white_flowers: (cloaked in green)
[personal profile] white_flowers
It is quiet, upstairs here in this new room which is small and comfortable, cozy like a cottage might be. So very quiet.

Her half-finished knitting lies on the bedside table-- the baby's blanket is coming along well. Blodwen is sitting in a rocking chair, hands folded in her lap, and staring absently at a still-sealed DVD. Taunt and warning, promise and threat, but these things are not of any real surprise to her.

(I will always find you. It is something of a comfort, is it not?)

No, the surprise had come while she was in the cells.

(I'll do what I can to get you out. Most of Team Light'll probably listen to me, if I tell them to let you go.)

It has not been the only offer of help that she has been given in the past few days -- and given clearly, by those who know her -- but it is perhaps the most unexpected.

(you have betrayed every loyalty, every duty, every love you have ever had)

Suddenly, the room is too small and confining for strange and uncomfortably conflicting thoughts. Blodwen rises-- and changes as she does, becoming a fair fey figure, tall and shining with strange light. The white cloak blurs as it wraps around her, then takes on the emerald-spring shade of the green-glass castle-- shelter and power both that place had been to her, and still is, even here.

Looking now as she had when she first returned, "Anghared" leaves the room, heading for the comforting green grass and tree-lined shade of the space by the lake.
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Blodwen Rowlands

July 2010

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