in tenebris est veritas.
It is easy to watch her hands, to avoid her gaze, to shut out the desperate circumstances and settle in the rhythm of work for a time. It is like witnessing the creation of a little world, an idea made whole in calcite and wax. There is even a certain solace in the memories Maea’s words evoke.
“I think I do remember.” There had been a time when Chaele wrapped paper around wire near the warmth of a hearth, before they really understood what gods were and how little they meant to the divine. Their shoulders slump with grief, thoughts of one particular lost love rolling in with the brine.
The question brings them back to the task at hand: the investigation of this woman and the extent of her generosity. “I am always in search of unique things. Places of power, and the items that inhabit them. There is magic in these islands, which I seek to understand.” The truth is sufficient, it seems. “And you? I imagine you can find such tokens as those on any given beach.”
“I think I do remember.” There had been a time when Chaele wrapped paper around wire near the warmth of a hearth, before they really understood what gods were and how little they meant to the divine. Their shoulders slump with grief, thoughts of one particular lost love rolling in with the brine.
The question brings them back to the task at hand: the investigation of this woman and the extent of her generosity. “I am always in search of unique things. Places of power, and the items that inhabit them. There is magic in these islands, which I seek to understand.” The truth is sufficient, it seems. “And you? I imagine you can find such tokens as those on any given beach.”
