10-28-2018, 07:31 PM
The pulse of the universe had stuttered for a moment, and the aftershocks are still manifesting. Pangea has risen. A vision has been sent across Beqanna: a call for murder. Faces and magics long absent from Beqanna are starting to reappear.
Her own magic has only recently begun humming. At first she had thought it an aftereffect of their adventure in Sylva; she'd expended a fair amount of chicanery that day. But it has lasted longer than it should have, and sometime in the last week Djinni had realized she was pregnant.
For the fourth time.
She was becoming her mother. Aseret had born her mate nearly a dozen children, and Djinni is nearly halfway there. There is no sign of the pregnancy in her slim dun figure, though if there were it would surely be overshadowed by her rosey pink complexion, gold striping her legs and forehead and falling in waving locks down her shoulders.
The genie is herself today, small and svelte. Even in her delicately pretty face, there are hollows of time and age, hollows that she is not vain enough fill. There are better things to do with magic, after all. Her sea-green eyes are equally aged, and she watches the pair of horses racing across the dawn field. The stallion catches her eye, and in an instant she knows him.
Their only meeting had ended in him driving her away from the Chamber, furious at her for wearing her grandmother's face. Djinni is hopeful he does not remember this. Perhaps instead he'll notice her resemblance to her mother - his sister - as she shimmers her way to a less unnatural shade of dun. Soft grey and black and fawn like Aseret, though Djinni had not been born with her mother's smattering of birdcatcher spots. Instead her wide blaze and sliver of tobiano across her withers are all that she has to distinguish her from any other face in the woods.
Her gaze remains fixed on the two horses, who race ever closer toward her. She does hope they stop, and that if they don't, that at least Set won't attempt to kick her in the face like he had that unfortunate roan.
Her own magic has only recently begun humming. At first she had thought it an aftereffect of their adventure in Sylva; she'd expended a fair amount of chicanery that day. But it has lasted longer than it should have, and sometime in the last week Djinni had realized she was pregnant.
For the fourth time.
She was becoming her mother. Aseret had born her mate nearly a dozen children, and Djinni is nearly halfway there. There is no sign of the pregnancy in her slim dun figure, though if there were it would surely be overshadowed by her rosey pink complexion, gold striping her legs and forehead and falling in waving locks down her shoulders.
The genie is herself today, small and svelte. Even in her delicately pretty face, there are hollows of time and age, hollows that she is not vain enough fill. There are better things to do with magic, after all. Her sea-green eyes are equally aged, and she watches the pair of horses racing across the dawn field. The stallion catches her eye, and in an instant she knows him.
Their only meeting had ended in him driving her away from the Chamber, furious at her for wearing her grandmother's face. Djinni is hopeful he does not remember this. Perhaps instead he'll notice her resemblance to her mother - his sister - as she shimmers her way to a less unnatural shade of dun. Soft grey and black and fawn like Aseret, though Djinni had not been born with her mother's smattering of birdcatcher spots. Instead her wide blaze and sliver of tobiano across her withers are all that she has to distinguish her from any other face in the woods.
Her gaze remains fixed on the two horses, who race ever closer toward her. She does hope they stop, and that if they don't, that at least Set won't attempt to kick her in the face like he had that unfortunate roan.
D J I N N I
genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster