T E N E B R A E
On my body, the grace of shadows
and in my heart: all Hells
and in my heart: all Hells
As Tenebrae’s mask shifts, the child’s jaw drops open. Awe and surprise etches itself across her small face. He chuckles low, his eyes sparkling with starlight as his lips twist in playful mystery. “Magic.” The monk whispers, the word falling from his lips as if power breathed through every word and syllable.
She calls him the Shadow Man and Tenebrae’s head tilts. “That is a very fitting name. Thank you, Phoenix.” At the last he bestows upon her a new name and with her new name thin shadows peel from his lips like fire from a dragon’s maw. The shadows twist as if caught upon a breeze. It twirls with the song of the nearby music and moves along the edges of her ribbons, rising as if they truly were tongues of fire.
At his compliment of her outfit, the child beams, standing proudly, her small chest puffed out. Each ribbon has been so carefully placed, thought and care put into her outfit throughout. “I am not very good at parties so I am glad I have you to make sure my outfit is right.” The monk whispers conspiratorially.
As bright and vibrant as the party the child continues speaking, her attention skipping from one thing to the next. Tenebrae stands, patient, following along in the wake of the child’s conversation. “Maeve,” the monk says. “That is a very beautiful name. Very fitting for phoenix, I think. My name is Tenebrae, and I was named after shadows. So I am very impressed you called me Shadow Man.” Again his magic reaches out, darkness curling playfully through the tendrils of her hair, tickling behind the girl’s ear.
“You absolutely are the first phoenix I have ever, ever met, Maeve.” Tenebrae affirms. ‘Before now I had only ever dreamed of meeting one. I think you might be the most splendid of them all though.”
Suddenly the little girl turns serious, her gaze darkening, her lips turning downward as she speaks of her mother and of fire and flame. It all seems to click for Tenebrae then. The colour of Maeve’s skin, the mention of her mother’s fire… They look so similar, Morrighan and this little girl. Tenebrae makes the link before Maeve even confirms it, but when she does, he smiles knowingly. The monk watches the way doubt springs across her face, lines of worry forming where there were none before. “I have met your mother. You are very lucky to have her as your mummy with such magic to protect you.” He picks up one of the ribbons from her mane, it is dark and red and angry as any flame. Tenebrae holds it up between them. “Fire can be scary and painful, can’t it? But, do you know that phoenixes die from fire and yet rise from its ashes, stronger, more powerful and beautiful than before? Only a mummy who knows fire like yours can make a phoenix as splendid as you. You are made from fire like all wise, kind and brave firebirds are.”
@Maeve
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