Maea
My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on the limb
Maea approached the shrine with a flutter of moths assaulting her insides. That she had met Dygra three times before had in no way assured her of the goddess's temperament. Being welcome... yes. To an extent. But whether a prayer would be heard, if a desire of hers was too base, too boring, too bold, that Maea couldn't even guess at.
So she came bringing gifts.
Recently she had been adviced to kill herself, in a very blunt and straight forward manner. And once she recovered from the shock, the pale ancient found it wasn't bad advice. There were plenty of things about herself that she didn't like, didn't want, parts that held her back and kept her from moving forward. If the gore crow shift was the one thing that had made her feel truly herself lately... then it also represented all the things she didn't want to be. It had not been easy, bringing herself to hunt and kill something that she liked, but that was the whole point. She needed to stop avoiding things that were difficult, or painful, or different from what the old self would have done.
Gently placing the limp body of a gore crow within the indentation of the obsidian slab, Maea gazed at it and stroked the black feathers for a moment, before pressing her fingertip against a razor sharp talons so that some of her blood dripped down into the bowl. Taking a step back, she sank to her knees and bowed her head in respect - to the bird, and to the goddess.
"Lady Dygra," she prayed, "I ask for your presence, and but a moment of your time."
So she came bringing gifts.
Recently she had been adviced to kill herself, in a very blunt and straight forward manner. And once she recovered from the shock, the pale ancient found it wasn't bad advice. There were plenty of things about herself that she didn't like, didn't want, parts that held her back and kept her from moving forward. If the gore crow shift was the one thing that had made her feel truly herself lately... then it also represented all the things she didn't want to be. It had not been easy, bringing herself to hunt and kill something that she liked, but that was the whole point. She needed to stop avoiding things that were difficult, or painful, or different from what the old self would have done.
Gently placing the limp body of a gore crow within the indentation of the obsidian slab, Maea gazed at it and stroked the black feathers for a moment, before pressing her fingertip against a razor sharp talons so that some of her blood dripped down into the bowl. Taking a step back, she sank to her knees and bowed her head in respect - to the bird, and to the goddess.
"Lady Dygra," she prayed, "I ask for your presence, and but a moment of your time."
And I remember thinking — I want to be like them
