chaele
worship like a dog
Most of the details are familiar to the recluse, childhood tales mixed with grapevine gossip stirring in the back of her memory. But she had asked vaguely and she is glad for the summary, known and unknown pieces weaving together like so many roots in soil. One thing stands out however; before this moment, it seemed unfathomable that the old terrors would awaken again.
“I am what they call Abandoned,” she admits, for it is less obvious to identify her kind than Maea’s, despite Chaele’s arcane ornamentations. She speaks to the snow in front of her feet, scanning the frosted ground for the telltale brown growths.The turns are tighter now, the path snaking back and forth and promising that they are close to the center.
“And I hope to have nothing to do with the gods and their bickering,” she adds, stomping bitter footprints into the ice. They would no doubt be erased by the magic of this place-- just as any god could erase her if they so chose. She pauses, as if to realize a mistake, or maybe she only thinks she has seen the herb. “But I expect you have no choice.”
“I am what they call Abandoned,” she admits, for it is less obvious to identify her kind than Maea’s, despite Chaele’s arcane ornamentations. She speaks to the snow in front of her feet, scanning the frosted ground for the telltale brown growths.The turns are tighter now, the path snaking back and forth and promising that they are close to the center.
“And I hope to have nothing to do with the gods and their bickering,” she adds, stomping bitter footprints into the ice. They would no doubt be erased by the magic of this place-- just as any god could erase her if they so chose. She pauses, as if to realize a mistake, or maybe she only thinks she has seen the herb. “But I expect you have no choice.”
at the shrine of my lies
