Evie
One man's hell is another's God
She lingers on the edges of the shrine for an unknown amount of time. Hands clammy, forcing her to readjust her grip on the small basket held in them. Frequently pushing her hair back away from her face, eyes darting about in the early morning light at any hint of company, it takes a few long minutes before she uproots her feet to approach the shrine.
Folding her knees into a practiced kneel that has never gotten her anywhere before, Evie places her basket tentatively upon the shrine. Within is a small collection of items; muffins she’d baked with the remains of the ingredients she and Deimos had used to make cookies for the festival and sprigs of dried rosemary from her own garden. At her side is the landshark tooth Deimos and the forger had told her could not be worked without godly intervention.
“Frey?” her voice wavers and breaks embarrassingly in the quiet, and she swallows hard. “My name is Evie Wordsworth. I know I am Abandoned, but I mean no disrespect in visiting.” She speaks in a whisper, eyes glued to the basket for fear of seeing the emptiness around her, knowing it could easily remain that way. “Please, I can’t do this without you this time. I need your help.” To be stronger, to go into this war more prepared, so she might protect those around her with more than her healing talents. She’d had her hands and heart in the soil all her life, Frey was her last chance to find a godly haven.
Folding her knees into a practiced kneel that has never gotten her anywhere before, Evie places her basket tentatively upon the shrine. Within is a small collection of items; muffins she’d baked with the remains of the ingredients she and Deimos had used to make cookies for the festival and sprigs of dried rosemary from her own garden. At her side is the landshark tooth Deimos and the forger had told her could not be worked without godly intervention.
“Frey?” her voice wavers and breaks embarrassingly in the quiet, and she swallows hard. “My name is Evie Wordsworth. I know I am Abandoned, but I mean no disrespect in visiting.” She speaks in a whisper, eyes glued to the basket for fear of seeing the emptiness around her, knowing it could easily remain that way. “Please, I can’t do this without you this time. I need your help.” To be stronger, to go into this war more prepared, so she might protect those around her with more than her healing talents. She’d had her hands and heart in the soil all her life, Frey was her last chance to find a godly haven.
It's all about perspective, a parallax
