jamie
02-02-2024, 10:54 PM
jamie
I CAN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
Jamie had once been a thing meant for cowering. (And cower he had! How desperately he had stuffed himself into the darkness, how he had pulled the shadows around himself, how he had turned his face into the black!) But could he tell his daughter that? Could he tell this daughter that?
There is a levity to her that he himself had never possessed and he tilts his strange head at the humor in her tone.
“Your mother,” he murmurs, wincing, as if it pains him to speak of her. (And how much of that is real? How much of it is a charade?) “Your mother took you from me, all three of you, my darling girls.” He takes a half-step toward her, aware of the ghosts gone quiet, the wolf he’d fashioned for her lurking.
“And your mother,” he says it again and perhaps it brings him some thrill to call that white magician to mind. Perhaps the thought of her alone is enough to chase a chill down his spine. “Beyza, she was always a much better magician than I was.” He grins that razor-toothed grin now, ink-black teeth against an ink-black mouth, barely glinting in the precious little light here.
(Is this what passes for humor with the reaper?)
“But I missed you, the three of you.” There is an unnatural brightness to this, something sinister in the way those big yellow eyes flash. “I made you a sister.” Grinning still, he says, “oh, Maurtia, she looks just like you.”
There is a levity to her that he himself had never possessed and he tilts his strange head at the humor in her tone.
“Your mother,” he murmurs, wincing, as if it pains him to speak of her. (And how much of that is real? How much of it is a charade?) “Your mother took you from me, all three of you, my darling girls.” He takes a half-step toward her, aware of the ghosts gone quiet, the wolf he’d fashioned for her lurking.
“And your mother,” he says it again and perhaps it brings him some thrill to call that white magician to mind. Perhaps the thought of her alone is enough to chase a chill down his spine. “Beyza, she was always a much better magician than I was.” He grins that razor-toothed grin now, ink-black teeth against an ink-black mouth, barely glinting in the precious little light here.
(Is this what passes for humor with the reaper?)
“But I missed you, the three of you.” There is an unnatural brightness to this, something sinister in the way those big yellow eyes flash. “I made you a sister.” Grinning still, he says, “oh, Maurtia, she looks just like you.”
AND IT LEAVES ME COLD
@Maurtia