jamie
05-08-2023, 09:45 PM
jamie
I CAN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
He had not looked for them.
He had found his revenge in other ways.
He had crafted the water nymphs, swiftly shackled them to differing bodies of water across Beqanna. He had dragged the thing from hell, fashioning her after the Fates the white magician had taken from him. He had made her bleed, though she was a dead thing. He had set it loose on the world in the hopes that it might find those Fates, that it might tilt its ugly head and let them know that he had not forgotten.
The thing has reported no such findings, however.
And he is tired of waiting.
So, he finds the first one himself. He asks the ghosts, communing with the dead, and he looks for her first. The Fate who cut the tether. The Fate responsible for severing the lifeforce because certainly she is the most like him. (He does not look for the one crafted for love, though she is perhaps the only one who has looked for him. He does not look for the decider, though there is some great darkness in deciding when a life should be ended, too. No, he looks for Maurtia specifically, the Necromancer.)
It does not take long for them to find her. It does not take long for him to step through that portal of shadow and emerge mere yards from her. He has seen her only once before, when Beyza had birthed them in shadow and he had wept at the sight of them. Because they were so beautiful that he could not look at them. Certainly he could not touch them. But he knows that it is her, Maurtia, the darkest of the three daughters.
“Maurtia,” he exhales, the name clawing its way up out of his throat as if it takes some great effort to utter it. He looks plainly at her now, though she is still just as beautiful now as the day she’d been born. “My Maurtia,” he coos. “You’re all grown up, my girl.”
He had found his revenge in other ways.
He had crafted the water nymphs, swiftly shackled them to differing bodies of water across Beqanna. He had dragged the thing from hell, fashioning her after the Fates the white magician had taken from him. He had made her bleed, though she was a dead thing. He had set it loose on the world in the hopes that it might find those Fates, that it might tilt its ugly head and let them know that he had not forgotten.
The thing has reported no such findings, however.
And he is tired of waiting.
So, he finds the first one himself. He asks the ghosts, communing with the dead, and he looks for her first. The Fate who cut the tether. The Fate responsible for severing the lifeforce because certainly she is the most like him. (He does not look for the one crafted for love, though she is perhaps the only one who has looked for him. He does not look for the decider, though there is some great darkness in deciding when a life should be ended, too. No, he looks for Maurtia specifically, the Necromancer.)
It does not take long for them to find her. It does not take long for him to step through that portal of shadow and emerge mere yards from her. He has seen her only once before, when Beyza had birthed them in shadow and he had wept at the sight of them. Because they were so beautiful that he could not look at them. Certainly he could not touch them. But he knows that it is her, Maurtia, the darkest of the three daughters.
“Maurtia,” he exhales, the name clawing its way up out of his throat as if it takes some great effort to utter it. He looks plainly at her now, though she is still just as beautiful now as the day she’d been born. “My Maurtia,” he coos. “You’re all grown up, my girl.”
AND IT LEAVES ME COLD
@Maurtia