Blodwen Rowlands (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
white_flowers) wrote2006-06-11 07:03 pm
white_flowers) wrote2006-06-11 07:03 pm
Entry tags:
IC: Midsummer Rising
Midsummer.
Longest day, brightest day, day of celebration for those of the Light and also of the Wild.
It will be a day of great power-- and had once marked the ending of the rising Dark in the world she had once called her own.
But here at the end of all the worlds, she intends to change things. The longest and brightest day it may be, but there is another side to it as well; for at the moment that the sun passes zenith, the time of Light also passes.
So begins the long slow fall into the Dark.
This time, the White Rider means to turn her carefully-gathered power to advantage at that precise moment, bringing the cycle to an entirely different ending -- for everyone.
She is smiling cruelly when she steps out of the forest and starts toward the bar, half-lost in her thoughts and her plans.
Longest day, brightest day, day of celebration for those of the Light and also of the Wild.
It will be a day of great power-- and had once marked the ending of the rising Dark in the world she had once called her own.
But here at the end of all the worlds, she intends to change things. The longest and brightest day it may be, but there is another side to it as well; for at the moment that the sun passes zenith, the time of Light also passes.
So begins the long slow fall into the Dark.
This time, the White Rider means to turn her carefully-gathered power to advantage at that precise moment, bringing the cycle to an entirely different ending -- for everyone.
She is smiling cruelly when she steps out of the forest and starts toward the bar, half-lost in her thoughts and her plans.
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She likes her already.
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The loathing is much more evident this time.
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(You don't take your eyes off a witch.)
"I know a good deal," she says, coolly.
"I know that was the Dark just now - and I know that you lost - and I hope someone does kill you, before you can do it again!"
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"How does it hurt her more?"
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Coyote stands and extends her hand to Mary. "She can't hurt anyone now. Unless they let her."
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Mary hesitates a moment - then shifts her glance to Coyote, placing her own hand in Coyote's offered one.
"That is good, I think," she says; a little uncertain, suddenly.
The rules seem to have changed.
"Though," she adds, more confidently, "I think a lake of fire would hurt her just as much."
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This one has her life and her potential.
How old is she now? She isn't certain; she can't remember. Too old for the mortal form she wears, and not young enough.
What do you have now, White Rider?
Nothing, she knows. Not even the name. Any name, perhaps.
She can't hurt anyone now. Unless they let her.
And the simple truth of her powerlessness, her helplessness, strikes through her with sharp edges, not unlike a dagger's blade.
Silently, the woman in the white dress -- without a cloak now -- turns and walks away.
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"So, tell me more about this lake of fire..."