twisting on racks when sinews give way; any (one)

[Camrynn]

We do what we must, Because we can. What do you call a girl who doesn't lose? It is not that she is lucky; there are many whose lives are a series of near-misses, tragedy avoided in an invisible ripple of random chance. But Camrynn is not that; she misses nothing, and what might seem like random chance is never random. In a world that seems like chaos, where gods play chess with mortals and shake the ground beneath their feet for amusement, Camrynn is the exception to the rule. There are no rockslides in her life, unless she causes them. The ground will never collapse beneath her, and even if it did, she would catch herself. Even time bows to her, bending backwards, splitting and curling around itself like wood carved by a chisel. She is a magician, and she wields her power with constant grace. It is part of her, another limb, an extension of her very soul. It can harm, it can heal, it can give and it can take. She is like a god made flesh, all the luck in the world condensed into a single point, random chance that is never random. Always in control. And always aware, so that when Dominion runs, Camrynn feels the footfalls echo, hears the sad heart beating. It is not hard to discover what compels Dominion forward; the mare wears a part of her story on her skin, and still more inside her body. Camrynn can feel it all, the lacerations and the bruising, the aching fullness of a missing child, the rush of pain as the running continues, and the lack of release when it ends. In an eyeblink, Camrynn is invisible, an unknowable presence overlooking the stream where the running-mare stops to drink. She finds herself impossibly drawn to this creature, like a Greek nymph of old to a human. They are from different worlds, the two of them, and Camrynn can smell her loss – she reeks of it like death. She can almost see the ghosts that surround the woman, carried with her like an invisible mark, breathed anew with every breath she takes, vivid and vibrant as a scar. Still invisible and unheard, she moves toward the woman. She is drawn like a moth to a flame, impossibly curious. She could take it all away – dull the pain, heal the wounds, erase the memories, maybe even bring back what's been lost. But she doesn't. At least, not yet. Still invisible, she whispers. "Though they go mad they shall be sane," she pulls the words from the wind, testing them as a poet might, as though considering them before committing them to paper. Her voice is like velvet, warm and soothing and heavy. The first rays of sun crest over the trees, and the shadows seem to tremble and speak. "Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;" the words are so personal it almost feels as though they're whispered into Dominion's ear, the poet's uncertainty replaced by an almost infinite tenderness. The magician herself appears well behind Dom, eerie in the early-morning meadow. It is at once sudden and expected, as though she has just appeared and as though she has always been there."Though lovers be lost love shall not;" the velvet voice is clearly hers, clearly coming from behind Dom, inviting the mare to turn and look if she has not already done so. A black mare stands before her, with eyes the color of the angry sea. Kelp and seaweed streak her mane and tail, and a thin line of gemstones and diamonds decorates her left cheek like a strange necklace. She looks a little bit like a shipwreck, like a storm-tossed jewel, like a water goddess. The next line is spoken with a profound sadness and warmth, but softly, so softly it could almost be a whisper. The stormsea eyes are heavy as they look to the mare. "And death shall have no dominion." C A M R Y N N Why? Because I can Image copyright MariannaInsomnia