09-12-2016, 03:47 PM
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The children are curious creatures, two sides of the same coin - yet different varnishes, different luster. She can see their similarities plain as day, but part of them is so alien from the other. Sunday often marvels at children, they ellude her, despite having a few herself. Long gone, long run elsewhere. It doesn't bother her too much - her duty was always to the Amazons.
Which she'd long since given up findings.
The twins confirmed her earlier suspicion - it's all gone. She trudged along the edges of the earth and ended up right where she started, though turned around. Her internal compass was off. Everything was off. And her magick? She assumed her deep sleep is what took it away, but now she was learning that everyone was missing something.
"I suppose there are worse things," she admits with a shrug. As a child her invisibility had been a curse - it left her friendless and alone, the butt of every joke. Her magick was something she earned much, much later in life. And now that, too, was gone. That left her normal, striking and still. She was almost relieved.
"Do you know what she was angry for?" Sunday asks, curious. The way Beqanna was both a place and a being was a mystery to her. While others felt she was a god with a magnifying glass Sunday always felt she was benevolent, gentle. Guiding. She kept Sunday alive, didn't she? After all these years?
"I am Sunday," she says at last.
Which she'd long since given up findings.
The twins confirmed her earlier suspicion - it's all gone. She trudged along the edges of the earth and ended up right where she started, though turned around. Her internal compass was off. Everything was off. And her magick? She assumed her deep sleep is what took it away, but now she was learning that everyone was missing something.
"I suppose there are worse things," she admits with a shrug. As a child her invisibility had been a curse - it left her friendless and alone, the butt of every joke. Her magick was something she earned much, much later in life. And now that, too, was gone. That left her normal, striking and still. She was almost relieved.
"Do you know what she was angry for?" Sunday asks, curious. The way Beqanna was both a place and a being was a mystery to her. While others felt she was a god with a magnifying glass Sunday always felt she was benevolent, gentle. Guiding. She kept Sunday alive, didn't she? After all these years?
"I am Sunday," she says at last.
SUNDAY
never put your faith in a prince. when you require a miracle, trust in a witch