[private] Magic, madness, heaven sent; Lokii, Zola

[Zella]

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved;
In secret, between the shadow and the soul.

It had been an interesting couple of weeks.

The fairies worked their magic on the girls, keeping them fed and nursing them back to health; Zella, despite being silent throughout the entire process, was grateful to the little creatures. The dragon’s claw marks across her chest had healed and though the fairies tried their damnedest to make the scar go away, their efforts were in vain. It was the one thing they could not erase. Dragon’s magic was different, they explained, and she would always bear the creature’s mark. (‘Why?’) She had quietly wondered and much to her surprise, a fairy’s voice answered inside her head. It was so he could find her, of course, if she ever left Beqanna.

If she ever ventured beyond the lands protected by the magic of the fairies, he would find her and he would kill her. To leave now or ever would mean suicide.

Zella smiled, but still, said nothing aloud lest Zola hear the conversation.

She did not want to worry her sister.

Whether Beqanna was going to be their own personal Heaven or Hell remained to be seen, Zella did not want her twin to feel trapped by her own predicament. It was the first cross she would ever have to bear alone and she took the brunt of its weight in stride.

When the fairies gave them the clear to leave the Adoption Den for some ‘fresh air,’ Zella did not hesitate.

She stepped out into the cool Spring air, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Despite the breeze, the sunlight filtering down through the leaves warmed her back; nearby, a stream slithered through the forest and an old elk cow was noisily splashing through it. She had lost her herd… or they had left her. Whatever the case, her sudden loud bugle snapped Zella out of her stupor and the spotted girl bolted forwards. A startled, bark of a laugh escaped her throat but she kept right on running. Skipping, hopping, jumping over the downed rotten logs that lay in her path; once or twice, she nearly slipped on a patch of moss and almost tripped on a pinecone.

Still, she kept going.

Kept running until her muscles burned, until her body ached—until she felt like all her troubles were behind and only good things lie ahead. “It’ll get better,” her mother always said.

“It’ll get better.”

Zella laughed, feeling the tears prickling at the corners of her hazel eyes.

“It’ll get better.”

She slowed, beginning to sob; tears were streaming down her face by the time she reached the edge of the river that separated The Forest from another land. She walked along the bank slowly—her sides hurt, her chest hurt, breathing hurt. Everything hurt. Zella wanted to scream, to let the world know just how angry she was but the words never came and instead she kept strolling right along; her sides heaving, her mind racing, she wondered just what they had done to deserve it. Surely, they had done something. Bad things simply didn’t happen for no good reason.

Or so she believed.

[Lokii]

The trickster had been past the borders of Beqanna a handful of times (when he grew bored of the dramatics, when his legs were itching to see more, when the world lulled around him and he craved something new). He always made his way back to his homelands eventually, but the outside world was equally as interesting. He’d seen dragon fire (nothing different from the Valley’s wars) and violence (nothing different from the blood and gore of his daily life) and beautiful, sloping lands (nothing different from the wide variety of biomes in Beqanna).

The only thing they lack is the familiarity.

He finds himself winding through thick forests. The shadows that pool beneath them remind him of the Valley’s own darkness and he feels himself relax comfortably. Although his home (dare he call it a home?) has since been swallowed by the gaping, hungry jaws of Beqanna, he finds a bit of familiarity in the thickness of the woods near Taiga.

The sounds of quiet sobbing draws the trickster from his imagination. Her form is easily spotted among the deep greens and rich browns of the forest (she is ivory dotted with alabaster) and with time he knows she will blossom gracefully and beautifully. The trickster moves out from the depths of the shadows, his bruised eyes searching her face with a look of warmth (it’s almost surprising he could pull such a thing off, yet there it is).

“My dear! Why do you cry?” His tenor tune is comforting as he steps closer to her side. He pulls the image of a large blue butterfly to her mind’s eye, floating lazily on the spring breeze until it lands on the tip of her rosy nose. “I’m Lokii. What’s your name?”

LOKII

@[Zella]