09-15-2015, 06:42 PM
no matter what they say, I am still the king
There was something to say about connections - invisible red threads tying you down, entangled and knotted and frayed, but still there. There was something to say of you and Eight, dear Camrynn - and also nothing at all. How can you put your finger on something so fluid - so effervescent and changing, but still so solid? It is like the porch light - always on for when you come home. But sometimes flickering, fading, a dull bulb in the dark of night.
There is something to say of magicians - the way they connect like the solid black dots of a puzzle. THere is no way to erase the creation of their soft womb of magic so many years ago, where they seemed to birth a storm of fury and might, where they flexed muscles of magic and power, but also softness and light.
There are so many options for ‘what if’ - of what could be become or what could happen. But isn’t that what the entire world is? What if you, Gallows, had come to take over the throne instead? What if you, Demian, had not had such a warm welcome to the Valley? What if you, Camrynn, had came back from your quiet space to a kingdom in uproar? What if Eight had not disappeared into the dark?
Yes, you are right - it doesn’t matter now - the time has trickled by like sand in an hour glass, and there is no turning back. What will be, will be.
You arrive like the angel of death - quiet and surreptitious, a surprise in the night. But like a sickly man expecting the end, should Eight truly be surprised that you have come? You can sense him like a moth to light, you two are a collection of rapid water swirling in on itself, a central nervous system connected with each other. There is no hiding - there is no escape.
There are rarely words needed when you two are together - and it seems you understand that. You are startling in your looks- a depth of darkness that is strangely illuminated with catch-breath beauty. The diamonds embedded into your bones, the ones you still hold so proudly, do not go unnoticed.
He is not surprised that you have arrived - he was expecting it, really. You two always seem to find a way back to one another.
But you are not the only one to have noticed the magician’s once-again presence. There was Gallows. As you, Camrynn are stark and vast in your beauty, Gallows is that woman that is often passed on the street- a lion in lambs clothing. You cannot catch that adulterous glint in her eye until you stop - stare - and drown in her waves.
They had spoken before, once - in the time right before the graceful arrival of Demian. But they had history. It was Gallows who had reigned when Eight was young - his mother left for the Deserts, and he an orphan of a man who bore many. He was lost, unsure of the magic running through his veins (magic was once so very rare, so fickle to find in the few between). It was you, Gallows, who had taken a timid Eight and turned him so vehemently wrong. Not that was a bad thing, mind you. The Lujayn was where Eight needed to be - where he learned how to wield his power and grow into his own.
Perhaps it was his birth in the Lujayn that kept Eight coming back to the Valley - as we all know she never truly lets anyone go. Perhaps Gallows hadn’t quite recognized Eight weeks ago - he was no longer the gangly boy who knew nothing of the power in his veins. No, now he was older, wiser to the ways of the world (and even, tired of it all). But it was Gallows who had begun his teachings of life. And my, my, how the world comes full circle.
You are pleasant in your arrival (how unlike you!), even practically announcing that our thoughts are not our own (though, you’ve given yourself away! They can now predict this, and churn up a magic barrier of their own, shame shame!). Eight cannot help but let a brief upturn of his lips come softly - and then a nod of his head- “Yes, my Deserts queen - always thriving she seems to be. She’s a living thing and cannot keep her hands off of me.” And it was true. Even in his hazy absences, when he returned -it was back to the Valley.
There is a silence, a space of dead air between them all - yet one that crackled with the energy of history and might. Three powerful beings - once and current rulers - and still one more yet to come. Demian dances on the edge of Eight’s mind. The magician can feel him, feel his thoughts slogging through the space of the valley. He can practically hear the jaguar growl in arrival, a soft hum of his presence. And then he came - politely, unintrusively (it seems we are all on our best behavior here today!).
Eight dips his head - a mutual respect garnering between the two - old and new ruler alike. “Demian - nice to see you around.” And there was no contempt there. It was good to see the new king traipsing around the land of his own. An absent ruler was not a good one - we all know that.
And then, there were four. Once again, the thrumming power alighted between them all, there was no denying that. There was something to be said of the gathering of such might, of such history and promise. Yes, Camyrnn came as a civilian - not a diplomat or a queen, but just a magician counterpart to Eight - but still the knowledge of her position was there.
Eight smirks congenially- looking at the group that had surfaced. “Well, looks like a party of the gods, no?” And truth be told - it was. Two magicians, a mind reader, and a fire transformer (amongst various other traits). There was a power just waiting to erupt.
“Demian, Camrynn - queen of the Deserts, if you will. And you know Gallows, my old mentor.” What an intricate web we have all weaved. “There’s just so much potential here, I am practically bursting with excitement.” And while it was said in rather a drab tone, the spark in his eye spoke otherwise.
There is something to say of magicians - the way they connect like the solid black dots of a puzzle. THere is no way to erase the creation of their soft womb of magic so many years ago, where they seemed to birth a storm of fury and might, where they flexed muscles of magic and power, but also softness and light.
There are so many options for ‘what if’ - of what could be become or what could happen. But isn’t that what the entire world is? What if you, Gallows, had come to take over the throne instead? What if you, Demian, had not had such a warm welcome to the Valley? What if you, Camrynn, had came back from your quiet space to a kingdom in uproar? What if Eight had not disappeared into the dark?
Yes, you are right - it doesn’t matter now - the time has trickled by like sand in an hour glass, and there is no turning back. What will be, will be.
You arrive like the angel of death - quiet and surreptitious, a surprise in the night. But like a sickly man expecting the end, should Eight truly be surprised that you have come? You can sense him like a moth to light, you two are a collection of rapid water swirling in on itself, a central nervous system connected with each other. There is no hiding - there is no escape.
There are rarely words needed when you two are together - and it seems you understand that. You are startling in your looks- a depth of darkness that is strangely illuminated with catch-breath beauty. The diamonds embedded into your bones, the ones you still hold so proudly, do not go unnoticed.
He is not surprised that you have arrived - he was expecting it, really. You two always seem to find a way back to one another.
But you are not the only one to have noticed the magician’s once-again presence. There was Gallows. As you, Camrynn are stark and vast in your beauty, Gallows is that woman that is often passed on the street- a lion in lambs clothing. You cannot catch that adulterous glint in her eye until you stop - stare - and drown in her waves.
They had spoken before, once - in the time right before the graceful arrival of Demian. But they had history. It was Gallows who had reigned when Eight was young - his mother left for the Deserts, and he an orphan of a man who bore many. He was lost, unsure of the magic running through his veins (magic was once so very rare, so fickle to find in the few between). It was you, Gallows, who had taken a timid Eight and turned him so vehemently wrong. Not that was a bad thing, mind you. The Lujayn was where Eight needed to be - where he learned how to wield his power and grow into his own.
Perhaps it was his birth in the Lujayn that kept Eight coming back to the Valley - as we all know she never truly lets anyone go. Perhaps Gallows hadn’t quite recognized Eight weeks ago - he was no longer the gangly boy who knew nothing of the power in his veins. No, now he was older, wiser to the ways of the world (and even, tired of it all). But it was Gallows who had begun his teachings of life. And my, my, how the world comes full circle.
You are pleasant in your arrival (how unlike you!), even practically announcing that our thoughts are not our own (though, you’ve given yourself away! They can now predict this, and churn up a magic barrier of their own, shame shame!). Eight cannot help but let a brief upturn of his lips come softly - and then a nod of his head- “Yes, my Deserts queen - always thriving she seems to be. She’s a living thing and cannot keep her hands off of me.” And it was true. Even in his hazy absences, when he returned -it was back to the Valley.
There is a silence, a space of dead air between them all - yet one that crackled with the energy of history and might. Three powerful beings - once and current rulers - and still one more yet to come. Demian dances on the edge of Eight’s mind. The magician can feel him, feel his thoughts slogging through the space of the valley. He can practically hear the jaguar growl in arrival, a soft hum of his presence. And then he came - politely, unintrusively (it seems we are all on our best behavior here today!).
Eight dips his head - a mutual respect garnering between the two - old and new ruler alike. “Demian - nice to see you around.” And there was no contempt there. It was good to see the new king traipsing around the land of his own. An absent ruler was not a good one - we all know that.
And then, there were four. Once again, the thrumming power alighted between them all, there was no denying that. There was something to be said of the gathering of such might, of such history and promise. Yes, Camyrnn came as a civilian - not a diplomat or a queen, but just a magician counterpart to Eight - but still the knowledge of her position was there.
Eight smirks congenially- looking at the group that had surfaced. “Well, looks like a party of the gods, no?” And truth be told - it was. Two magicians, a mind reader, and a fire transformer (amongst various other traits). There was a power just waiting to erupt.
“Demian, Camrynn - queen of the Deserts, if you will. And you know Gallows, my old mentor.” What an intricate web we have all weaved. “There’s just so much potential here, I am practically bursting with excitement.” And while it was said in rather a drab tone, the spark in his eye spoke otherwise.
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in