in tenebris est veritas.
A little pool of wax has begun to shine beneath the candle’s flame, rippling precariously as Chaele plucks it from the sand. She tips it over the space between two overlapping shells, pouring the wax such that when it quickly dries, it has attached them together. “Water and life,” she mutters in a somber ritual. Then she twists the candle back into its place in the sand and waits for more wax to melt.
“The flower is a symbol of generosity and growth. It might have been a good gift for the ocean, or the Hale Ka'aila, in honor of my new knowledge.” There is no regret in her tone, but still she gives a knowing look to Hadama, acknowledging her own ignorance. “The shells symbolize home and a sailor’s return to it. The crab symbolizes tenacity and survival. These things are not true because I say they are, but because they have been willed to be, by the associations and thoughts of so many people over so much time. All items are given power by the collective intention of those who witness them.”
Already the water has begun to rise, lapping at her skirts and soaking into the sand around her. But the candle has another thin layer of wax, so she busies her hands by dripping it over two more shells to make them one. Again she mutters the little prayer, barely audible, before continuing. “That is the root of magic, as I have come to understand it. My people have the ability to harness it more easily than most, but we do not create something from nothing. We pull on the intentions of the world, which are revealed in its patterns and symbols.”
“The flower is a symbol of generosity and growth. It might have been a good gift for the ocean, or the Hale Ka'aila, in honor of my new knowledge.” There is no regret in her tone, but still she gives a knowing look to Hadama, acknowledging her own ignorance. “The shells symbolize home and a sailor’s return to it. The crab symbolizes tenacity and survival. These things are not true because I say they are, but because they have been willed to be, by the associations and thoughts of so many people over so much time. All items are given power by the collective intention of those who witness them.”
Already the water has begun to rise, lapping at her skirts and soaking into the sand around her. But the candle has another thin layer of wax, so she busies her hands by dripping it over two more shells to make them one. Again she mutters the little prayer, barely audible, before continuing. “That is the root of magic, as I have come to understand it. My people have the ability to harness it more easily than most, but we do not create something from nothing. We pull on the intentions of the world, which are revealed in its patterns and symbols.”
