Swiftcurrent Creek Giselle

Like soft, white petals unfolding, Giselle turned over and stretched, yawning. In the warmth of Bellatrix's pelt, the little white rose whined softly as she yawned, her pink tongue curling before she dramatically tilted her head back, mouth as wide open as it could possibly go. She flicked her tongue over her dark nose and opened her eyes, embracing the light with fond blinks and a faint squint. 

Her vision was improving day by day. Her caretaker provided her with everything that she needed, so there was little for the little rose to want for- and yet, she was not satisfied. For she knew now that a world existed, one which became clearer and clearer to her every day; and she could feel its magic calling out to her. 

In the dark of the den, her beady eyes peered toward the light, flickering crimson with the light of dawn.

Mae was becoming a regular at Bellatrix's den, whether the woman liked it or not. Cygnet had been her sister before she was anything else, she still felt, and her sense of possession over the girl had not faded. Mae had been the one to spirit her away to safety, the one to hold her in those first moments of cold and blood and hunger.

In many ways she felt that the pale girl was hers even more than she had been Moss's.

You bored? Mae inquired around a mouthful of colorful feathers, walking up to the girl who was staring out the den. She dropped them on Cygnet's head in a scattering waterfall. Got you some feathers.

The child watched as a dark figure split the light like a shadow impenetrable. Silver eyes reflected the sky and in them, Cygnet saw the faint gold of clouds hanging on the horizon, until she came close enough for the illusions to disappear. A clutch of vibrant feathers danced and fell above her head, and the child reached up with a paw and posed as they fell around her. She looked from one to the next, observing her new playthings with the reserved poise of royalty choosing which set of jewels to wear. 

With a careful paw, she selected a black feather, lightly iridescent along its quill. She reached for another feather on impulse- one that was silver, striped with grey. She placed one atop the other, and tilted her head to observe the pattern she'd made, where just the very edge of the black feather showed around the grey one. 

A cardinal feather was next- and when it was dropped, its quill pierced through the two layered feathers, and remained upright for a moment; a red arrow piercing through both silver and black. 

Chance, perhaps; or something more sinister.

Mae watched her pale sister as she began to play quietly with the flowers. She wasn’t much like Jakub or Nicodem had been when they were younger. Maybe it was only that sisters were different — or maybe it was her, in particular, who was different. Mae wasn’t sure. But she was fascinated as she watched the girl, who seemed to be making patterns with the feathers.

The symbolism of the moment was lost on her, but Mae did find it interesting that she had chosen silver, black, and red. In a way it reminded her of that night with Moss. The night she’d found her sister. Perturbed, she reached out to nudge one of the blue feathers closer to the younger girl.