memory, you gave me another note
a voice that is endless, bring it all home
In the little over two years Kassandra had been in Novus, she'd spent most of it wandering. She did not have a name for what drove her from place to place. Whenever Oculos asked, or made a sideways comment about being tired and wanting to go home, Kass would say she'd spent four years of her short life locked up at 'home' and wanted to see the world. This was not false; there were so many things she had not discovered, seen, or experienced. Most everything was new to her, from waterfalls to mountains to thick forests, and she had an unquenchable thirst for adventure which only hitting the road and traveling could relieve.
The deeper truth of it, however, was her insatiable wanderlust was a mask, a flimsy veil to cover what rested beneath. The skeletons in her closet had blown the doors off with sulfur and smoke, and Kass had hung this pale sheet of curiosity over the blackened hole to stop their escape. Sometimes when things were particularly miserable-- when the weather was unbearably hot, or the storm loud and ferocious, or the bugs thick as the white, star-like markings on her pelt-- she thinks back to those panicked moments of flight.
She remembers, clearly, the high whooping sound of Oculos screaming to not look back, and then the quiet, shocked repetitions, as though those were the only words he had ever learned. Do not look back. Do not look back.
Did she look? She can't remember. Sometimes she's sure she did, but other times it feels like a dream. Just another terrible vision in an unending series of them. The deafening boom of the explosion, not quieted by distance; the sight of fire and smoke; the screams, the wails; the sight of her Folly Tower breaking into pieces and being scattered with other chunks of the castle, with chunks of houses, chunks of earth, and, probably, chunks of people. The whole world red and orange and black and blinding.
Was that what she saw when she maybe, possibly, turned back for one last look at Furae? At the place which had been a prison, but also home? Or was that the vision she saw yesterday afternoon when the fits had taken her and dragged her under, as they did so frequently these days?
Kass couldn't rightly discern the two.
It was this lingering question of the source of the sights in her brain-- memory or vision, relic or cursed gift-- which made her so hesitant to make a new, true home; and so, while she rightly belonged to the Night Court, and swore allegiance to Isra and all her greatness, and worshipped Caligo when she scattered herself across the sky each night, Kassandra had spent little to no time in the vicinity of the court she called home. If she never put down roots, then the predatory disaster slavering at her heels would tire itself out chasing her around, and not be able to harm anyone else.
It was hard not to come back to this place, however; in all of Novus, the Night Markets reminded Kassandra the most of home. They were full of people and bustling with activity; shopkeepers hawked wares loudly from their stalls, some hewn out of rough wood and some trapped in velvets and gold; food vendors waved treats on sticks in front of people's noses, trying to tempt them to purchase, and filling the air with delicious scents of honey and caramel, rosewater and lavender. Beyond the occasional spat over prices, the Markets were peaceful, in a chaotic, lived-in sort of way.
Furae had been like that, ever so long ago. The palace grounds below her Folly Tower never seemed empty, and, though distant, the voices of the comers and goers always eventually drifted up to her.
Oculos pressed tight to her side to stay out of the way of distracted equines and their sharp hooves as Kass pondered over a silver bauble; it was a bracelet meant for the hock, pearlescent spheres on a shining thread; shockingly gorgeous, and expensive. Kass listened to the seller explain how it would compliment her beautiful eyes with a shy smile before drifting off to the next booth, another jewelry maker, this one selling pieces made of teeth and bone.
Kassandra's eyes drifted from the cart and its grisly decorations, searching over the crowd for... nothing in particular. Her eyes came to a seller who dealt in antiquities; at the forefront of their booth was a large mirror, polished to a shine. She caught sight of her own reflection, and froze-- but it was not herself she was staring at.
She recognized Katniss as someone of high importance and status but did not know her by name; Kass had not spent much time in her home court, after all. She almost did not recognize her at all, so changed was her visage by her looming pregnancy. What Kass remembered as taut muscle was now rounded, a strong skeleton now filled with soft flesh. Kass furrowed her brow; her own mother had looked like this once, she supposed, before she'd thrown herself into the sea out of shame-- or so her uncle told her.
Her expression turned to sadness before she could remember she was staring into a mirror-- staring at someone through the mirror, almost-- and by then it was too late to fake it. She locked eyes with Katniss and froze, before shifting her gaze away.
Kassandra crossed the short distance over the market lane and came up next to the very pregnant mare. "My apologies," she began, unsure of whether or not to curtsy; the jostle of the crowd around her convinced her not to. "I did not mean to stare." She probably thinks I was gawking at her body, Kass thought, feeling a mite ashamed. "I was merely trying to place the face with a name. You are--," she faltered, trying to come up with the mare's title, and failing miserably: "someone important."
@Katniss | this got all rambly, sorry | "Speaking."
The deeper truth of it, however, was her insatiable wanderlust was a mask, a flimsy veil to cover what rested beneath. The skeletons in her closet had blown the doors off with sulfur and smoke, and Kass had hung this pale sheet of curiosity over the blackened hole to stop their escape. Sometimes when things were particularly miserable-- when the weather was unbearably hot, or the storm loud and ferocious, or the bugs thick as the white, star-like markings on her pelt-- she thinks back to those panicked moments of flight.
She remembers, clearly, the high whooping sound of Oculos screaming to not look back, and then the quiet, shocked repetitions, as though those were the only words he had ever learned. Do not look back. Do not look back.
Did she look? She can't remember. Sometimes she's sure she did, but other times it feels like a dream. Just another terrible vision in an unending series of them. The deafening boom of the explosion, not quieted by distance; the sight of fire and smoke; the screams, the wails; the sight of her Folly Tower breaking into pieces and being scattered with other chunks of the castle, with chunks of houses, chunks of earth, and, probably, chunks of people. The whole world red and orange and black and blinding.
Was that what she saw when she maybe, possibly, turned back for one last look at Furae? At the place which had been a prison, but also home? Or was that the vision she saw yesterday afternoon when the fits had taken her and dragged her under, as they did so frequently these days?
Kass couldn't rightly discern the two.
It was this lingering question of the source of the sights in her brain-- memory or vision, relic or cursed gift-- which made her so hesitant to make a new, true home; and so, while she rightly belonged to the Night Court, and swore allegiance to Isra and all her greatness, and worshipped Caligo when she scattered herself across the sky each night, Kassandra had spent little to no time in the vicinity of the court she called home. If she never put down roots, then the predatory disaster slavering at her heels would tire itself out chasing her around, and not be able to harm anyone else.
It was hard not to come back to this place, however; in all of Novus, the Night Markets reminded Kassandra the most of home. They were full of people and bustling with activity; shopkeepers hawked wares loudly from their stalls, some hewn out of rough wood and some trapped in velvets and gold; food vendors waved treats on sticks in front of people's noses, trying to tempt them to purchase, and filling the air with delicious scents of honey and caramel, rosewater and lavender. Beyond the occasional spat over prices, the Markets were peaceful, in a chaotic, lived-in sort of way.
Furae had been like that, ever so long ago. The palace grounds below her Folly Tower never seemed empty, and, though distant, the voices of the comers and goers always eventually drifted up to her.
Oculos pressed tight to her side to stay out of the way of distracted equines and their sharp hooves as Kass pondered over a silver bauble; it was a bracelet meant for the hock, pearlescent spheres on a shining thread; shockingly gorgeous, and expensive. Kass listened to the seller explain how it would compliment her beautiful eyes with a shy smile before drifting off to the next booth, another jewelry maker, this one selling pieces made of teeth and bone.
Kassandra's eyes drifted from the cart and its grisly decorations, searching over the crowd for... nothing in particular. Her eyes came to a seller who dealt in antiquities; at the forefront of their booth was a large mirror, polished to a shine. She caught sight of her own reflection, and froze-- but it was not herself she was staring at.
She recognized Katniss as someone of high importance and status but did not know her by name; Kass had not spent much time in her home court, after all. She almost did not recognize her at all, so changed was her visage by her looming pregnancy. What Kass remembered as taut muscle was now rounded, a strong skeleton now filled with soft flesh. Kass furrowed her brow; her own mother had looked like this once, she supposed, before she'd thrown herself into the sea out of shame-- or so her uncle told her.
Her expression turned to sadness before she could remember she was staring into a mirror-- staring at someone through the mirror, almost-- and by then it was too late to fake it. She locked eyes with Katniss and froze, before shifting her gaze away.
Kassandra crossed the short distance over the market lane and came up next to the very pregnant mare. "My apologies," she began, unsure of whether or not to curtsy; the jostle of the crowd around her convinced her not to. "I did not mean to stare." She probably thinks I was gawking at her body, Kass thought, feeling a mite ashamed. "I was merely trying to place the face with a name. You are--," she faltered, trying to come up with the mare's title, and failing miserably: "someone important."
@
