// I tried to scream but my head was underwater //
Day or night made little difference in the burrows. Any natural light glowed lava red and dyed both rocks and flowers out of their original hues. It could easily grow boring, or oppressive, or at least monochrome, but honestly Maea rather enjoyed reflecting anything but white for a change. Pink, shades of red, shadowed hues of coral and bone - even her hair took on new nuances of silk, glistening only when the fiery moths she had conjured came close enough to highlight individual strands, curled up and made frizzy by the humidity.
Pausing to catch her breath near the pond, she got her hopes up for a moment, thinking it was actual water within. It wasn't until she knelt to touch the still liquid and found her fingers dyed crimson that she realized otherwise, and let out a disappointed sigh. Wasn't it a bit much? Did everything have to be blood? Blood waterfalls, blood pools, blood ponds; for a goddess all about change it seemed oddly uniform. Then again, it was probably beautiful to some. Welcoming, rather than obscene, comforting instead of unsettling.
With a relentless feeling of being out of place, Maea sat down and merely stared out across the pool. It took no effort at all to uphold the burning shapes, and yet she found herself bored with the lack of life in them. Without feeding them magic and intent they would go out, erased without a trace of ever being there. There one vanished, and a second, and the final one; and before she knew it, darkness settled over the cavern.
Alone. Once again she was alone. And for once she was in no hurry to change that. Despite the persistent lump in her throat and an ache that reminded at once of unshed tears and frustration and despair, she resisted the impulse to rub at her temples or curl up or weep.
It hadn't helped her any so far.
Pausing to catch her breath near the pond, she got her hopes up for a moment, thinking it was actual water within. It wasn't until she knelt to touch the still liquid and found her fingers dyed crimson that she realized otherwise, and let out a disappointed sigh. Wasn't it a bit much? Did everything have to be blood? Blood waterfalls, blood pools, blood ponds; for a goddess all about change it seemed oddly uniform. Then again, it was probably beautiful to some. Welcoming, rather than obscene, comforting instead of unsettling.
With a relentless feeling of being out of place, Maea sat down and merely stared out across the pool. It took no effort at all to uphold the burning shapes, and yet she found herself bored with the lack of life in them. Without feeding them magic and intent they would go out, erased without a trace of ever being there. There one vanished, and a second, and the final one; and before she knew it, darkness settled over the cavern.
Alone. Once again she was alone. And for once she was in no hurry to change that. Despite the persistent lump in her throat and an ache that reminded at once of unshed tears and frustration and despair, she resisted the impulse to rub at her temples or curl up or weep.
It hadn't helped her any so far.
Maea
// They called me weak, like I'm not just somebody's daughter //
