the androgynous keeper of plushfrogs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crossfortune) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2015-06-02 12:24 am
crossfortune) wrote in rainbowfic2015-06-02 12:24 am
Entry tags:
keep the faith
Name: Mischa
Story: as if words could be undone
Colors: octarine (history, contrary to popular theories, is kings and dates and battles), halloween orange (Do you follow it because it's true, or just because you must?), bistre (Kin is not the same as family)
Supplies and Styles: canvas
Word Count: 621
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None needed, I think?
Summary: Iulia thinks on faith and truth, and her mother brings another sibling home.
Notes: finally an explanation for "what is going on with Mira and his siblings".
Iulia kneels in the chapel to the Songmistress, and doesn’t pray. It’s not as though she doesn’t believe in the Chanter - she’s believed in Her her whole life, and her faith has only strengthened now. She doesn’t believe in the church - how can she anymore, when they’re so wrong about the Lady, about how the Seven interact with humanity, about everything?
It was easier, before she died. Iulia listens to the chant, to the story she knows by heart, about how the Songmistress had turned Her eyes from the world (and may She forgive us) and in Her mercy had sent the Seven Messengers to watch over us, the litany a familiar, calming drone. The smaller statues of the Seven cluster around the feet of the statue to the Chorus-of-One, blessed and perfect and Iulia almost wants to laugh at the irony of it all.
There was nothing in the church’s teachings about the Seven being incarnated in human vessels, to work amongst humanity by living as them. A steadfast denial, even in the face of the truth. Iulia smiles, ruefully, and flexes her hand, where her Messenger mark is hidden on her palm beneath her glove. She’d lived as a human and died, awakening to the power carried in her heart: a cycle, live die and know. Forever apart. Never physically changing from the moment she died. Her burden, as well as her siblings’, and Zora, who had found them and raised them and loved them, a burden never to be set down until their second and final death, when the cycle begins anew with someone else.
(She watches over us, still.)
She glances upward to the veiled statue of the goddess, and murmurs a prayer, just as Mikha slides into the row beside her. Her elder sister never sets foot into a church if she can help it, which means she’s brought important news.
“Of course you’re here.” she says, rolling her eyes, irritably, and Iulia has to resist the urge to pull on one long, moon-pale braid. “Zora’s almost home, and she’s brought another sibling with her.”
Important, indeed, and Iulia finds herself almost sorry for whoever their new adopted sibling would be. Newly dead and breathing again, having to learn how to use their new powers in the service of the Lady on behalf of humanity, forget about the life they had left behind until it all began to fade. Plus having to deal with all their various eccentricities, the least of which being Mikha’s temper.
“Lead on, then, sister,” Iulia says, gracefully, as she stands and follows Mikha out of the chapel.
***
Zora smiles, impishly, the lines on her face crinkling as she greets her children. Iulia stands with her siblings on the steps of her mother-mentor’s house: Rahela even more sunny than usual at their mother coming home, Sorin leaving his books for once, and even Mikha is in slightly better temper than usual. They've all missed Zora, who has been too long away.
Almost in her shadow stands a slender young man, with the same moon-pale hair Mikha does: a nervous, shy slip of a thing, clearly overwhelmed. Around his neck he wears a white ribbon choker, the familiar first gift that Zora had given each of them.
“I trust that you will be kind to your new brother,” Zora says, her voice warm. “He hasn’t chosen a new name yet: until he does, ‘hey you’ is unacceptable. Don’t overwhelm him: be gentle. Gentle, Mikha.”
Mikha has never been gentle in her life, Iulia’s certain: and after a moment, she takes a breath and steps forward.
“Welcome home, brother,” Iulia says, her voice soft, takes his hands, with Mikha close on her heels and draws him inside.
Story: as if words could be undone
Colors: octarine (history, contrary to popular theories, is kings and dates and battles), halloween orange (Do you follow it because it's true, or just because you must?), bistre (Kin is not the same as family)
Supplies and Styles: canvas
Word Count: 621
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None needed, I think?
Summary: Iulia thinks on faith and truth, and her mother brings another sibling home.
Notes: finally an explanation for "what is going on with Mira and his siblings".
Iulia kneels in the chapel to the Songmistress, and doesn’t pray. It’s not as though she doesn’t believe in the Chanter - she’s believed in Her her whole life, and her faith has only strengthened now. She doesn’t believe in the church - how can she anymore, when they’re so wrong about the Lady, about how the Seven interact with humanity, about everything?
It was easier, before she died. Iulia listens to the chant, to the story she knows by heart, about how the Songmistress had turned Her eyes from the world (and may She forgive us) and in Her mercy had sent the Seven Messengers to watch over us, the litany a familiar, calming drone. The smaller statues of the Seven cluster around the feet of the statue to the Chorus-of-One, blessed and perfect and Iulia almost wants to laugh at the irony of it all.
There was nothing in the church’s teachings about the Seven being incarnated in human vessels, to work amongst humanity by living as them. A steadfast denial, even in the face of the truth. Iulia smiles, ruefully, and flexes her hand, where her Messenger mark is hidden on her palm beneath her glove. She’d lived as a human and died, awakening to the power carried in her heart: a cycle, live die and know. Forever apart. Never physically changing from the moment she died. Her burden, as well as her siblings’, and Zora, who had found them and raised them and loved them, a burden never to be set down until their second and final death, when the cycle begins anew with someone else.
(She watches over us, still.)
She glances upward to the veiled statue of the goddess, and murmurs a prayer, just as Mikha slides into the row beside her. Her elder sister never sets foot into a church if she can help it, which means she’s brought important news.
“Of course you’re here.” she says, rolling her eyes, irritably, and Iulia has to resist the urge to pull on one long, moon-pale braid. “Zora’s almost home, and she’s brought another sibling with her.”
Important, indeed, and Iulia finds herself almost sorry for whoever their new adopted sibling would be. Newly dead and breathing again, having to learn how to use their new powers in the service of the Lady on behalf of humanity, forget about the life they had left behind until it all began to fade. Plus having to deal with all their various eccentricities, the least of which being Mikha’s temper.
“Lead on, then, sister,” Iulia says, gracefully, as she stands and follows Mikha out of the chapel.
***
Zora smiles, impishly, the lines on her face crinkling as she greets her children. Iulia stands with her siblings on the steps of her mother-mentor’s house: Rahela even more sunny than usual at their mother coming home, Sorin leaving his books for once, and even Mikha is in slightly better temper than usual. They've all missed Zora, who has been too long away.
Almost in her shadow stands a slender young man, with the same moon-pale hair Mikha does: a nervous, shy slip of a thing, clearly overwhelmed. Around his neck he wears a white ribbon choker, the familiar first gift that Zora had given each of them.
“I trust that you will be kind to your new brother,” Zora says, her voice warm. “He hasn’t chosen a new name yet: until he does, ‘hey you’ is unacceptable. Don’t overwhelm him: be gentle. Gentle, Mikha.”
Mikha has never been gentle in her life, Iulia’s certain: and after a moment, she takes a breath and steps forward.
“Welcome home, brother,” Iulia says, her voice soft, takes his hands, with Mikha close on her heels and draws him inside.
no subject
no subject
Yeah, I was deliberately being a bit ambiguous on that front before.
no subject
no subject
Mikha's backstory is probably next up on the writing block, so more about them will definitely be forthcoming.
no subject
no subject
Yeah, Mikha is a little much, especially given how he'd spent his life. Though she does end up his favorite sibling.