05-26-2021, 11:12 PM
elodie
‘My mother loved the dark.’
She remembers this still, the last thing her own mother had said to her before she’d turned her head to the shadows and went. As if something had called to her from the darkness and she had gone, just that simple.
How foolish Elodie had been to believe that her mother was teasing her when her mother had never been the sort. (And why would she choose all that darkness to start?) Elodie had waited too long to start looking for her. By the time she had resigned herself to the fact that it was no joke at all, there was no trace at all left of her mother. It was as if she’d never been there at all.
It was then that Elodie had begun to understand that she was the sort of thing meant to be left. Her mother had told her once that she had been meant for leaving, too. That her father had left her before she was ready and that Elodie’s father had never really belonged to her but he’d left, too. Long before either of them had ever been aware of the child.
This child, Elodie. This child who’d been born antlered like the father she’d never met but who had done nothing but save her mother from herself (something Elodie had not been able to do because when the darkness came calling there had been nothing Elodie could do to stop Lilian from going). This child who was such a perfect combination of the two of them, so fiercely righteous. So soft. Their colors blended perfectly down the middle.
The colors remain now, but the antlers have gone. Replaced instead by a ring of fire that casts no heat, no spark. Constantly it burns but it never sets her ablaze. And there is a flurry of fireflies that follow in her wake, as if drawn to the flame. Kindred spirits and it is nice not to be alone, it is nice that they never see fit to leave her.
And it’s not that she’s lonely. But how wonderful it had been to hear from a stranger that the moon had missed her, even though she had insisted that she was not the kind of thing made to be missed. Even though she was not the sort of thing made for leaving but the sort of thing made to be left. Just as her mother had been. (Though her mother had left in the end, hadn’t she?)
It’s not that she’s lonely, it’s just that it’s nice to have company. Sometimes she thinks about taking them to the meadow, asking them to help her find her mother. (But surely one creature can only stomach so much disappointment before it becomes too much and she does not know how much more she can take). She always thinks better of it, though. She can’t remember the last time she went to the meadow. Each time she considers it, she remembers the stranger she’d met in the rain and how she’d said she hadn’t been alone long enough. There is some comfort to be found in the idea that perhaps her mother simply wants to be alone and that’s okay.
She never goes anywhere in particular, Elodie. Tonight it’s the forest where she lays herself down to sleep, nose to knee. There is no telling how long she is asleep before her mother finds her in a dream, the seal brown mare smiling sweetly at her daughter. And she touches her mouth to the crown of Elodie’s head, kisses her so gently. ‘I love you, my girl,’ she whispers, ‘but you have to go.’ And Elodie, in her dream, tilts her head, confused. There her mother is, smiling softly and she says again, ‘I love you but you have to go.’ And when Elodie still does not go, her mother begins to cry. Quietly at first and then more urgently.
‘My girl,’ her mother whispers, ‘please run.’
It is the fireflies that wake her, bound together by a common goal: to shake the sleeping mare from her dream. (She had not wanted to wake because she had not wanted to be separated from her mother.)
And when she lifts her head and smells the fire, she thinks it must be coming from her. But it is not. It is some independent magic (or perhaps it is not magic at all), some fierce thing that comes charging through the darkness. Just like that, she is awake -- wide-eyed awake -- and on her feet. Please run, her mother had begged and so she does.
But she is not quick enough, this little mare. She is not nimble enough. She had clung too fiercely to the mother in her dream. The fire swallows her up whole.
When dawn breaks again, there is nothing left of the girl but ash and the fireflies (which had ascended wildly, above the flames) come back down to mourn her, hovering quietly above the earth where they had last seen her.
And then, curiously, the ashes begin to stir. The fireflies buzz wildly, ascending again as the ash begins to rise. There, as the sun casts its first rays across the charred landscape, the girl is reborn. She springs forth from the ashes fully formed, but different. Gone are the colors of her parents, replaced instead by the color of the flames that had consumed her, devoured her, reduced her to ash.
This, the color, the only evidence of the fire, the death, the rebirth and she stares mournfully down at the legs which had once bore the deep red color that had belonged to her father. She turns her head to glance at her barrel, which had once been the same dark brown as her mother’s. She had loved the fire but it has taken her mother from her, too. Her throat tightens and she exhales a shuddering breath.
The fireflies descend again, hesitant.
Until she turns her face up to them and smiles.
She will begin again, anew.
She remembers this still, the last thing her own mother had said to her before she’d turned her head to the shadows and went. As if something had called to her from the darkness and she had gone, just that simple.
How foolish Elodie had been to believe that her mother was teasing her when her mother had never been the sort. (And why would she choose all that darkness to start?) Elodie had waited too long to start looking for her. By the time she had resigned herself to the fact that it was no joke at all, there was no trace at all left of her mother. It was as if she’d never been there at all.
It was then that Elodie had begun to understand that she was the sort of thing meant to be left. Her mother had told her once that she had been meant for leaving, too. That her father had left her before she was ready and that Elodie’s father had never really belonged to her but he’d left, too. Long before either of them had ever been aware of the child.
This child, Elodie. This child who’d been born antlered like the father she’d never met but who had done nothing but save her mother from herself (something Elodie had not been able to do because when the darkness came calling there had been nothing Elodie could do to stop Lilian from going). This child who was such a perfect combination of the two of them, so fiercely righteous. So soft. Their colors blended perfectly down the middle.
The colors remain now, but the antlers have gone. Replaced instead by a ring of fire that casts no heat, no spark. Constantly it burns but it never sets her ablaze. And there is a flurry of fireflies that follow in her wake, as if drawn to the flame. Kindred spirits and it is nice not to be alone, it is nice that they never see fit to leave her.
And it’s not that she’s lonely. But how wonderful it had been to hear from a stranger that the moon had missed her, even though she had insisted that she was not the kind of thing made to be missed. Even though she was not the sort of thing made for leaving but the sort of thing made to be left. Just as her mother had been. (Though her mother had left in the end, hadn’t she?)
It’s not that she’s lonely, it’s just that it’s nice to have company. Sometimes she thinks about taking them to the meadow, asking them to help her find her mother. (But surely one creature can only stomach so much disappointment before it becomes too much and she does not know how much more she can take). She always thinks better of it, though. She can’t remember the last time she went to the meadow. Each time she considers it, she remembers the stranger she’d met in the rain and how she’d said she hadn’t been alone long enough. There is some comfort to be found in the idea that perhaps her mother simply wants to be alone and that’s okay.
She never goes anywhere in particular, Elodie. Tonight it’s the forest where she lays herself down to sleep, nose to knee. There is no telling how long she is asleep before her mother finds her in a dream, the seal brown mare smiling sweetly at her daughter. And she touches her mouth to the crown of Elodie’s head, kisses her so gently. ‘I love you, my girl,’ she whispers, ‘but you have to go.’ And Elodie, in her dream, tilts her head, confused. There her mother is, smiling softly and she says again, ‘I love you but you have to go.’ And when Elodie still does not go, her mother begins to cry. Quietly at first and then more urgently.
‘My girl,’ her mother whispers, ‘please run.’
It is the fireflies that wake her, bound together by a common goal: to shake the sleeping mare from her dream. (She had not wanted to wake because she had not wanted to be separated from her mother.)
And when she lifts her head and smells the fire, she thinks it must be coming from her. But it is not. It is some independent magic (or perhaps it is not magic at all), some fierce thing that comes charging through the darkness. Just like that, she is awake -- wide-eyed awake -- and on her feet. Please run, her mother had begged and so she does.
But she is not quick enough, this little mare. She is not nimble enough. She had clung too fiercely to the mother in her dream. The fire swallows her up whole.
When dawn breaks again, there is nothing left of the girl but ash and the fireflies (which had ascended wildly, above the flames) come back down to mourn her, hovering quietly above the earth where they had last seen her.
And then, curiously, the ashes begin to stir. The fireflies buzz wildly, ascending again as the ash begins to rise. There, as the sun casts its first rays across the charred landscape, the girl is reborn. She springs forth from the ashes fully formed, but different. Gone are the colors of her parents, replaced instead by the color of the flames that had consumed her, devoured her, reduced her to ash.
This, the color, the only evidence of the fire, the death, the rebirth and she stares mournfully down at the legs which had once bore the deep red color that had belonged to her father. She turns her head to glance at her barrel, which had once been the same dark brown as her mother’s. She had loved the fire but it has taken her mother from her, too. Her throat tightens and she exhales a shuddering breath.
The fireflies descend again, hesitant.
Until she turns her face up to them and smiles.
She will begin again, anew.
I’ll let my hunger take me there
this is an auto quest for a color change for elodie!!
technically it's just an autoquest but if somebody feels compelled to reply they can!!!