Glittering shards scatter over the ground at her feet, gleaming with the harsh cold beauty of ice in the late afternoon sunlight.
She has no appreciation for the sight, however. Instead, Blodwen's gaze is fixed on the smoke-- long stained pink with Raven's blood-- that now boils upward in a wild, uncontrolled rush from the shattered ruin of the glass globe that had been its prison.
She staggers backward a step, then turns to flee-- and the smoke coils itself around her.
Amidst the memory, a gulf - a startled breast Tighter and tighter it winds, the pink stain bleeding away, flowing into the power that Raven has already twined with Blodwen's own. amidst the shadows struggling to become man and woman again Unerringly it dives deeper, dragging the heat haze with it, sword-sharp and bright as the sun, as the stars. It cuts through the Dark, tangling itself in the loose edges and pulling them along, ripping them away from what lies hidden beneath. amidst sleep and death a stagnant life. There is a shriek--from Blodwen? from Raven? from both?--high and ringing and wild, and the sense of something snapping, pulling back in on itself. The heat haze swarms over Raven, blanketing his skin, and he staggers back a step, dropping down to one knee. Your hands moved always towards the sea's drowsiness caressing the dream that ascended the golden spider Silence reigns, at least for the moment, and Raven lifts his head to watch the woman, black eyes wide and bright and old. bearing into the sun the host of
( ... )
once upon a time... Long ago, so long ago as to have been almost lost to the ages and the mists of memory, a young woman had walked out of her home at night across snow-crisp fields. She had never minded the cold, or been afraid of the dark, and she climbed a high hilltop and there looked up at the cloudless sky and the ice-cold chips of light that were the distant stars. watch, I can flash across the sky There she made of the stars not a plea, but a demand. She demanded power, that long-ago woman-- she cried for power, that she might control all who would use her, bend all who would deny her, that she might shape the world itself to her bidding and nevermore be helpless before others' will. And it was power that came to her calling, but not the power of the stars nor of any light-- instead, it was the cold deadly strength of the spaces between, the empty void of the universe that answered her, that devoured her and filled her with the Dark. A lightning bolt from up on highAnd the woman known to those in the bar as Blodwen Rowlands
( ... )
She has no appreciation for the sight, however. Instead, Blodwen's gaze is fixed on the smoke-- long stained pink with Raven's blood-- that now boils upward in a wild, uncontrolled rush from the shattered ruin of the glass globe that had been its prison.
She staggers backward a step, then turns to flee-- and the smoke coils itself around her.
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Tighter and tighter it winds, the pink stain bleeding away, flowing into the power that Raven has already twined with Blodwen's own.
amidst the shadows struggling to become man and woman again
Unerringly it dives deeper, dragging the heat haze with it, sword-sharp and bright as the sun, as the stars. It cuts through the Dark, tangling itself in the loose edges and pulling them along, ripping them away from what lies hidden beneath.
amidst sleep and death a stagnant life.
There is a shriek--from Blodwen? from Raven? from both?--high and ringing and wild, and the sense of something snapping, pulling back in on itself. The heat haze swarms over Raven, blanketing his skin, and he staggers back a step, dropping down to one knee.
Your hands moved always towards the sea's drowsiness
caressing the dream that ascended the golden spider
Silence reigns, at least for the moment, and Raven lifts his head to watch the woman, black eyes wide and bright and old.
bearing into the sun the host of ( ... )
Reply
Long ago, so long ago as to have been almost lost to the ages and the mists of memory, a young woman had walked out of her home at night across snow-crisp fields. She had never minded the cold, or been afraid of the dark, and she climbed a high hilltop and there looked up at the cloudless sky and the ice-cold chips of light that were the distant stars.
watch, I can flash across the sky
There she made of the stars not a plea, but a demand. She demanded power, that long-ago woman-- she cried for power, that she might control all who would use her, bend all who would deny her, that she might shape the world itself to her bidding and nevermore be helpless before others' will. And it was power that came to her calling, but not the power of the stars nor of any light-- instead, it was the cold deadly strength of the spaces between, the empty void of the universe that answered her, that devoured her and filled her with the Dark.
A lightning bolt from up on highAnd the woman known to those in the bar as Blodwen Rowlands ( ... )
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