06-17-2015, 12:52 PM
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