Post by Yva on Mar 6, 2007 2:39:04 GMT -5
“You traveled hundreds of miles through a desert of snow to ask me why I have done the things I‘ve done?” She tapped a lacquered fingernail on the edge of her glass.
The young magus across the table studied her through sooty eyelashes, his fear and fascination telegraphed in the deep crevice of his brow. “Yes.”
“Why do you want to know?” She tipped her head to the side. “Why would it matter what the White Witch says? Your people have painted me a monster, and rightfully so. The blood on my hands is as red as a dragon‘s scale. What could I possibly say that would make any difference whatsoever.”
“My people are fools. They know what you‘ve done, but have never asked why you did such things.”
”Point, young Sir. A very good point.“ Her smile was tight. “However, fools or not, they have one thing I do not.“
“You have power.“
“More than you can imagine, but it came at a cost.“
“But . . . “
“No buts. They have the one thing I gave up, the one thing I would do anything to have back.”
“And that is?”
She opened her mouth to explain but then thought better of it, instead grabbing his warm hand within her chilled one. She brought two of his fingers to the base of her neck, pressing them to the crook. “There is no life in this body, Lord Callix. There is no pulse . . . “ She brought his hand to her chest, above her breast, forcing the flat of his palm against the fine linen of her robe. “No heartbeat. I gave up life to seek the old magics. By your terms, I have no soul.”
“But you don’t look dead. You don’t smell like them, or . . . The risen ones are rotten, shambling creatures. They eat FLESH! But you . . . “ His fingers flexed in her robe. “You are beautiful, you are whole. Your power is inspiring.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I am as whole as a vase riddled with cracks. I teeter on the brink of brilliance and madness. There is no whole for one who lives this way.”
He swallowed, peering into her too pale face. “I . .. I want to be like you. I want to be learned and wise. I want to know your power. You are feared and loathed in equal measure, true, but it must be worth it.”
“Have you heard NOTHING I’ve said you little fool?!” She thrust him away, standing with such force that her chair toppled over. “Do you think they call me the Witch of the North because I am kindly? Saintly? Do you think they . . . Gods above, lad, you are ignorant.” She marched to the glass doors of the sitting room, thrusting them open, a gust of arctic wind blasting the black hair away from her face. She could hear the human following behind her, his teeth chattering, his hands rubbing up and down the coarse wool of his cloak to keep his heat about him.
“Lady Darrows, I‘m sorry, but I‘ve always admired your dedication to the arcane arts.”
“Come,” she said over her shoulder, beckoning him with a graceful sweep of her hand. “Come so that you may see what my dedication has done.”
“Y-yes Ma’am.” He scurried at her heels like an eager puppy, blinking at the swirls of snow pelting his face.
She led him past the gardens, where blue roses wept teardrops of frozen dew. The iron gates were crusted with snow and tiny spider webs of ice. She pushed her way through, her brilliant blue eyes scanning two rows of equally spaced sculptures. “Come look at my topiary.”
He did her bidding, sliding a small pair of spectacles up his nose. He approached the first statue, his thick lips broadening into a smile. “Spectacular, my lady. You’ve etched His Lordship’s crest with amazing detail. Done with magic?”
“You could say that.” She slid in behind the young man, drizzling her fingers down the ice sculpture’s tabard. Her front lined the mage's back, and she rubbed her cheek against his bicep. “But it was done in a wicked way. You see . . . this knight was rude to me one evening when I crossed the roads of your capital. Shoved by me without begging my forgiveness.”
He straightened then, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “H-he was alive?“
“Oh yes. They all were.“ She watched the smile melt from his profile. “You see, I called my ice and it blossomed here, in his gut.” She slid her hand to the mage’s stomach. “It was just a tiny shard at the start, but then I fed magic into it, making it grow. It crawled through his lungs and up to his windpipe. After a time he couldn’t breathe. His face turn blue. When he clutched the hem of my robe, gasping and groveling like a spineless worm . . . “ Her fingernails dug into the tender flesh of his belly. “I pulled the ice back to allow him to beg for his life.”
“. . . I . . . what did you do?”
“I forgave him for his rudeness, and when he thanked me?” She stepped away from him, watching his ragged breaths erupt in grayish blue clouds. “I made the ice explode. I brought the shattered pieces here so he could rest along with his brothers and sisters.” She walked along the snowy path, reaching her hands out to either side of her to trace over the chests of her ice sculptures.
“Y-you did this because he was rude?”
“Yes. Because he was rude.” She turned to look at her guest, her smile benign. “Because I was having one of my bad days, and on my bad days? People die. It just seems to happen.” Her eyes bore into his face. “Do you understand now? I wasn’t born mad, this . . . all of this!” Her hand swept in front of her and a ball of blue fire soared from her fingers, barreling into the chest of one of the sculptures. The young mage yelped as magic ripped the statue apart, the chest caving in, the arms falling helplessly to the ground with a loud thump. “This will make you into something more than you already are, something bigger, but altogether worse.” She breathed in deeply. “Do not envy me, or idolize me. I’m a murderess and a mad woman who just so happens to have moments of lucidity. That is who I am. That is why I do the things I do. That is the long answer to your very simple question of ‘Why‘, Lord Callix.”
He shivered, recoiling from the ice sculpture as if it were poison. “Why don’t you stop? Why don’t you seek help for your condition? The things you could do to better the world with your magics . . . “
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “There is no help for me. I am Darrows, no more, no less. You would be wise to remember that.”
(Rough draft, needs editing, but . . . yeah. A germ. <3)
The young magus across the table studied her through sooty eyelashes, his fear and fascination telegraphed in the deep crevice of his brow. “Yes.”
“Why do you want to know?” She tipped her head to the side. “Why would it matter what the White Witch says? Your people have painted me a monster, and rightfully so. The blood on my hands is as red as a dragon‘s scale. What could I possibly say that would make any difference whatsoever.”
“My people are fools. They know what you‘ve done, but have never asked why you did such things.”
”Point, young Sir. A very good point.“ Her smile was tight. “However, fools or not, they have one thing I do not.“
“You have power.“
“More than you can imagine, but it came at a cost.“
“But . . . “
“No buts. They have the one thing I gave up, the one thing I would do anything to have back.”
“And that is?”
She opened her mouth to explain but then thought better of it, instead grabbing his warm hand within her chilled one. She brought two of his fingers to the base of her neck, pressing them to the crook. “There is no life in this body, Lord Callix. There is no pulse . . . “ She brought his hand to her chest, above her breast, forcing the flat of his palm against the fine linen of her robe. “No heartbeat. I gave up life to seek the old magics. By your terms, I have no soul.”
“But you don’t look dead. You don’t smell like them, or . . . The risen ones are rotten, shambling creatures. They eat FLESH! But you . . . “ His fingers flexed in her robe. “You are beautiful, you are whole. Your power is inspiring.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I am as whole as a vase riddled with cracks. I teeter on the brink of brilliance and madness. There is no whole for one who lives this way.”
He swallowed, peering into her too pale face. “I . .. I want to be like you. I want to be learned and wise. I want to know your power. You are feared and loathed in equal measure, true, but it must be worth it.”
“Have you heard NOTHING I’ve said you little fool?!” She thrust him away, standing with such force that her chair toppled over. “Do you think they call me the Witch of the North because I am kindly? Saintly? Do you think they . . . Gods above, lad, you are ignorant.” She marched to the glass doors of the sitting room, thrusting them open, a gust of arctic wind blasting the black hair away from her face. She could hear the human following behind her, his teeth chattering, his hands rubbing up and down the coarse wool of his cloak to keep his heat about him.
“Lady Darrows, I‘m sorry, but I‘ve always admired your dedication to the arcane arts.”
“Come,” she said over her shoulder, beckoning him with a graceful sweep of her hand. “Come so that you may see what my dedication has done.”
“Y-yes Ma’am.” He scurried at her heels like an eager puppy, blinking at the swirls of snow pelting his face.
She led him past the gardens, where blue roses wept teardrops of frozen dew. The iron gates were crusted with snow and tiny spider webs of ice. She pushed her way through, her brilliant blue eyes scanning two rows of equally spaced sculptures. “Come look at my topiary.”
He did her bidding, sliding a small pair of spectacles up his nose. He approached the first statue, his thick lips broadening into a smile. “Spectacular, my lady. You’ve etched His Lordship’s crest with amazing detail. Done with magic?”
“You could say that.” She slid in behind the young man, drizzling her fingers down the ice sculpture’s tabard. Her front lined the mage's back, and she rubbed her cheek against his bicep. “But it was done in a wicked way. You see . . . this knight was rude to me one evening when I crossed the roads of your capital. Shoved by me without begging my forgiveness.”
He straightened then, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “H-he was alive?“
“Oh yes. They all were.“ She watched the smile melt from his profile. “You see, I called my ice and it blossomed here, in his gut.” She slid her hand to the mage’s stomach. “It was just a tiny shard at the start, but then I fed magic into it, making it grow. It crawled through his lungs and up to his windpipe. After a time he couldn’t breathe. His face turn blue. When he clutched the hem of my robe, gasping and groveling like a spineless worm . . . “ Her fingernails dug into the tender flesh of his belly. “I pulled the ice back to allow him to beg for his life.”
“. . . I . . . what did you do?”
“I forgave him for his rudeness, and when he thanked me?” She stepped away from him, watching his ragged breaths erupt in grayish blue clouds. “I made the ice explode. I brought the shattered pieces here so he could rest along with his brothers and sisters.” She walked along the snowy path, reaching her hands out to either side of her to trace over the chests of her ice sculptures.
“Y-you did this because he was rude?”
“Yes. Because he was rude.” She turned to look at her guest, her smile benign. “Because I was having one of my bad days, and on my bad days? People die. It just seems to happen.” Her eyes bore into his face. “Do you understand now? I wasn’t born mad, this . . . all of this!” Her hand swept in front of her and a ball of blue fire soared from her fingers, barreling into the chest of one of the sculptures. The young mage yelped as magic ripped the statue apart, the chest caving in, the arms falling helplessly to the ground with a loud thump. “This will make you into something more than you already are, something bigger, but altogether worse.” She breathed in deeply. “Do not envy me, or idolize me. I’m a murderess and a mad woman who just so happens to have moments of lucidity. That is who I am. That is why I do the things I do. That is the long answer to your very simple question of ‘Why‘, Lord Callix.”
He shivered, recoiling from the ice sculpture as if it were poison. “Why don’t you stop? Why don’t you seek help for your condition? The things you could do to better the world with your magics . . . “
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “There is no help for me. I am Darrows, no more, no less. You would be wise to remember that.”
(Rough draft, needs editing, but . . . yeah. A germ. <3)