Her Children

[ry0un0suke]

2159
Butterfly over the Lake
☼ ☾ ☼
 

Stories tell history that even the victors cannot truly erase. Story through song, music, writing- story of man's spirit and soul through creativity. Since dimmed by the loss of Pantheon that heralds over it all, reality's truth dark and grim without the brightening shades of expressed story. Winter comes to a close, some months off from rising temperatures and budding blooms, with it melts away sin's influence upon the land. Cosmic shakes felt profoundly at all measures of existence, even if as subtle as a snowflake landing against the cheek and spilling away. Change occurs, story come and go and it is for a moment of indulged weeks of isolation that the Heir-Luminary takes to the stone image of the Mother Goddess Nemea at Her shrine, there, in the cold and freezing, holding a flower. It is no invitation. Mentioned in passing murmur after return from the hunt of millennia, where they confined themself in plain sight alone, unable to write while in rapid flux of emotion and thought. Dark petals in hand, its existence like bad omen, curse and sickness upon whoever may touch it. Imbued with nightmarish story that, even if only within their own wretched company, they will see it inconceivably 

 

changed.

 
Winter writes of past include reflection or sharing- a sort of openness that the season robs of one. Community fostered, yet it here they turn so deeply inward, into its reflection and silence, honing the deathly quiet of winter for-- what, exactly, are they doing with a lone flower? It happens so quickly and is finished before the 'news' could even leave the capital city. Lonely, cold, breathing shakily, they utter something new or something old, searching for verse that since diminished within them following the attempt on their life. You are not invited, per se, but will you search for them if they hide?
 
Time: 4p EST
Location: Nemea's Shrine