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+---- Thread: Don't weep for me, because this will be the labor of my love. (/showthread.php?tid=1829)
Don't weep for me, because this will be the labor of my love. - Librette - 06-17-2015
As a child you would wait, and watch from far away. But you always knew you'd be the one to work while they all play. She knows this feeling. She's felt it before, the slow creep of impending doom, a restlessness she can't quite place. She knows what it means, but she knows there's no point in running. There's nothing she can do now, no more cards to play. Perhaps she could have gone to Eight, perhaps she could have begged for protection from him – she doesn't even know how amusing that is, that she'd be begging protection from her granddaughter from her granddaughter's lover – but at the end of the day, she doesn't beg. Perhaps this time, she is ready. She watches them quietly, her daughters interacting with their father. They play at war games and relax in the shade, and she is too timeless to move to join them. She sees that Covet is dying too, and she feels sorry for him, sorry for them, that these girls will be left alone. But as she watches them together, two sides of the same bright copper penny, she knows they'll be fine. Against all odds, they're being raised well. Against all odds, they've won her weary heart. Against all odds, they know she loves them. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, the scenery has changed. She's not in the Valley, not anymore. She's somewhere along the rugged borderlands of the beach, where the air is hot and the sun beats down and everything smells of steady decay. Steady decay, and magic, the kind she would recognize anywhere. The kind that laces between the fragments of her own heart and keeps it steadily beating. The kind that makes her wounds heal instantly and pop out tiny eggs and impossible bunnies. "Welcome, grandmother. You must be weary." The voice speaks, and the old mare knows it has begun. Don't weep for me LIBRETTEBecause this will be the labor of my love.
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RE: Don't weep for me, because this will be the labor of my love. - Camrynn - 06-17-2015
so you wanna play with magic?
"Welcome grandmother. You must be weary." her voice is melting chocolate, warm velvet, playful and unhurried as she regards the old mare. They know each other as intimately as any two souls can, having been traveling partners for so many years (not that Librette had exactly been willing, but not that Camrynn had given her any choice).
It had been child's play for her to yank the chestnut mare from the Valley. It was long past time for her grandmother to die; only Camrynn's magic was keeping the woman's reassembled heart beating. But inside that heart the mare is hiding something she wants, a kernel of Valley magic that had once re-knit that heart, reanimating the long-dead mare in whose breast it resided. The Valley had brought Librette back, leaving tiny traces of itself within her.
Tiny traces of power that, when added to Camrynn's own, would give the black magician something she desperately wants.
The chestnut is silent, and Camrynn smiles. "We both know what this is about, don't we?" She chuckles lightly, her tail gently sweeping the bones that crunch beneath her hooves as she moves closer to her grandmother. Gently, absentmindedly, she grooms Librette's withers. The chestnut mare doesn't move. "Our family doesn't have secrets, does it?" Not that they have a family. She's never known her mother or her father, and barely known anyone else other than Librette. And to the extent she has known them, they've been full of secrets. She herself is full of secrets, an endless capacity for lies, an envelope that she just pushes and pushes.
Without hesitation, she bites down somewhere near the withers. Librette does not flinch. The wound does not bleed.
Camrynn steps away with a sigh, her eyes shifting to become an unremarkable brown that matches her grandmother's exactly. "I am almost sorry to do this. I know Eight likes you. You've been very useful to the Valley." Her chocolate-velvet voice is almost pensive, almost playful. Some strange combination of a cat playing with a mouse and a therapist with a favorite patient. "I could make it hurt. Just remember, I could make it painful."
"Just do it." The voice is like ice.
It had been child's play for her to yank the chestnut mare from the Valley. It was long past time for her grandmother to die; only Camrynn's magic was keeping the woman's reassembled heart beating. But inside that heart the mare is hiding something she wants, a kernel of Valley magic that had once re-knit that heart, reanimating the long-dead mare in whose breast it resided. The Valley had brought Librette back, leaving tiny traces of itself within her.
Tiny traces of power that, when added to Camrynn's own, would give the black magician something she desperately wants.
The chestnut is silent, and Camrynn smiles. "We both know what this is about, don't we?" She chuckles lightly, her tail gently sweeping the bones that crunch beneath her hooves as she moves closer to her grandmother. Gently, absentmindedly, she grooms Librette's withers. The chestnut mare doesn't move. "Our family doesn't have secrets, does it?" Not that they have a family. She's never known her mother or her father, and barely known anyone else other than Librette. And to the extent she has known them, they've been full of secrets. She herself is full of secrets, an endless capacity for lies, an envelope that she just pushes and pushes.
Without hesitation, she bites down somewhere near the withers. Librette does not flinch. The wound does not bleed.
Camrynn steps away with a sigh, her eyes shifting to become an unremarkable brown that matches her grandmother's exactly. "I am almost sorry to do this. I know Eight likes you. You've been very useful to the Valley." Her chocolate-velvet voice is almost pensive, almost playful. Some strange combination of a cat playing with a mouse and a therapist with a favorite patient. "I could make it hurt. Just remember, I could make it painful."
"Just do it." The voice is like ice.
CAMRYNN
co-queen of the deserts, magical, mother of badassery
RE: Don't weep for me, because this will be the labor of my love. - Librette - 06-17-2015
As a child you would wait, and watch from far away. But you always knew you'd be the one to work while they all play. "Just do it." she growls, her rough voice as cold as ice. She doesn’t hate her granddaughter for this; perhaps it's always been her destiny, to be torn apart by magicians. Perhaps she'll be rebuilt again, but she isn't counting on it. She knows in her heart that this, here, is her end. At least, for now. The black mare doesn't speak, but Librette knows she's started. As Camrynn had promised, it doesn't hurt, and Librette almost wishes that it would. It feels as though something is gently sifting through every strand of her being, and although she's entirely numb to the pain of the process it still feels strange – like hearing the dentist drill your teeth, the Novocain blocks the pain but not the knowledge of the process. She can feel the magic dig and dig, deeper below the surface, until Camrynn has found what she seeks – Librette's heart. It pulses with the Valley's magic, tight invisible bonds that hold together a heart that was once shattered by Core and Carnage so many years ago. Camrynn doesn't care about the heart itself; all that matters to her are the invisible bonds, and the pure magic energy they represent. Camrynn pauses, and Librette knows that this is the end. But she refuses to do anything but stare straight ahead, refuses to look at her granddaughter, refuses to give any sign or acknowledgement. She doesn't cry out for her children, doesn't cry out for her lovers, doesn't cry out for anyone. Camrynn rips the bonds from around her heart, and with it goes the scraps of Camrynn's own power that were keeping the chestnut mare's life unnaturally extended. Camrynn absorbs it all into herself, taking back her power and absorbing the Valley's power too, tucking it inside herself like a reverse supernova. It settles into the core of who she is, magic winding around magic, and she knows it's done exactly what she had hoped. Her power has increased; she stands shoulder to shoulder with Eight, with Evrae, equal in power now to the eldest of Beqanna's magicians. And Librette? As her heart comes apart, her body falls to the ground, the gentle kind of death that no warrior deserves. Her last thoughts are of the Valley before her soul goes, once again, into the underland of death. HERE LIES LIBRETTE Daughter of no one, true lover of the Valley, and only the Valley. Queen of the Valley twice, General and Lady several times over. Mother of Chernobyl, Concord, Vivaine, Thorrun, Valkerine, and Aletheia (although she doesn't know about that last one). Valley – You have always been my home. I am sad to leave you. ....Again. Covet – As kids go, ours are pretty all right. Especially Thorrun. Try not to let them die. Or something. Oh, and you're kind of okay too. Children – I'm still a pretty terrible mother. Sorry about that. We've all got our talents, right? Vampyric – At least I got to see you once more before I died. Again. Farewell, my friend. Eight – If you fail the Valley I will find you and I will haunt you. Shahrizai – You should go live in the Valley. No really, it's super cool and fun. Nihlus – You should go live in the Valley too. My tree is probably lonely now. You and Shah can hang out by it and bond, or whatever normal horses do when they hang out. Magnus – My dearest friend, it'll be nice to fight by your side again. Camrynn – Magicians clearly have a thing for my heart. Kinda weird, but whatever floats your boat. Just repay me by serving the Valley someday. Core/Carnage – Speaking of my heart, if you want it, I'm pretty sure it's taken. Again. Beqanna/all those not mentioned here – I've led a long life. Technically, two long lives, considering I've already done this whole death thing once. I'm sorry if I've forgotten you, but you'll probably forget me too. Don't weep for me LIBRETTEBecause this will be the labor of my love.
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RE: Don't weep for me, because this will be the labor of my love. - Covet - 06-17-2015
Whatever strange magic wraps Librette is the same magic that pushes Covet along, plucky and ageless. Until lately, anyways.
That same magic made Covet a tiresome, evil beast. But that's gone, and all that's left is raw Covet.
Raw Covet that loved Librette in her own way.
Raw Covet that loves their children, all three of them, though the twins more than all.
Raw Covet that feels Librette's absence like an arrow through his heart.
He doesn't cry, not in front of Thorunn, who openly weeps. She is still a child, but she tried so hard not to. Her lips trembled, her eyes glazed, her breath quickened. She tried so hard to hold the tears in and not let them destroy her carefully constructed mask. But the mask cracked and she is crying over a mother she loved, and who loved her back.
It will be some time later, alone next to the heart tree, that a single tear falls from his clouded orange eyes.
RE: Don't weep for me, because this will be the labor of my love. - Valkerine - 06-17-2015
He doesn't cry, but Valkerine does.
She cries with Thorrun, their tears mingled together. Perhaps Val had once known her mother better than Thorny, but it doesn't matter now - neither of them will know her as well as they would've liked. But at least they, unlike so many of Librette's other children, have no doubt that Librette loved her. In her own way, perhaps, but she loved them.
Val comforts her sister when Thorny cries, trying to be strong for both of them even as she can't keep the tears from coming. And she tries to be strong for her father too, because even though she can hardly believe it, even though she doesn't see him cry, doesn't see his mask crack, somewhere in her bones she feels that he's sad.
And more than that, somewhere in her bones she starts to feel that her parents are not invincible - and she starts to see (although she doesn't say it to Thorny because if she says it then it's true) that her father is dying. And so she cries for both of them, for her mother and her father dead and dying, and for herself and her sister. She cries and she is strong, and hopes desperately that her comfort gives Thorrun strength.
RE: Don't weep for me, because this will be the labor of my love. - Shahrizai - 06-19-2015
His throat tightens with each step he takes. He sees them there, Covet, Thorrun, Valkerine. His eyes burn with unshed tears as he swallows convulsively. The only thing he wishes to do is fall to his knees and cry. She had been his first friend, his closest friend. She hadn't ratted him out to his mother when she should have. She had taught him so much, pushed him to be better. And he hadn't been there when she had so clearly needed him, hadn't been able to prove to her that he could do it.
But he does not fall apart. Where he had failed Librette, he would not these girls. The twin girls who looked so much like her. Despite her self-professed aversion to children, she had loved them.
With his heart aching inside his chest and tears burning to run down his cheek, he gives them what comfort her can. Valkerine supports her sister, and he supports her. He would not let her, or Librette, down.
_________________________________________________________________
Librette, you will be missed. Your memory lives on not just in your daughters, but in me. I will not forget you. If you can hear me, know that I will do everything I can to make you proud to have called me friend.
RE: Don't weep for me, because this will be the labor of my love. - Nihlus - 06-21-2015
They are all there, the people who knew her, but whom he does not know. They are all there, crying or rather not. He, too, weeps. From the depths of his glowing blue eyes, two tears fall; his white-bark legs ache to bring Librette closer to him for but a moment, but the stallion is not so selfish. He stands yards away, bringing a gentle, sad rain upon the small cluster of horses. He does not stay for long, however.
"Hello, Librette." He murmurs just behind her ears, enjoying the feeling of thinness which this place radiates. His lungs expand, expand, expand, yet never are full. "You didn't think you'd be without me for long, did you?" He smiles a grim, moody smile. "I'll take care of the tree, and the others. Don't lose hope."
And then, with a sigh, he is gone, back beneath the rain, surrounded by the mourners. Alas, there are no final words from him. Nothing is final, with him.