[se] the secret history

Lena

hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul

“Ah. I see.” And she hummed once more, drumming her fingers lightly on passing bookshelves, watching, waiting for a moment as pumpkins roamed and scholars glanced upward. “I presume you’ve never thought about her in the first place?” A careful arch to her brow, with a friendly, affable ease; perhaps a stark assumption – but this woman wouldn’t be here if she’d ever thought of giving into the Voice. As they moved through aisles and eaves, she considered, pondering, wondering, never quite giving in to that range of curiosity long since stoked. “There are always benefits to either. Though, if you enjoy calling for the spirits or gods themselves, you might be more inclined to stay as an Accepted.” A shrug of her shoulders, free of judgment, before they motioned into their plan.

Lena waved away the others who weren’t quite as content with their notions (besides, it’d benefit the other library-goers in the process). Within half a moment, her compelling stretched from her soul, ushering, clambering, pushing, cajoling the wayward gourds out of their hiding places. Multitudes began to surface, wandering through avenues, routes, and hidden, tucked away nooks and crannies. With a shake of her head, they angled towards the door, grumbling lowly, unhappy and grumpy about their situation, but silently leaving just the same.

and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all