Wapun Meadow tears of blood

There was quite an astrological event occurring, and [of course] the sylph was awake to experience it. Olive had very much become a nocturnal creature, feeling more at home in the crepuscule than in the light of day; she slunk about as would an eidolon, luxuriating in the anonymity and the solitude that the night afforded — but this night, it was different. this night, the lunar vibration racked her energetic field and sent it pitching, off balance. Within her physicality, it manifested physically as a small tummy ache and all-around restlessness — if this was all the gods requested of her, then she was all too pleased to give these small parts of herself.

“We know you hide, we know your truth!”

Oh, the misted druid’s curiosity was piqued almost instantaneously. The voice, almost feral, almost in tongues, rang out across the meadow and Olive found herself drawn to it. It was a strong pull and not something that the shelf would ever deign to ignore — for whenever she felt such a strong inclination, she knew it was the god’s hand guiding her and she trusted it implicitly. It had taken a long time to learn to trust herself once more — but, away from Dakarai, Olive found that she could finally think clearly.

“We know you murdered for the sake of vanity — a sin that will curse you until the end of time!”

Her saunter had become a trot and before long the girl was in an all-out sprint, the voice roaring and becoming louder, lighting a fire beneath her feet and sending her skittering along. A breadcrumb trail of dainty footprints was all that was left as she lept and bounded towards the holy conjuncture — or was it the devil who spoke so fervently of truth and murder? Oh, she wanted to know! 

Olive burst onto the scene, immediately ceasing any movement and dropped her head to survey the situation. It was a man, simply conversing with his gods — Olive had many similar conversations with her own, recently. Suddenly, the druid felt intrusive and began to wheedle her hips backwards, not willing to risk the man’s blatant ire. Then, her gaze fell to the slain being at his feet. “Oh…” she chimed forlornly, sound riding upon her exhale. Olive understood ceremony and she understood the gods, but her heart beat for the life that had been sacrificed. As an empath, it was something that could not be helped — and the man, he was so incensed! The woman of ash-and-bone wondered if he even knew she was there.