Myfanwy, may you spend your lifetime
“”
Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,
“”
Beneath the midday sunshine's glow,
She felt naked, in spite of her solitude, without the veil's sheilding presence. Water was a distant memory this far up the peak and its absence left her feeling like half a person, robbed simultaneously of her safety and her strength. The statue before her did not bat an eye for her troubles; as she fell silent, her gaze dropped to her silvered hooves and a single tear slid down her star-speckled cheek. Where the salt-water passed, an eruption of scales followed, scrawling the truth of her across her face in an unsympathetic hand.
Even her emotions betrayed her.
A soft glow illuminated the earth around the place the solitary teardrop had fallen, subtle enough at first that she mistook it for the passage of a rogue cloud across the sun. But the light neither ebbed nor persisted - it grew, bathing her and the ground in a soft and soothing glow, until even she could not dismiss it as a trick of the heavens. Myfanwy looked up to see the statue alive with an otherworldly light.
The lilac kelpie shrank before that light, awed and frightened in equal measure as what once was stone stepped gracefully from his plinth and approached her. Awed, for certainly this was the god of whom stories had been told to her in the forests around her home. Frightened, for certainly he would see unworthiness in the hungry-hunter gleam of her naked eyes and the ugly tattoo of scales that had yet to fade from her cheek.
What if the séasúr kelpies were creatures only of Vespera? What if he could smell the swamp in the dark crevices of her hooves and, naming her Other, chose to slay her in defense of his people?
But it was far too late to run now that the prayer spoken on a whim had brought forth the lord of the dawn, and in that moment an answer came in soft words rather than swift retribution.
Somehow that made it worse.
Myfanwy laughed - an unhappy sound like blown glass breaking - because her heart could not hope to contain the width and breadth of her own emotions. "I'm sorry," she gasped around the misplaced sound, because he was right and he knew it. He probably didn't even need her to respond. "When winter comes, I will be. I will hunt and I will kill, and I will not remember the face of my friend - or even my god."
Biting her lip, the stardusted lady swallowed whatever words had threatened to spill out amongst the flood waters of her desperation. The soft prisms of her eyes glinted uncertainly as she averted her presumptuous gaze. "I am proud of what I am," she continued more quietly this time, glancing back only out of the corner of her eye as though another kelpie might slither along and witness her heresy. She longed for adventure, to feel safe venturing beyond the relative safety of her creekside home. She wanted to see the sights that passing traders and courtiers spoke of so fondly, to breathe in stories and author stories of her own. "But I fear the beast, too."
Even her emotions betrayed her.
A soft glow illuminated the earth around the place the solitary teardrop had fallen, subtle enough at first that she mistook it for the passage of a rogue cloud across the sun. But the light neither ebbed nor persisted - it grew, bathing her and the ground in a soft and soothing glow, until even she could not dismiss it as a trick of the heavens. Myfanwy looked up to see the statue alive with an otherworldly light.
The lilac kelpie shrank before that light, awed and frightened in equal measure as what once was stone stepped gracefully from his plinth and approached her. Awed, for certainly this was the god of whom stories had been told to her in the forests around her home. Frightened, for certainly he would see unworthiness in the hungry-hunter gleam of her naked eyes and the ugly tattoo of scales that had yet to fade from her cheek.
What if the séasúr kelpies were creatures only of Vespera? What if he could smell the swamp in the dark crevices of her hooves and, naming her Other, chose to slay her in defense of his people?
But it was far too late to run now that the prayer spoken on a whim had brought forth the lord of the dawn, and in that moment an answer came in soft words rather than swift retribution.
Somehow that made it worse.
Myfanwy laughed - an unhappy sound like blown glass breaking - because her heart could not hope to contain the width and breadth of her own emotions. "I'm sorry," she gasped around the misplaced sound, because he was right and he knew it. He probably didn't even need her to respond. "When winter comes, I will be. I will hunt and I will kill, and I will not remember the face of my friend - or even my god."
Biting her lip, the stardusted lady swallowed whatever words had threatened to spill out amongst the flood waters of her desperation. The soft prisms of her eyes glinted uncertainly as she averted her presumptuous gaze. "I am proud of what I am," she continued more quietly this time, glancing back only out of the corner of her eye as though another kelpie might slither along and witness her heresy. She longed for adventure, to feel safe venturing beyond the relative safety of her creekside home. She wanted to see the sights that passing traders and courtiers spoke of so fondly, to breathe in stories and author stories of her own. "But I fear the beast, too."
And on your cheeks O may the roses
“”
Dance for a hundred years or so.
“”
Dance for a hundred years or so.
@Random Events
