I'm not ready to forgive you.
Not yet.
I was dead. I had done my time. I was given the reward that all heroes deserve at the end of their lives. I was happy. Content. I died knowing that I did something right.
You decided that wasn't enough. My sacrifices weren't enough. Stripped of everything that I am, you forced me to abandon my happy ending for your petty plot. Because of you I am a god, and I loathe myself.
I will stand by my band through the deserts of Akhetaten. I will endure the enmity of Horus because of a callous mistake. I will swallow my pride and watch my dignity shred to pieces. I will outlast even the archer's mark. I will outlast Apep's awakening.
Then I'm done. Your pawn has crowned herself a queen, and my fate is in my hands. I have one last debt to pay. I have a future to secure. Seasons will pass.
Then in the winter I will come for you and you will regret this game of thrones you've pulled. Your father will be a failure as his father before him. Your victory will be naught but ashes in your throat. I will see you broken.
I'll be ready to forgive you then.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Reflection
Cairo is oppressive, a city built on ruins built on dust that settled on the ancient bones of a civilization that dawned at the beginning of history. The air was harsh, a coarse wind that scraped against her skin and the inside of her throat when she breathed, leaving her raw. Exposed. Unsettled in body as well as in mind. The streets are closed and dark, buildings pressed so tight together they drowned out the sky. She felt like she was crawling underground and claustrophobia tickled as a memory of an emotion she once knew intimately.
There is no relief within the sanctity of her mind. Just beyond the veil of consciousness, the unconquerable tide of the children of Ra hammer against what little defense she has. She just has to ask and they would grant her access to the well of endurance that would stave off the wracking dreams Aten has condemned them all with. Her lips curl into a dagger-slash of a smirk, a rueful irony. If she asked for help, she'd fall into that prideful extremity and yet, if she didn't ask for help, that maddening red of a berserk fury would wash over her surely as the tide rolls onto the shore.
The three of them have stopped addressing one another as separate entities. It's exhausting to stretch one's mind in three directions even for those of iron will. Without that buffer, she's just Rhiannon. Shadows of a woman who move in synchronicity through the maze.
"Stop. Here." One of them speaks. The tickle of her pride is a thorn in the back of her thoughts that scratches against the faint webbing of sanity that keeps her virtues from overriding her. The extremities are kept like a horde of zombies behind a barely-there barn door; just waiting for the one weakness to set themselves free. She pauses in front of a closed off garden, the only sounds around her now being the tranquil babble of a nearby fountain. Only within the four walls does she finally catch a glimpse of the morning sun overhead.
She's drawn to the water and stares down at her harried reflection. The grime of Imhotep's prison is still upon her, along with the dust and dirt of the tunnels. There's still a vivid scar that races along her shoulder and down into the sarong she's wrapped herself in. A combination of a Sphinx's hunger and Horus' anger.
"Give me something to rage against, Morrigu." She murmurs within the private garden where there is no one to hear her weakness. "Or distract me. Anything before I lose myself in Balor's city." For that is what Cairo has become. A tomb and a monument all devoted to the conquer and entrapment of a pantheon that was old when the world was young; and if she wasn't careful, it would be her final battle.
The water is beautiful enough, reflecting the clouds overhead and the cityscape that surrounds her upon every side. Vast windows stretch upward for what seems like forever, before a churning sway of darkness engulfs the place behind her form. The reflection in the water reveals the ivory ghost of Anann in her raven feathered cloak. The skull of the bird canted to gaze down over the fae's shoulder into the very same pool.
She holds in her hand a mace made of dire black spikes, and it has unpleasant gore strung from one vicious hook to the other. Viscera. She looked flawless of course, avoiding even a drop of gore upon her thanks to her undeniable star power. "Give you something to rage against? Very well; one of the oldest aspects of your father died while you were gone."
One aspect takes point at one end of the garden to make sure they're not snuck upon, or the moment broken. She knows no one will come after her, but she still keep vigil. Rhiannon looks into the reflected pool and leans back into Anann before she remembers Anann is not there. Not truly. She catches herself before she turns into the fool. Manannan's death is a splinter that nestles into her mind and does a little to distract from the rage that's broiled since her perceived personal failures since the meteor struck the desert. It haunts her like the dreams that plague her whenever she tries to close her eyes.
"I keep seeing the people I love fall in battle because of this damned curse. Wuyi ignores me point-blank and that's set us into the manipulations of Isis and Alicia. I can't read people. I can't command people. I can't even lie, Anann. I can't even convince someone else to maim in my place because my Enech was crushed by a stupid song! If I had just been wiser in the desert, I would have known what Hathor intended to do and all of this... this wouldn't have happened.
I could have sensed Horus and Hathor's entrapment of Set. I could have seen ... whatever Ra has done to make Vana so doting. I could have taken Imhotep's challenge by storm. I barely snared him in his own trap. I know Kelly's messed with my mind and I can't find myself to grow angry at it. I ... damn it. I'm running on fumes and I can't keep my tongue silent lest I decide to reenact Marquis de Sade's temptations in the streets and Wuyi expects me to ... I don't know." She deflates, all her bravado crumbling away to leave behind a tired shell.
The figment of Anann nods her head slightly at the words, though her demeanor is slightly more menacing than it usually tends to be. Her face is placid and the line of her lips are like the slash of a dagger, silver ichor beneath casting her features into a metallic patina.
"You are whining, and a daughter of the Tuatha does not whine. It does not matter if you are making a statement of fact, you are letting yourself wallow in your own misery and failings. We are always hardest on ourselves, but that hardship should come in the form of affirming your determination to strive harder to accomplish the things you desire, not seek sympathy in the arms of another. Not even your wife. This is not befitting a ruler, Red Lady."
Rhiannon sucks in a sharp breath, and there's a wounded cast to her expression. It can't fade away under a mask because of her dismal grasp of emotions and social trickery, but Anann can so easily see the goddess swallow the bitter medicine and take it for what it's intended to be.
Her gaze averts shamefully before she nods. "Gods, I hate being Irish sometimes." She says as her last concession to what she knows is proper coming from Anann. She steels her shoulders and looks back into the water. "I hate you being the senisble one even more, sometimes."
Anann scoffs quietly and within the reflection of the water she places a hand comfortingly upon Rhiannon's shoulder while the other seems to glide over the curve of her crimson locks in gentle petting. It was a consoling guesture following her tongue lashing, without undermining the lashing in the slightest.
"I sometimes hate being Irish as well, I am afraid, but nothing has taught me better the importance of being a vital person instead of merely being a cog in the wheel of life. You are Irish down to your very blood, and a person who stands tall amongst her peers to shine like a beacon of pride. So believe me when I say that all your sacrifices are not in vain. If nothing else, I see them and mark you as worthy."
Rhiannon's quiet as the reflection disappears as a passing bird settles on the fountain to sup at the waters and wash it's feathers of the sand that is everywhere. She touches her finger to the cool surface and pulls away again. She stays in the garden until the chimes of the morning indicate Ra's part of their plan set into motion.
There is no relief within the sanctity of her mind. Just beyond the veil of consciousness, the unconquerable tide of the children of Ra hammer against what little defense she has. She just has to ask and they would grant her access to the well of endurance that would stave off the wracking dreams Aten has condemned them all with. Her lips curl into a dagger-slash of a smirk, a rueful irony. If she asked for help, she'd fall into that prideful extremity and yet, if she didn't ask for help, that maddening red of a berserk fury would wash over her surely as the tide rolls onto the shore.
The three of them have stopped addressing one another as separate entities. It's exhausting to stretch one's mind in three directions even for those of iron will. Without that buffer, she's just Rhiannon. Shadows of a woman who move in synchronicity through the maze.
"Stop. Here." One of them speaks. The tickle of her pride is a thorn in the back of her thoughts that scratches against the faint webbing of sanity that keeps her virtues from overriding her. The extremities are kept like a horde of zombies behind a barely-there barn door; just waiting for the one weakness to set themselves free. She pauses in front of a closed off garden, the only sounds around her now being the tranquil babble of a nearby fountain. Only within the four walls does she finally catch a glimpse of the morning sun overhead.
She's drawn to the water and stares down at her harried reflection. The grime of Imhotep's prison is still upon her, along with the dust and dirt of the tunnels. There's still a vivid scar that races along her shoulder and down into the sarong she's wrapped herself in. A combination of a Sphinx's hunger and Horus' anger.
"Give me something to rage against, Morrigu." She murmurs within the private garden where there is no one to hear her weakness. "Or distract me. Anything before I lose myself in Balor's city." For that is what Cairo has become. A tomb and a monument all devoted to the conquer and entrapment of a pantheon that was old when the world was young; and if she wasn't careful, it would be her final battle.
The water is beautiful enough, reflecting the clouds overhead and the cityscape that surrounds her upon every side. Vast windows stretch upward for what seems like forever, before a churning sway of darkness engulfs the place behind her form. The reflection in the water reveals the ivory ghost of Anann in her raven feathered cloak. The skull of the bird canted to gaze down over the fae's shoulder into the very same pool.
She holds in her hand a mace made of dire black spikes, and it has unpleasant gore strung from one vicious hook to the other. Viscera. She looked flawless of course, avoiding even a drop of gore upon her thanks to her undeniable star power. "Give you something to rage against? Very well; one of the oldest aspects of your father died while you were gone."
One aspect takes point at one end of the garden to make sure they're not snuck upon, or the moment broken. She knows no one will come after her, but she still keep vigil. Rhiannon looks into the reflected pool and leans back into Anann before she remembers Anann is not there. Not truly. She catches herself before she turns into the fool. Manannan's death is a splinter that nestles into her mind and does a little to distract from the rage that's broiled since her perceived personal failures since the meteor struck the desert. It haunts her like the dreams that plague her whenever she tries to close her eyes.
"I keep seeing the people I love fall in battle because of this damned curse. Wuyi ignores me point-blank and that's set us into the manipulations of Isis and Alicia. I can't read people. I can't command people. I can't even lie, Anann. I can't even convince someone else to maim in my place because my Enech was crushed by a stupid song! If I had just been wiser in the desert, I would have known what Hathor intended to do and all of this... this wouldn't have happened.
I could have sensed Horus and Hathor's entrapment of Set. I could have seen ... whatever Ra has done to make Vana so doting. I could have taken Imhotep's challenge by storm. I barely snared him in his own trap. I know Kelly's messed with my mind and I can't find myself to grow angry at it. I ... damn it. I'm running on fumes and I can't keep my tongue silent lest I decide to reenact Marquis de Sade's temptations in the streets and Wuyi expects me to ... I don't know." She deflates, all her bravado crumbling away to leave behind a tired shell.
The figment of Anann nods her head slightly at the words, though her demeanor is slightly more menacing than it usually tends to be. Her face is placid and the line of her lips are like the slash of a dagger, silver ichor beneath casting her features into a metallic patina.
"You are whining, and a daughter of the Tuatha does not whine. It does not matter if you are making a statement of fact, you are letting yourself wallow in your own misery and failings. We are always hardest on ourselves, but that hardship should come in the form of affirming your determination to strive harder to accomplish the things you desire, not seek sympathy in the arms of another. Not even your wife. This is not befitting a ruler, Red Lady."
Rhiannon sucks in a sharp breath, and there's a wounded cast to her expression. It can't fade away under a mask because of her dismal grasp of emotions and social trickery, but Anann can so easily see the goddess swallow the bitter medicine and take it for what it's intended to be.
Her gaze averts shamefully before she nods. "Gods, I hate being Irish sometimes." She says as her last concession to what she knows is proper coming from Anann. She steels her shoulders and looks back into the water. "I hate you being the senisble one even more, sometimes."
Anann scoffs quietly and within the reflection of the water she places a hand comfortingly upon Rhiannon's shoulder while the other seems to glide over the curve of her crimson locks in gentle petting. It was a consoling guesture following her tongue lashing, without undermining the lashing in the slightest.
"I sometimes hate being Irish as well, I am afraid, but nothing has taught me better the importance of being a vital person instead of merely being a cog in the wheel of life. You are Irish down to your very blood, and a person who stands tall amongst her peers to shine like a beacon of pride. So believe me when I say that all your sacrifices are not in vain. If nothing else, I see them and mark you as worthy."
Rhiannon's quiet as the reflection disappears as a passing bird settles on the fountain to sup at the waters and wash it's feathers of the sand that is everywhere. She touches her finger to the cool surface and pulls away again. She stays in the garden until the chimes of the morning indicate Ra's part of their plan set into motion.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Voices
There's at least eleven different presences on the outskirts of my conscious awareness now. Five of them are from my own Band, the rest are primordial deities; descendants of Ra and the breakwater against the vast abyss of the dream wracks Aten fostered over our crime of assaulting his tower. None of them bring us relief.
Rebecca's found a kindred murderous spirit in Serket, and Vana seems to have enraptured Ra ... or perhaps it's the other way around. Wuyi is Sekhmet's latest plaything and stares at me like we're strangers. Chloe's turned serpentine and is vehemently against anything done or proposed until someone can assure her it's fine. Kelly's gone quiet. I'm just trying to keep up the mask that everything's fine.
It's not fine.
Even with the gift of a Selkie's skin from Ra's trove of treasures, I'm ... ill-content here on the glittering river of stars. The bright monuments and barques are aesthetically welcome but there's only an academics pleasure to be found watching them. Even the river itself is of no comfort to me, and I have rarely felt so out of sorts near the element I've resonated with since birth.
There's a plan drawn up. Risky and almost assuredly doomed from the start. We will turn one Titan against another for the glory of Ra. To make sure we at least have a worthwhile chance, it is Ra himself who sacrifices his ichor on the Saddle of the Vanir to allow Vana to guide us through The Way down onto the world proper.
We face trials of paragonhood. A series of challenges designed by Imhotep who watches from the shadows, a ghost of what he once was. Wuyi achieves the Paragon of Strength. Becky; Perception. I stepped back and granted Chloe to become the Paragon of Dexterity. I am graceful, far more so than her, but that is not what I am known for, nor do I want to claim it.
I am granted the Paragon of Beauty when Anann seizes control of my body through the ring, a failsafe she had designed into it to keep me from mental influences that would see her secrets uncovered, or her assets harmed. She blinds the Band through me and the glory of my ichor cinches the hieroglyph.
I am ... settled when Anann's voice registers through the small village of consciousnesses I'm now attached to, but it's only a temporary reunion. A touch to remind the other we survived our battles. Her, on the field against the Forces of Lir, and the ones I've fought the past few days. Once we succeed at retrieving Ra's True Name and awakening Apep, though, I'll be seperated until Iteru's under the control of the Sun-God once again.
It cannot come soon enough. I miss the valleys and green of my home.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Drabble a Day - Haze
The rumor goes around that this is the first time Enech couldn't chain a goddess.
She stands under the shadow of an overpass; only the burnt tip of a cigarette illuminating the slash of her smile. Smoke slithers up the cast of her cheek, gold and shadow from the fire between her lips. It curls to her like an obsessive lover tangled in her personal gravity. He's beneath her, caught under a heel that crushes deep onto the bone of his thigh, a deceptive strength in the slender line of her frame. His eyes are narrow rings of terrified olive and hazel, the drag of the cigarette a blaze of orange in the black of his overblown pupils. Hers are the electric blue of the ocean, the riptide dragging him out to open water.
He pleads, she doesn't sympathize. He demands answers, she doesn't explain anything. He bargains, she doesn't compromise.
He's the product of an overbearing mother who loved the drink more than her family. She's the product of two thousand years of conditioning. He went out tonight and chose the wrong moment and the wrong woman to lash out towards. She went out tonight and was compelled by ancient laws to seek retribution.
The bridge rattles as the late-night delivery trucks rumble into the city from the countryside. It drowns out the ragged breaths he sucks deep into his lungs. There's a rasp in his throat, a rattle from pain from the tip of her heel digging deep. He'll walk away with a bruise that lingers for weeks after this meeting.
At least he'll walk away. He'll keep her visage locked within the confines of his mind and only time will tell if it will be the deterrent to keep him from winding up another cog in the wheel of abuse, or if it will only push him that much more to the edge.
At least he'll walk away. He'll keep her visage locked within the confines of his mind and only time will tell if it will be the deterrent to keep him from winding up another cog in the wheel of abuse, or if it will only push him that much more to the edge.
The cigarette blazes bright then dies. The smoke is tinted blood in the passing lights of the trucks. The pressure over his thigh drops as she steps back with a click of heels. A butt bounces off his chest and lands in his hand. In the morning, the imprint of her lipstick will be there and he'll find himself compelled to keep it.
He looks up to see her retreating through the narrow overpass. The click of her heels is the sound of his freedom. At the other end, she passes underneath the yellow streetlight and the electric blue of her gaze fixes on him one last time. It's a warning.
Enech could not chain the goddess, but it could temper her.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Love to Love You, Baby
[Transmission Start]
Rhiannon: Where exactly did you find a recorder in Iteru?
Rhia: *laugh* I liberated it from Becca. Don't worry, I distracted her with a huge pile of doritos. Anywho, why are we doing this again?
Rhiannon: Blackmail.
Rhia: Blackmail? Against who? It's just us three here -- *voice cuts out as a violent crash sounds in the background* Oh. Right. Anann, I take it?
Rhiannon: We need leverage and this is the only way to record what has occured here without Rhiann finding a way to rewrite the truth.
Rhiann: I am going to murder the both of you! You cannot even begin to understand Hathor's beauty --
Rhiannon: See what I mean? Blackmail. Now. We will start at the beginning, when we arrived onto the Prison Barque.
Rhia: Right! Right. Uh, lesse. Oh! Set was stuck, literally, on this huge throne of spikes and doom and it probably wasn't comfortable. Horus was brooding, like always and Hathor was --
Rhiann: Hathor was conveying the gentle comfort that only she can provide.
Rhia: *silence* Yeah, let's go with that. Moving on! I think they were sentencing Set for traitorous activities. I wasn't paying attention... Kelly was attempting to -- *cough* Uh, moving on. So! Horus was grumpy because Hathor offered us baths (which we needed like... woah!) and then he decided to join us in the baths which is... kinda awkward.
Rhiannon: He is a Sun God and we have our fatebindings.
Rhia: Mmmhmmmm. Uh, ok.. baths, Set, oh! So Rhiann decided to stick behind in the interoogation room to see what the hell Set did and Rhiannon and I covered with being amazingly sexy. I mean, I'm looking at you-me- right now and I want to just--
Rhiannon: Rhia!
Rhia: What?! Oh. Fine! Jeez. So, while Horus is giving us a personal massage under the waves in comes Wuyi and she must have had a brain implant because she was actually thinking and making sense besides fighting, fucking, and futzing? Is futzing a word? What?! Stop glaring at me. So Wuyi's talking like she's not Wuyi and suddenly Kelly takes off like a bat out of hell!
Rhiann: Please. She was furious because she couldn't accept the fact that Hathor chose me and while we were finally together in comes the lot of you.
Rhiannon: Unfortunately, Kelly had returned not too long after fleeing and told Horus that you, Rhiann, had mind-whammied Hathor. ... did you mind-whammy her?
Rhiann: She was going to try and make me forget the depths of my affections for her. I had to take the chance.
Rhiannon: So, Horus believed we had compromised Hathor and attacked Rhiann. We survived, but we wouldn't survive another hit so we all left to Sekhmet's barque and I think she's going to collect Ra and have him undo on Rhiann whatever Hathor did.
Rhia: That covers it! ... though I was hoping Horus would pierce us with his, y'know, natural sword instead of the golden khopesh! I think this is up there with the exploding potatoes.
Rhiannon: Right. That is about all that happened and now we have it on un-corruptable record that Rhiann was love-sick for a Cow Goddess.... ok, Anann's a bovine-goddess. I suppose that means you'll have to do what we say if you never want Anann to discover this and punish you.
Rhia: *trails off into evil giggles*
[End of Transmisson]
Rhiannon: Where exactly did you find a recorder in Iteru?
Rhia: *laugh* I liberated it from Becca. Don't worry, I distracted her with a huge pile of doritos. Anywho, why are we doing this again?
Rhiannon: Blackmail.
Rhia: Blackmail? Against who? It's just us three here -- *voice cuts out as a violent crash sounds in the background* Oh. Right. Anann, I take it?
Rhiannon: We need leverage and this is the only way to record what has occured here without Rhiann finding a way to rewrite the truth.
Rhiann: I am going to murder the both of you! You cannot even begin to understand Hathor's beauty --
Rhiannon: See what I mean? Blackmail. Now. We will start at the beginning, when we arrived onto the Prison Barque.
Rhia: Right! Right. Uh, lesse. Oh! Set was stuck, literally, on this huge throne of spikes and doom and it probably wasn't comfortable. Horus was brooding, like always and Hathor was --
Rhiann: Hathor was conveying the gentle comfort that only she can provide.
Rhia: *silence* Yeah, let's go with that. Moving on! I think they were sentencing Set for traitorous activities. I wasn't paying attention... Kelly was attempting to -- *cough* Uh, moving on. So! Horus was grumpy because Hathor offered us baths (which we needed like... woah!) and then he decided to join us in the baths which is... kinda awkward.
Rhiannon: He is a Sun God and we have our fatebindings.
Rhia: Mmmhmmmm. Uh, ok.. baths, Set, oh! So Rhiann decided to stick behind in the interoogation room to see what the hell Set did and Rhiannon and I covered with being amazingly sexy. I mean, I'm looking at you-me- right now and I want to just--
Rhiannon: Rhia!
Rhia: What?! Oh. Fine! Jeez. So, while Horus is giving us a personal massage under the waves in comes Wuyi and she must have had a brain implant because she was actually thinking and making sense besides fighting, fucking, and futzing? Is futzing a word? What?! Stop glaring at me. So Wuyi's talking like she's not Wuyi and suddenly Kelly takes off like a bat out of hell!
Rhiann: Please. She was furious because she couldn't accept the fact that Hathor chose me and while we were finally together in comes the lot of you.
Rhiannon: Unfortunately, Kelly had returned not too long after fleeing and told Horus that you, Rhiann, had mind-whammied Hathor. ... did you mind-whammy her?
Rhiann: She was going to try and make me forget the depths of my affections for her. I had to take the chance.
Rhiannon: So, Horus believed we had compromised Hathor and attacked Rhiann. We survived, but we wouldn't survive another hit so we all left to Sekhmet's barque and I think she's going to collect Ra and have him undo on Rhiann whatever Hathor did.
Rhia: That covers it! ... though I was hoping Horus would pierce us with his, y'know, natural sword instead of the golden khopesh! I think this is up there with the exploding potatoes.
Rhiannon: Right. That is about all that happened and now we have it on un-corruptable record that Rhiann was love-sick for a Cow Goddess.... ok, Anann's a bovine-goddess. I suppose that means you'll have to do what we say if you never want Anann to discover this and punish you.
Rhia: *trails off into evil giggles*
[End of Transmisson]
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Isolated
Three of Me. Them. ... Us.
Separate and disjointed, the tear in my/our/her psyche came when Vana stole us from the crash course into Aten's Tower. I had my thoughts. I could hear her thoughts. She could hear my thoughts. It was overwhelming and nervewracking and I can barely keep track of who they/me/we are.
Aten's retribution doesn't help at all. My/Her/Our dreams are terrifying even though fear was bartered away.
We compartmentalize and from that moment onward we're no longer the same woman. We're us. Closer than twins, yet our minds are forever separated. We rely on our innate instincts of our own mannerisms and moods and we come to terms with the result of losing all of our mortality.
Then Enech shatters and my own expressions are alien to me.
I buy us escorted passage to Iteru's frontline at the price of being the Sphnix's chewtoy. Wuyi abandons us when we meet the Pesedjet. There's an interrogation before us and all I can do is struggle to keep my cool as Aten's Judgement drains my willpower. I strip bare some of my resistance to keep from murdering Kelly at her constant insulting. I know I'll regret it.
We'll all regret it.
I just want to be whole again. I miss me.
Separate and disjointed, the tear in my/our/her psyche came when Vana stole us from the crash course into Aten's Tower. I had my thoughts. I could hear her thoughts. She could hear my thoughts. It was overwhelming and nervewracking and I can barely keep track of who they/me/we are.
Aten's retribution doesn't help at all. My/Her/Our dreams are terrifying even though fear was bartered away.
We compartmentalize and from that moment onward we're no longer the same woman. We're us. Closer than twins, yet our minds are forever separated. We rely on our innate instincts of our own mannerisms and moods and we come to terms with the result of losing all of our mortality.
Then Enech shatters and my own expressions are alien to me.
I buy us escorted passage to Iteru's frontline at the price of being the Sphnix's chewtoy. Wuyi abandons us when we meet the Pesedjet. There's an interrogation before us and all I can do is struggle to keep my cool as Aten's Judgement drains my willpower. I strip bare some of my resistance to keep from murdering Kelly at her constant insulting. I know I'll regret it.
We'll all regret it.
I just want to be whole again. I miss me.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Drabble a Day - Snowflake
Snowflakes. From a distance and in a large clump, they look completely and utterly ordinary; beautiful, but ordinary. They were undistinguishable from the other flakes about them. Rhiannon idly wondered if Anann saw her firstborn with Rhiannon within that context; just children with the occasional hiccup of difference.
The Morrigan wasn't a cruel mother, but neither was she doting. It fell onto the aspects of Rhiannon to ensure that the girls and their young brother grew up knowing a mother's affection. She had sworn to herself over their cradles that they wouldn't have to turn up like her and Becky, with more than lingering issues concerning their mothers.
As the girls grew, Rhiannon coaxed interests, soothed fears, handled tempers, and guided knowledge. She was grateful for the abilities to be in four places at once, not to mention have nine seperate trains of thoughts because being Anann's wife and the mother to her children was exhausting. Not to mention the fights when Anann announced her need for loyal soldiers, and eyed Rhiannon expectantly, drained the new goddess. The secondborn generation and later didn't fare so well as the first.
Still. Time passed and the girls emerged from the swirl of snow to become their own unqiue wonder. Kennedy and Calleigh were two dark mirrors of the other, stalking through the forests of Rhiannon's personal lands as if they were practicing for later hunts in life. Siofra was the belle of the ball, a charmer of the highest order that broke hearts without stopping to look back at the damage she caused. She weaved fairy lights and sang sweetly to trick the unwary into her grasp. Ciara was a throwback to Lugh's keen mind and Rhiannon's grace; she was a master of everything put before her, always hungry to discover more (Rhiannon believed the girl had inheirted her wanderlust).
Fiona was the calm in the storm of her siblings. The guardiand and protector, she was nothing like the wild passions of her mothers and perhaps because of that... she was their favorite as well.
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