wearing my dream like a diadem in some better land.
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December 09, 2019, 12:49 PM
(This post was last modified: December 09, 2019, 08:43 PM by Andraste.)
Vigilance and vows;
a candle might be held, had she palms; might have cast the shade of flickering fever dream upon the marred luneface. But she does not, and can only offer natal invocation from her godless throat; ghost-watch. She knows the darkness that had seized the willow-wisp, where the blood has dried and the bones rest, frosted. She knows the Shadow that has woven itself into the fabric of this tasarinan — yet knows not the origins of the Elysian downfall — yet tends to the tomb of the shrouded sibyl all the same, knelt amongst the snows and shivering at that which she could not breathe life back into.
Musing to mortals yet returned to the earth was not at all a practice with which Undómiel is familiar; this solemn procession, nor the prayer of promising reckoning to the wreath of blackness;
as a whelp, the extent of her knowing had been in the peeking 'round gnarled and rooted pillars of the earth, never once allowed to have sat betwixt the arms of her maester and know what it was to look upon the absence of body and of soul. No; as Aurëwen, she had been permitted to watch those make their way forth, lamenting still and silent as sentinels in the eve; had only ever presided from afar those mouthings of annihilation to some creature god; to listen to songs of skullgrin yet ne'er meant to sing them herself.
The unknowing of what it was to be amongst a crowd of criers; to be before the looming eyes of those hollowed hosts, altogether beneath the venerable vigil of stars;
"Násië," fairylight murmurs, now arisen; with reasons of such visitation, for now, unknown and her own.
a candle might be held, had she palms; might have cast the shade of flickering fever dream upon the marred luneface. But she does not, and can only offer natal invocation from her godless throat; ghost-watch. She knows the darkness that had seized the willow-wisp, where the blood has dried and the bones rest, frosted. She knows the Shadow that has woven itself into the fabric of this tasarinan — yet knows not the origins of the Elysian downfall — yet tends to the tomb of the shrouded sibyl all the same, knelt amongst the snows and shivering at that which she could not breathe life back into.
Musing to mortals yet returned to the earth was not at all a practice with which Undómiel is familiar; this solemn procession, nor the prayer of promising reckoning to the wreath of blackness;
as a whelp, the extent of her knowing had been in the peeking 'round gnarled and rooted pillars of the earth, never once allowed to have sat betwixt the arms of her maester and know what it was to look upon the absence of body and of soul. No; as Aurëwen, she had been permitted to watch those make their way forth, lamenting still and silent as sentinels in the eve; had only ever presided from afar those mouthings of annihilation to some creature god; to listen to songs of skullgrin yet ne'er meant to sing them herself.
The unknowing of what it was to be amongst a crowd of criers; to be before the looming eyes of those hollowed hosts, altogether beneath the venerable vigil of stars;
"Násië," fairylight murmurs, now arisen; with reasons of such visitation, for now, unknown and her own.
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