ways the timelines could have played out; her fate was crafted into destiny and design all the same. No matter what she could have done, the seeress was cursed. For the second she fell in love, felt that first brush of morality and earthling emotion grace her heart and soul, Nimue was doomed. No matter if she had never seen him, not once, or tried everything she could not to look away after that first wonderful and awful glimpse..
She was gone.
Her mind replayed every emotion, every memory, every tragic scream of protest from those initial moments. The Sight was both a gift and a curse, a blessing and perdition. As a seeress, she saw everything, whether she wanted to or not. She remembered every fine detail as if she could see it with a hyper focus, sharp and unforgiving. That was her disaster. A world-ending, fiery pit of hell woven from the moments where she watched that night-blessed man for the first time. Remembering the way his skin was a star-map she wished to touch and find and discover each constellation, marking it with brushes of her lips and blinks of wide blue-violet eyes. She recalled how he had stood steadfast against an army of the dead; a necromancer, whom he faced headlong with a band of soldiers as just and proud as he.
She did not forget how she smiled, for the first time since she was born into nothingness and something. How the curve of starry lips blossomed in the In-Between. How laughter tasted of sugar and butter and salt on her tongue as she slowly materialized into a young woman touched by rose dapples and cosmos and galaxies far and wide. But then, her fate long since sealed by no one other than her father, Phobos, himself.. Nimue knew anger. Hatred. Rage.. the color of crimson and flashing white light that blinded her. Burned through her until she could have glowed like a supernova; a dying star shining through the ages of deep space as the afterlife sucked the life out of the star and into a black hole.
Her first mortal memories were of cold. Bone-crushing cold that encased her heart in blocks of hailstone. Snow crusted on her youngling body as if she had been molded from the of ice that covered her lips, sealing them shut, her eyelashes dusted with white. The chill of dead winter seeping into her skin like fingers of white death, and all at once, she could feel her own body. One moment, she had felt joy and happiness as everything was right in the world. The next, Nimue was in a land blanketed in bright light; colorless and brutal. For the first time, she felt her own body as if it were a cage made of bone and muscles and tangled hair. A crumbling castle who's walls fell with every breath that touched her lips and filled her lungs with glass shards.
Nimue held Death by the hand, and she was afraid.
Was. Not now. Now, five winters have passed, a sixth a threat on the horizon where the sun fell into a slumber. Stars yawned and glimmered against the backdrop of ebony and darkness and glowing indigo as the light faded away into nothing. Only shadows and smoke that slithered and grew with each passing moment; clinging to every pebble and rock and stone pillar, softening its edges and curves. The patron goddess of her earthling home — Glacies, a queen born of untamed winter winds and frozen northern poles — seemingly whispered the promise of winter with each breath that sent shivers down her spine. The breeze of autumn tangling the wild of her mane as she climbed and climbed and climbed. High above her, a night sky that drank in every last kernel of warmth the sun breathed onto the world, light quickly fading with each passing moment. Darkness fell onto her, clinging to her skin and the bone-white of her horn. But she was not alone in the shadows of night, in the heart of another goddess of this realm.
She was a witch, after all. A mortal, all-Seeing, witch.
The thick, raw cluster of amethyst dangling around her throat by leather cords pulsed; a beacon of indigo light that cast it's lovely glow against the smooth curves and planes of her face and neck. That crystal was the shining light that danced and flirted with the darkness and the cold, bouncing off of the mountain's stones as she finally crested the final steps. Pillars swirled and rose, vaulting and holding up the ceiling as the cave opened up before her like a yawning mouth. Faintly, she could make out the blurred statues within; the five statues that depicted the sons and daughters that ruled the skies above. With several blinks, her haunting gaze adjusted; the blind left orb snapping with a clear focus as the timelines opened up before her, allowing the witch to see how others have come to this sacred place. How they would congregate and bring tokens of hair or gold or silver, herbs and vials of salt and sand. Gifts to their patrons, to their powers that be. She wondered, for only a moment, what it would feel like to have unwavering faith. A religion and shred of hope so pure that only the thought of the divine could bring waves of surety, of understanding, of warmth, and love. A love not bound by blood or circumstance or social status. Love that did not judge, or prejudice.
With a blink and tug on her power, Nimue's Sight snapped back, curling in her like a sleeping dragon waiting to be unleashed once more. Her visions cleared, and before her, a silent, empty sanctuary. She was alone in this place, this holy temple of the gods. The stars that glittered through the pillars spiraling up towards the ceiling above were like hands holding the sky itself. A cradle for the sun, the moon, and all of the stars that shimmered in quiet prayers down to those who spoke to them, and listened.
Maybe the stars would listen to her; maybe the gods would turn their mighty heads and hear the words she had to say. For Nimue had many words; had practiced what she wanted to say to them. Before, she was ruthless; a child throwing a tantrum as she nearly laid on her knees to beg them for her magic back. Cursing allowed to Tempus, to Oriens, to any one of them that would listen; maybe even loud enough for Phobos to hear through the rips in time itself. Her frustration still broiled in her now — a constant burning deep in her gut that bubbled in her blood — but she reigned it in. Uncommonly, she pushed down her annoyance, her impatience, her crimson anger; so far down, in fact, that slowly, Nimue found herself enclosing it in a cage of obsidian stone streaked with gold. The shimmer of brightness against the dark like the ichor running through the veins of gods, much like the lifeblood in her own.
A golden cage is still a cage.
She hissed, the thought intruding and unwanted. But relevant, as she saw herself in her minds eye. A rose-touched witch, beautiful and cruel and violent. Her own body a cage that held the monster within; a soul that craved the taste of immortality, a heart that burned for a lover that caused her own demise. Lips that tasted of brutal words and insults like a poison.
Her steps were near silent along the stone floor, as her gaze flickered from statue to statue. The amethyst glow casting long shadows all around her in a choreographed dance; gorgeous and defining the features of the offerings laid at the feet of each pillar. To her right, silver trinkets of moon and stars that glittered like smooth pearls in her crystal's glow. The next, as she moved forward with tender steps, a pile of potent, lovely smelling herbs and vials of pink sand. In the center, she stopped and stared, her movements hesitating. The tallest of them all, a pillar of whirls and smooth planes, could not be any other than Tempus, the God of Time.
Nimue narrowed her eyes, her mind reeling as she remembered every horrid and wonderful memory of her mortal years. Of before, when she had once been timeless. Before she had first glimpsed Astarael, the man she loved; before she took her first mortal breath; before, when the worlds had not known war, or famine, or tragedy. Before Tempus possibly crafted this kingdom; when Novus was nothing more than a thought, a wish, a dream woven from ash and dust. She remembered how her rage had washed her in a crimson haze, but then her mind showed her the maze. That god-be-damned maze, with a Shaman who slithered in darkness and shadows and illusions. A tremble shuddered down her legs, her bones, as she recalled the lake that had nearly drowned her in cold and beasties with sharp little teeth. Her triumph had been successful, however, and she walked away with her prize. The very thing that gave her back one third of what she cherished most; her Sight. She had carefully tucked away the incandescent gem; a relic, and a blessing from no one other than the Time God himself.
So instead of falling into the storm of her anger and vengeance, Nimue simply bowed her crown in silent thanks. For without this prize, this beautiful thing, she might not have regained one of the special pieces of her that had been taken away the moment she had her immortality stripped away. In her heart, the shadows of her hatred and revenge gripped her like a makeshift personal hell. Demons of who she once was, was now, and a woman who stood before her now, next to that statue in the center of the room. She had her eyes; those haunting, mismatching orbs that caught nothing. Except, instead of piercing judgement, Nimue saw only understanding. Warmth, so much so that she swore she could feel it radiating off of the ghost of the woman she wanted to be in waves.
She was a wish, a dream manifesting before her very eyes; a rose-colored beast who's beauty finally blossomed inside, as well as out.
Chilly fingers brushed through her mane, her forelock, kissing her neck in cold prickles that trembled along her spine. With soft steps, she moved forward, curving along the circular chamber as her eyes landed on the next statue; a god who's followers built a small pyramid of glittering gold coins and arrows. However, it was not this pillar she faltered at, but the next.. the witch hesitated. Her gaze transfixed on the first statue, and the hidden meaning behind the runes etched into the stone. Ancient and honest, she felt the invisible eyes of that god peering into her heart, her soul. Seeing everything that held her, broke her, and built her. A shadow of the demons that made her who she was. A hateful woman, hellbent with spite and longing.. but most of all, she was lonely. Desperate.
Her heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird as she noticed the small amount of gifts left at the foot of Orien's pillar. A god not entirely unlike her other goddess, Glacies. He, who commanded the Dawn and rising sun. A king who prided honesty and wisdom, clarity and justice as crystal clear as water. There were little scraps of parchment rolled up at his stone hooves, but not much more. She blinked, longingly, until a silver thread bound in her chest pulled her gaze away. Kasil was her god's chosen, her sovereign, an embodiment of Oriens himself. Nimue, her king's chosen Champion. A branch of the intelligence that she, and most that called her Court home, treasured. Somehow, someway, maybe her God had chosen her.. through their crowned dark king.
Oxygen hitched in her lungs as emotions roiled and thundered in her blood and bones. Silver lined her eyes, for the first time since she was young.. so very young. Confused, but mostly.. humble. Something she had not felt since she was cursed to morality. When she had fallen in love from afar, worlds apart, with a man she had never met.
Maybe he was not her damnation, but her salvation. For maybe love was the greatest gift of all, and she was only just beginning to realize such a delicate, beautiful thing. She stared on with a glaze glossing over her eyes, either from the kiss of winter on the breeze or something else, she didn't know. Her heart swelled several times over, a heavy burden like a chunk of gold in the cage of her ribs. The fragile curve of her lips trembled as she lowered her dished face, the charms in the thick of her hair tinkling softly in the quiet. A shudder of metal that was almost painfully loud amongst the dead silence cocooning the temple.
She looked over at the pile of offerings, her nose brushing a worn roll of parchment. The thin, frail paper glowed faintly as the violet of her crystal pulsed like a small star at her throat, thrumming to the beat of her heart. A tear fell down her cheek, followed by another, as the rose witch was overwhelmed; drowning in a fathomless sea of her demons, her anger, and every single negative emotion that she had felt in the five years since she had been cursed to this world. To live and breathe mortal air, to taste Death and feel it's fingers dancing with her with each day.
Not once had she been afraid of Death, she realized, but of what she would lose. She reached out, hands grasping air, as she Saw every possibility flash before her eyes. Her Sight a dragon snapping open his wings and opening its maw, purifying her with fire and truth. Truth. Like Oriens, the God of Dawn, her God, showing everything that she needed to See. The woman she could learn and grow to be.. a better woman; a witch bathed in white light and goodness; a man swathed in stars and the ebony depths of night; and a child. A child.. her child.. kissed with the rose tint of newly blossomed flowers and the brush of burning stars. Her son, her daughter; a witchling blessed by the colors of dawn streaking across the sky, chasing the moon into a deep sleep, allowing the sun to rise.
Rise.. like a phoenix, reborn from the ashes. Not caged in a mortal body, but taking each moment to change. To heal, like the tears that now fall from her eyes.
Blinking upwards, she rose. Her heart a madly beating thing in the center of her chest; but no longer heavy. Instead, a newfound lightness lifted off of her shoulders, as if an unseen weight had been slowly dragging her on a downwards spiral for years. The breath that touched her lips and filled her lungs no longer tasting of ash, but of freshness. Crisp and lovely and sweet as sugar. Pine and snow coating the inside of her lungs as if she was smelling the beauty of the mountain for the first time.
She had never felt more alive.
As her small frame trembled and shuddered beneath the stars, the rose witch wept. Tears streamed from her eyes freely, without abandon, as each brick in the walls she had built around her heart, her soul began to crumble into dust. She stepped towards the mouth of the cave, the silver thread in her chest and woven around her center pulling her, until she felt one last tug behind her. Turning, slowly, she could See; the future laid out at her feet, her magic unfurling and bursting for one final moment before the dregs of her energy were drained. A timeline played before her very eyes; where she was happy, truly happy. Every hope and dream and wish answered, but not without work, not without change, and not without facing each one of her secrets and demons headlong.
Like her lover, like Astarael, she would stand like a pillar of strength against an army of her demons. Like he, when he once braved a necromancer so very long ago, in another place, another time.
Determined, more than ever, she whispered her prayers into the inky black, a knowing smile tugging her lips upwards. A promise, an oath, a vow. Her gods, old and new, her only witness, as she tore a lock of her hair with the tendrils of her mind, placing it at the feet of Orien's statue. Like a wraith, she turned, her tears welled and dried on dappled cheeks as she drank in the night air in large gulps. Strength and certainty lacing her blood until she could almost feel her heart boiling with anticipation. A rose-touched shadow in the night, the witch vanished, the only sign of her the tears soaked into the stone floor and the small lock of her hair she had left.. her only gift; a minuscule fraction of the promise she had silently sent up into the stars.
She knew only this: Nimue refused to fail, and she had work to do.
Winter was coming; blessed, cold, and endless winter. Once-immortal, now cursed into a body made of flesh and meat and scarlet blood, she hailed from a kingdom of ice and snow. Once upon a time, in a land far, far away.. in a world that was old, maybe as old as she was young. Young and naive in this timeline, compared to the multiple millennia where she lived amongst the stars. A being of everything and nothing, all at once, existing in every inkling, every timeline and possibility that could be born and burned to ash. She lived in the past, present, and future; co-existing in the In-Between, as a watcher. A guardian. A goddess; her gifts and powers that be ruling over the continuum of space and time. Relativity was her godsend; her breath turning worlds into pyres, her heartbeat coaxing newborn universes into life. With every blink, she saw All. Everything the was, that is, that would be. Could be. Her existence was absolute, as one half to the whole that they were. She and him; twins to the master of Time itself. Not Tempus, not this world's father of the gods. But someone far older; a crone god that witnessed the beginning; had birthed two children by weaving stardust and space into beings.
He blessed them with knowledge, with patience, and understanding. Their father had given them the best gift of all: the Sight; power wielded with great care, with pride, and bound by one rule that must not be broken above all.
Do not fall in love.
The moment that she had first laid eyes on him; her curse-in-the-flesh, her lover, her damnation, she was mortal-bound. A shred of her soul had shriveled up and died, replaced by a terminal heartbeat that counted every breath she took until her last. For the first time in her existence, she had felt the fingers of Death stroke her star-kissed skin, laying it's ugly hands over her chest, squeezing her heart with a mighty fist. But she did not falter, instead, she was curious. Curious and full of child's wonder; for having watched every timeline, the birth and death of kingdoms come and gone, she noticed him with newfound detail.
Maybe she knew then, maybe she did not. Either way, no matter how many different ways the timelines could have played out; her fate was crafted into destiny and design all the same. No matter what she could have done, the seeress was cursed. For the second she fell in love, felt that first brush of morality and earthling emotion grace her heart and soul, Nimue was doomed. No matter if she had never seen him, not once, or tried everything she could not to look away after that first wonderful and awful glimpse..
She was gone.
Her mind replayed every emotion, every memory, every tragic scream of protest from those initial moments. The Sight was both a gift and a curse, a blessing and perdition. As a seeress, she saw everything, whether she wanted to or not. She remembered every fine detail as if she could see it with a hyper focus, sharp and unforgiving. That was her disaster. A world-ending, fiery pit of hell woven from the moments where she watched that night-blessed man for the first time. Remembering the way his skin was a star-map she wished to touch and find and discover each constellation, marking it with brushes of her lips and blinks of wide blue-violet eyes. She recalled how he had stood steadfast against an army of the dead; a necromancer, whom he faced headlong with a band of soldiers as just and proud as he.
She did not forget how she smiled, for the first time since she was born into nothingness and something. How the curve of starry lips blossomed in the In-Between. How laughter tasted of sugar and butter and salt on her tongue as she slowly materialized into a young woman touched by rose dapples and cosmos and galaxies far and wide. But then, her fate long since sealed by no one other than her father, Phobos, himself.. Nimue knew anger. Hatred. Rage.. the color of crimson and flashing white light that blinded her. Burned through her until she could have glowed like a supernova; a dying star shining through the ages of deep space as the afterlife sucked the life out of the star and into a black hole.
Her first mortal memories were of cold. Bone-crushing cold that encased her heart in blocks of hailstone. Snow crusted on her youngling body as if she had been molded from the of ice that covered her lips, sealing them shut, her eyelashes dusted with white. The chill of dead winter seeping into her skin like fingers of white death, and all at once, she could feel her own body. One moment, she had felt joy and happiness as everything was right in the world. The next, Nimue was in a land blanketed in bright light; colorless and brutal. For the first time, she felt her own body as if it were a cage made of bone and muscles and tangled hair. A crumbling castle who's walls fell with every breath that touched her lips and filled her lungs with glass shards.
Nimue held Death by the hand, and she was afraid.
Was. Not now. Now, five winters have passed, a sixth a threat on the horizon where the sun fell into a slumber. Stars yawned and glimmered against the backdrop of ebony and darkness and glowing indigo as the light faded away into nothing. Only shadows and smoke that slithered and grew with each passing moment; clinging to every pebble and rock and stone pillar, softening its edges and curves. The patron goddess of her earthling home — Glacies, a queen born of untamed winter winds and frozen northern poles — seemingly whispered the promise of winter with each breath that sent shivers down her spine. The breeze of autumn tangling the wild of her mane as she climbed and climbed and climbed. High above her, a night sky that drank in every last kernel of warmth the sun breathed onto the world, light quickly fading with each passing moment. Darkness fell onto her, clinging to her skin and the bone-white of her horn. But she was not alone in the shadows of night, in the heart of another goddess of this realm.
She was a witch, after all. A mortal, all-Seeing, witch.
The thick, raw cluster of amethyst dangling around her throat by leather cords pulsed; a beacon of indigo light that cast it's lovely glow against the smooth curves and planes of her face and neck. That crystal was the shining light that danced and flirted with the darkness and the cold, bouncing off of the mountain's stones as she finally crested the final steps. Pillars swirled and rose, vaulting and holding up the ceiling as the cave opened up before her like a yawning mouth. Faintly, she could make out the blurred statues within; the five statues that depicted the sons and daughters that ruled the skies above. With several blinks, her haunting gaze adjusted; the blind left orb snapping with a clear focus as the timelines opened up before her, allowing the witch to see how others have come to this sacred place. How they would congregate and bring tokens of hair or gold or silver, herbs and vials of salt and sand. Gifts to their patrons, to their powers that be. She wondered, for only a moment, what it would feel like to have unwavering faith. A religion and shred of hope so pure that only the thought of the divine could bring waves of surety, of understanding, of warmth, and love. A love not bound by blood or circumstance or social status. Love that did not judge, or prejudice.
With a blink and tug on her power, Nimue's Sight snapped back, curling in her like a sleeping dragon waiting to be unleashed once more. Her visions cleared, and before her, a silent, empty sanctuary. She was alone in this place, this holy temple of the gods. The stars that glittered through the pillars spiraling up towards the ceiling above were like hands holding the sky itself. A cradle for the sun, the moon, and all of the stars that shimmered in quiet prayers down to those who spoke to them, and listened.
Maybe the stars would listen to her; maybe the gods would turn their mighty heads and hear the words she had to say. For Nimue had many words; had practiced what she wanted to say to them. Before, she was ruthless; a child throwing a tantrum as she nearly laid on her knees to beg them for her magic back. Cursing allowed to Tempus, to Oriens, to any one of them that would listen; maybe even loud enough for Phobos to hear through the rips in time itself. Her frustration still broiled in her now — a constant burning deep in her gut that bubbled in her blood — but she reigned it in. Uncommonly, she pushed down her annoyance, her impatience, her crimson anger; so far down, in fact, that slowly, Nimue found herself enclosing it in a cage of obsidian stone streaked with gold. The shimmer of brightness against the dark like the ichor running through the veins of gods, much like the lifeblood in her own.
A golden cage is still a cage.
She hissed, the thought intruding and unwanted. But relevant, as she saw herself in her minds eye. A rose-touched witch, beautiful and cruel and violent. Her own body a cage that held the monster within; a soul that craved the taste of immortality, a heart that burned for a lover that caused her own demise. Lips that tasted of brutal words and insults like a poison.
Her steps were near silent along the stone floor, as her gaze flickered from statue to statue. The amethyst glow casting long shadows all around her in a choreographed dance; gorgeous and defining the features of the offerings laid at the feet of each pillar. To her right, silver trinkets of moon and stars that glittered like smooth pearls in her crystal's glow. The next, as she moved forward with tender steps, a pile of potent, lovely smelling herbs and vials of pink sand. In the center, she stopped and stared, her movements hesitating. The tallest of them all, a pillar of whirls and smooth planes, could not be any other than Tempus, the God of Time.
Nimue narrowed her eyes, her mind reeling as she remembered every horrid and wonderful memory of her mortal years. Of before, when she had once been timeless. Before she had first glimpsed Astarael, the man she loved; before she took her first mortal breath; before, when the worlds had not known war, or famine, or tragedy. Before Tempus possibly crafted this kingdom; when Novus was nothing more than a thought, a wish, a dream woven from ash and dust. She remembered how her rage had washed her in a crimson haze, but then her mind showed her the maze. That god-be-damned maze, with a Shaman who slithered in darkness and shadows and illusions. A tremble shuddered down her legs, her bones, as she recalled the lake that had nearly drowned her in cold and beasties with sharp little teeth. Her triumph had been successful, however, and she walked away with her prize. The very thing that gave her back one third of what she cherished most; her Sight. She had carefully tucked away the incandescent gem; a relic, and a blessing from no one other than the Time God himself.
So instead of falling into the storm of her anger and vengeance, Nimue simply bowed her crown in silent thanks. For without this prize, this beautiful thing, she might not have regained one of the special pieces of her that had been taken away the moment she had her immortality stripped away. In her heart, the shadows of her hatred and revenge gripped her like a makeshift personal hell. Demons of who she once was, was now, and a woman who stood before her now, next to that statue in the center of the room. She had her eyes; those haunting, mismatching orbs that caught nothing. Except, instead of piercing judgement, Nimue saw only understanding. Warmth, so much so that she swore she could feel it radiating off of the ghost of the woman she wanted to be in waves.
She was a wish, a dream manifesting before her very eyes; a rose-colored beast who's beauty finally blossomed inside, as well as out.
Chilly fingers brushed through her mane, her forelock, kissing her neck in cold prickles that trembled along her spine. With soft steps, she moved forward, curving along the circular chamber as her eyes landed on the next statue; a god who's followers built a small pyramid of glittering gold coins and arrows. However, it was not this pillar she faltered at, but the next.. the witch hesitated. Her gaze transfixed on the first statue, and the hidden meaning behind the runes etched into the stone. Ancient and honest, she felt the invisible eyes of that god peering into her heart, her soul. Seeing everything that held her, broke her, and built her. A shadow of the demons that made her who she was. A hateful woman, hellbent with spite and longing.. but most of all, she was lonely. Desperate.
Her heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird as she noticed the small amount of gifts left at the foot of Orien's pillar. A god not entirely unlike her other goddess, Glacies. He, who commanded the Dawn and rising sun. A king who prided honesty and wisdom, clarity and justice as crystal clear as water. There were little scraps of parchment rolled up at his stone hooves, but not much more. She blinked, longingly, until a silver thread bound in her chest pulled her gaze away. Kasil was her god's chosen, her sovereign, an embodiment of Oriens himself. Nimue, her king's chosen Champion. A branch of the intelligence that she, and most that called her Court home, treasured. Somehow, someway, maybe her God had chosen her.. through their crowned dark king.
Oxygen hitched in her lungs as emotions roiled and thundered in her blood and bones. Silver lined her eyes, for the first time since she was young.. so very young. Confused, but mostly.. humble. Something she had not felt since she was cursed to morality. When she had fallen in love from afar, worlds apart, with a man she had never met.
Maybe he was not her damnation, but her salvation. For maybe love was the greatest gift of all, and she was only just beginning to realize such a delicate, beautiful thing. She stared on with a glaze glossing over her eyes, either from the kiss of winter on the breeze or something else, she didn't know. Her heart swelled several times over, a heavy burden like a chunk of gold in the cage of her ribs. The fragile curve of her lips trembled as she lowered her dished face, the charms in the thick of her hair tinkling softly in the quiet. A shudder of metal that was almost painfully loud amongst the dead silence cocooning the temple.
She looked over at the pile of offerings, her nose brushing a worn roll of parchment. The thin, frail paper glowed faintly as the violet of her crystal pulsed like a small star at her throat, thrumming to the beat of her heart. A tear fell down her cheek, followed by another, as the rose witch was overwhelmed; drowning in a fathomless sea of her demons, her anger, and every single negative emotion that she had felt in the five years since she had been cursed to this world. To live and breathe mortal air, to taste Death and feel it's fingers dancing with her with each day.
Not once had she been afraid of Death, she realized, but of what she would lose. She reached out, hands grasping air, as she Saw every possibility flash before her eyes. Her Sight a dragon snapping open his wings and opening its maw, purifying her with fire and truth. Truth. Like Oriens, the God of Dawn, her God, showing everything that she needed to See. The woman she could learn and grow to be.. a better woman; a witch bathed in white light and goodness; a man swathed in stars and the ebony depths of night; and a child. A child.. her child.. kissed with the rose tint of newly blossomed flowers and the brush of burning stars. Her son, her daughter; a witchling blessed by the colors of dawn streaking across the sky, chasing the moon into a deep sleep, allowing the sun to rise.
Rise.. like a phoenix, reborn from the ashes. Not caged in a mortal body, but taking each moment to change. To heal, like the tears that now fall from her eyes.
Blinking upwards, she rose. Her heart a madly beating thing in the center of her chest; but no longer heavy. Instead, a newfound lightness lifted off of her shoulders, as if an unseen weight had been slowly dragging her on a downwards spiral for years. The breath that touched her lips and filled her lungs no longer tasting of ash, but of freshness. Crisp and lovely and sweet as sugar. Pine and snow coating the inside of her lungs as if she was smelling the beauty of the mountain for the first time.
She had never felt more alive.
As her small frame trembled and shuddered beneath the stars, the rose witch wept. Tears streamed from her eyes freely, without abandon, as each brick in the walls she had built around her heart, her soul began to crumble into dust. She stepped towards the mouth of the cave, the silver thread in her chest and woven around her center pulling her, until she felt one last tug behind her. Turning, slowly, she could See; the future laid out at her feet, her magic unfurling and bursting for one final moment before the dregs of her energy were drained. A timeline played before her very eyes; where she was happy, truly happy. Every hope and dream and wish answered, but not without work, not without change, and not without facing each one of her secrets and demons headlong.
Like her lover, like Astarael, she would stand like a pillar of strength against an army of her demons. Like he, when he once braved a necromancer so very long ago, in another place, another time.
Determined, more than ever, she whispered her prayers into the inky black, a knowing smile tugging her lips upwards. A promise, an oath, a vow. Her gods, old and new, her only witness, as she tore a lock of her hair with the tendrils of her mind, placing it at the feet of Orien's statue. Like a wraith, she turned, her tears welled and dried on dappled cheeks as she drank in the night air in large gulps. Strength and certainty lacing her blood until she could almost feel her heart boiling with anticipation. A rose-touched shadow in the night, the witch vanished, the only sign of her the tears soaked into the stone floor and the small lock of her hair she had left.. her only gift; a minuscule fraction of the promise she had silently sent up into the stars.
She knew only this: Nimue refused to fail, and she had work to do.
This thread was inspired by
this amazing song by Audiomachine.
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This post is private; Nim enters & exits in this post.
I had a lot of Nimue muse today omg. Bless you if you read all of this c:
This post is a massive turning point for Nim, and I have never been more excited. Hugs to anyone who took the time to read this behemoth post! ^u^
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tl;dr Nimue contemplates her past, present, and future: from the moment of her old existence, to being cursed, to remembering the first moments of falling in love and mortality. She visits the gods once more, her Sight and mind showing her all of the good possibilities, and her own demons. Her heart humbled, Nimue thanks the gods in a silent prayer, before she leaves more determined than ever to become a better version of herself.
Character development is a thing.
3,340 words ♡
"Nimue speech."
