10-22-2017, 10:37 AM
She’s still half asleep, but the lilting tune rouses her, brings her to the mouth of the cave she’d spent occupying. Yawning widely, she follows the music, her feet taking her south. Starlin passes the cliffs, then the mountains, the hills, woods, and finally cross the river at the base of the Mountain. None of the stories had prepared her for the sight in front of her. The Reckoning is an old mare’s tale to the grullo filly and her generation; this world is all they have ever known.
Yet here it is in front of her, the mountain from her childhood fairy tales.
There are others beside her, she knows, but they are not important. Nothing is important except what is in front of her.
The Fairy.
Something happens, changes, shifts. The bright spark of magic had been soaring toward her, and she thought she’d been ready. Turns out she didn’t even have time to brace herself before it strikes her, knocking her backwards – though her feet seem weighed down to the earth. (In truth she doesn’t do anything but flinch.)
Black. Solid and Heavy. Nothing but blackness and then…<i>light</i>.
Blurred, soft light, seen from fresh eyes. This is a new one, Starlin’s mind thinks. How delightful. The grullo paint shakes her head as if to clear it, and the soft clink of metal is suddenly audible. It is loudest to Starlin, who wears the three rings in each white ear. It matches the gold at her ankles, bangles that Starlin recognizes as her Mother’s. Yet she wears them know, and she knows – without a doubt – that Mother no longer does.
Starlin laughs. It is a pure, bright sound, but the length and intensity is far from natural. Maniacal, eerie, abnormal. It is the crazed laughter of a creature victorious. With a small frown, a pair of purple wings erupt from her shoulders, vanishing in an instant to be replaced by a crown of antlers, and then a shifting from adolescent to adult, dark to light. This is the preferred shape, after all: glorious, well-muscled, and gold.
The djinni prefers this form to the weakness of the younger one. It knows now that the world has forgotten it, that the memories of trickery and mischief have been too long faded in the minds of the residents of Beqanna.
The opportunity for destruction seems endless.
It laughs again.
Word Count: 398
Starlin is a djinn, the un-anglicanized version of a genie. She can grant wishes, teleport, and shapeshift. She loves a good joke, and can be bound to a receptacle and controlled by whoever possesses it. She is also incredibly physically weak. She must rely on her wit (because her body’s energy is being spent on looking “perfect” rather than how she actually looks), and even a small fall could result in tragedy for the host body. The djinni would simply find another host if that were to happen.
Yet here it is in front of her, the mountain from her childhood fairy tales.
There are others beside her, she knows, but they are not important. Nothing is important except what is in front of her.
The Fairy.
Something happens, changes, shifts. The bright spark of magic had been soaring toward her, and she thought she’d been ready. Turns out she didn’t even have time to brace herself before it strikes her, knocking her backwards – though her feet seem weighed down to the earth. (In truth she doesn’t do anything but flinch.)
Black. Solid and Heavy. Nothing but blackness and then…<i>light</i>.
Blurred, soft light, seen from fresh eyes. This is a new one, Starlin’s mind thinks. How delightful. The grullo paint shakes her head as if to clear it, and the soft clink of metal is suddenly audible. It is loudest to Starlin, who wears the three rings in each white ear. It matches the gold at her ankles, bangles that Starlin recognizes as her Mother’s. Yet she wears them know, and she knows – without a doubt – that Mother no longer does.
Starlin laughs. It is a pure, bright sound, but the length and intensity is far from natural. Maniacal, eerie, abnormal. It is the crazed laughter of a creature victorious. With a small frown, a pair of purple wings erupt from her shoulders, vanishing in an instant to be replaced by a crown of antlers, and then a shifting from adolescent to adult, dark to light. This is the preferred shape, after all: glorious, well-muscled, and gold.
The djinni prefers this form to the weakness of the younger one. It knows now that the world has forgotten it, that the memories of trickery and mischief have been too long faded in the minds of the residents of Beqanna.
The opportunity for destruction seems endless.
It laughs again.
Word Count: 398
Starlin is a djinn, the un-anglicanized version of a genie. She can grant wishes, teleport, and shapeshift. She loves a good joke, and can be bound to a receptacle and controlled by whoever possesses it. She is also incredibly physically weak. She must rely on her wit (because her body’s energy is being spent on looking “perfect” rather than how she actually looks), and even a small fall could result in tragedy for the host body. The djinni would simply find another host if that were to happen.