"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
03-03-2017, 12:20 AM (This post was last modified: 03-03-2017, 12:21 AM by Epithet.)
Perhaps she should feel different. Something was certainly missing when she has risen from her place amongst the pine needles, sticky and frustrating. But the length of her pale mane seemed to fall in just the right place as her dark blue eyes peek from beneath the cover like a shy filly.
But those years are long passed.
Epithet had tried to summon herself amongst the stars. She wanted to disappear for a swath of time, to see if anyone really noticed her frail existence but all she could do was muster the shape of a hummingbird. Glittering and fast, Epi moves over land and sea. Where had she gone in her sleep the night before? How long had she slept? None of it matters now.
When the pale gray mare smoothly moves from avian to equine with the ease of decades of practice. Dark stocking legs moves her along as she hold her head high, the stream of her white mane like a peaceful banner spread before the winning side of a war. Yet the mare does not retreat. Instead she eagerly inhales the cold autumn air, lets it burn her lungs with ice, the beat of her heart echoing in her ears.
On this day, a day of strange renewal, of unanswered questions, of chance, the scent of her child...beautiful Leola. Her careful coal child. "Leola?" Her name blooms like a calla lily in spring from her tongue. Perhaps it is an empty inquiry but Epithet could always feel when her babes were close. Dark eyes scan the meadow hastily. Would her shadow daughter find her?
TOUCH MY OWN SKIN AND HOPE THAT IM STILL BREATHING
Eternity meant nothing when there was nothing left to eternal. And yet, the scent that was so similar to her own sent her deep into the meadow—the only really recognizeable place in the entirety of Beqanna. She moved with a grace that showed the age of her body. She was not someone had who had anything to hide, and yet, when she saw her daughter… a grown daughter who had her own passel of children—she could tell that there was a power that still blessed Epithet’s blood. Blood that still ran in her own veins.
She says nothing as she steps a careful black booted foot towards her quarry. Carli, who was decidedly not a good creature, hisses at the white woman, cold and cruel. “Epithet…magic you have. How is it that you have stayed blessed, when your own darling mother has fallen by the wayside as some poor common beggar… finding vagabonds along the side of the road to figure my own way about the world. What do you have to say for yourself, you selfish, stupid girl?”
She slides out of the shadow and steps into the sun, pushing herself and sliding through the grasses as a viper. Or a cobra, or some other slippery thing that looks to spread evil and sew discord.
I HAD A WAY THEN LOSING IT ALL ON MY OWN I HAD A HEART THEN BUT THEN QUEEN HAS BEEN OVERTHROWN
Epithet had come looking for her child. She had hoped to see a reflection of her own self in the face of a pretty, wide eyed mare. She had sought her legacy.
Of course she would be disappointed.
The sounds of her mother, the great and benevolent Charlemagne, is what meets the tenderness of her pale ears. Her voice ragged and smokey, making Epi cringe and look to find the source of the noise. And there in all her radiant golden glory stood the ancient mare.
The words reach her, she listens, the malice and toying syllables wash over her. Full of piss and vinegar. "Mother." The bone white mare breathes the word through tight lips, watching the woman carefully. Charlemagne was dangerous but without her protective shield of magic? She was nothing more than a pussy cat...
with fangs and claws.
"What do you want, mother? Have you been cast out without your magic? Have they used you all up and spit you out? Where are your loyal subjects now?" Epi speaks slow and low as she watches the deadly viper that was the dark legged witch. Epi had learned to never turn her back on Charlemagne and she wouldn't not start now just because she lacked her power. A snake's head can still bite even if it has been lobbed off.
TOUCH MY OWN SKIN AND HOPE THAT IM STILL BREATHING
It is a point that is not contested; Charlemagne is a terrible mother.
She looks upon her brood with contempt—only reminders that she has deigned to share her body with someone long enough to gain what she has been looking for from them. In the case of Epithet, this is no exception.
Carli knows that Epithet’s sweet soul is broken—she is Carli’s daughter, after all—and that perhaps the crystalline lady is not as innocent as she might like to pretend that she is. And so, the golden viper slinks around her daughter, hiding her pain behind a mask of contempt, looking for a way to seek her revenge on the one who has put her in such a predicament. Magic without limits—raw and unfettered.
It was a beautiful thing.
“I have not been with a title for years, you silly thing. It is the magic that I seek. How is it that you have managed to keep your abilities, and yet I, and others I see, seem to have been stunted. Pray, tell me your secrets to your poor lost and helpless mother.”
About as helpless as bullets sitting next to a 9mm hand gun… Or gasoline next to a lit match.
Carli opens her eyes and they change from a golden amber to an emerald green. Last vestiges of magic that had burned through her when she had been…No. such images will not do. Jealousy and anger.
Let them be your fuel.
I HAD A WAY THEN LOSING IT ALL ON MY OWN I HAD A HEART THEN BUT THEN QUEEN HAS BEEN OVERTHROWN
