09-11-2015, 10:46 AM
so you wanna play with magic?
In public, in private, she would always find him.
Not that she cared to follow him, like some lovesick puppy winding her way through time and space. Oh no, for her to chase him would be the ultimate exercise in futility for the both of them. Who can catch what moves so fluidly, so entirely outside of time and space? It's easy to run, to chase, to find when you know that your prey runs on the same grass and sprints between the same thickets and woods. But they are more than the grass; they dive and wheel between the layers of things, in the space behind the grass, tucked neatly in the nothingness of darkness, or spinning out beyond the vastness of space.
Oh no, you can't chase what is hidden nowhere.
And so she doesn't. But when it pops back up, when it reappears almost suddenly, well, who is she to turn down an opportunity?
Many years ago, perhaps she could have been here to welcome his reappearance in person. Many years ago, perhaps she could have ended up living here with him. Perhaps that time could have been a glorious one. But it doesn't matter now, because that time exists only in their collective imagination. Today she rules the Deserts (by the skin of her teeth, perhaps, considering her own recent absence) and he continues to serve the Valley. And they have not seen each other in years, not since she and Yael had come calling, not since the day of the red feathers and the breathless talking around the subject.
But today, she's back.
She appears suddenly next to him, as though she'd been there all along. It's probably impolite for the queen of another kingdom to appear within the borders, but she's not here in her capacity as queen. She's here as a private citizen, as a woman to Eight's man.
She is silent for a moment, standing beside him and looking out across the Valley. She remembers the silence the last time she was here. She also remembers how she'd rather recently snatched up an erstwhile member – not that Aletheia had really been doing much of anything anyway. But she has no doubt that Eight would not judge her for these things. It had always been their way, after all. Despicable and strange is, well, par for the course when you're a magician.
Today she is only herself, no glorious wings like she'd had last time. She is beautiful to be sure, a deep black unbroken by any markings, her mane and tail long and far more free of tangles than any wild horse's really should be. On her chest the gold crook and flail of the Deserts stands out proud and gilded, and on her cheek the necklace he'd given her so many years ago still sparkles in the light. Her eyes are a deep maroon, dark like wine.
"Well," she begins, her voice sweet like honey and rich like velvet. "The Valley certainly seems to be thriving." A wry smile plays on her lips. This is their game, their little spinning and weaving of words, and she's missed it.
Not that she cared to follow him, like some lovesick puppy winding her way through time and space. Oh no, for her to chase him would be the ultimate exercise in futility for the both of them. Who can catch what moves so fluidly, so entirely outside of time and space? It's easy to run, to chase, to find when you know that your prey runs on the same grass and sprints between the same thickets and woods. But they are more than the grass; they dive and wheel between the layers of things, in the space behind the grass, tucked neatly in the nothingness of darkness, or spinning out beyond the vastness of space.
Oh no, you can't chase what is hidden nowhere.
And so she doesn't. But when it pops back up, when it reappears almost suddenly, well, who is she to turn down an opportunity?
Many years ago, perhaps she could have been here to welcome his reappearance in person. Many years ago, perhaps she could have ended up living here with him. Perhaps that time could have been a glorious one. But it doesn't matter now, because that time exists only in their collective imagination. Today she rules the Deserts (by the skin of her teeth, perhaps, considering her own recent absence) and he continues to serve the Valley. And they have not seen each other in years, not since she and Yael had come calling, not since the day of the red feathers and the breathless talking around the subject.
But today, she's back.
She appears suddenly next to him, as though she'd been there all along. It's probably impolite for the queen of another kingdom to appear within the borders, but she's not here in her capacity as queen. She's here as a private citizen, as a woman to Eight's man.
She is silent for a moment, standing beside him and looking out across the Valley. She remembers the silence the last time she was here. She also remembers how she'd rather recently snatched up an erstwhile member – not that Aletheia had really been doing much of anything anyway. But she has no doubt that Eight would not judge her for these things. It had always been their way, after all. Despicable and strange is, well, par for the course when you're a magician.
Today she is only herself, no glorious wings like she'd had last time. She is beautiful to be sure, a deep black unbroken by any markings, her mane and tail long and far more free of tangles than any wild horse's really should be. On her chest the gold crook and flail of the Deserts stands out proud and gilded, and on her cheek the necklace he'd given her so many years ago still sparkles in the light. Her eyes are a deep maroon, dark like wine.
"Well," she begins, her voice sweet like honey and rich like velvet. "The Valley certainly seems to be thriving." A wry smile plays on her lips. This is their game, their little spinning and weaving of words, and she's missed it.
CAMRYNN
co-queen of the deserts, magical, mother of badassery