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 Lullaby for the Lost

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Posts : 19
Join date : 2009-12-25

PostSubject: Lullaby for the Lost   Tue Aug 31, 2010 2:27 pm

Most people knew precious little about Desdimone de La Saronno. Sure, they knew her to be a small delicate flower in a large dress with endless patience and a big heart and somewhat uninteresting, and more then that, without any edge. She was a small lady who was allowed around out of old habits and politeness, who spoke out of line like little ladies sometimes do.
And Desdimone liked it like that.
Even fewer people knew what Desdimone actually did.
Infact, noone did.
Not even Fathius himself had even seen her truly working in the chapel, with her books and candles and small bowls of blood.
Desdimone needed no laboratiries. She was no apothecary.
She was something entierly diffirent.

And at this moment she stood in the chapel, singing quietly as she walked aorund the stone pillars, eyes closed. In a slow, near sensual dance about her swayed shadow tendrils, and her form cast various images onto the walls, the only light in there stragetically placed candles, burning green, black and white.
There was something in the air.
Now, as you know, there is magic, and there is bloodmagic, and there is shadowmagic, and there is science. All this we know, and combine to make what we will.
But not in this room.
In this room, something diffirent was at work.

„Quietis parum parvulus , somnus in pacis...“

She moved her hands and arms about her, as if she was dancing. There was a certain allure to it, though it gave a strange contrast with the puritan gown and style of her being as she moved around her small triangle of light. The stone was bare and empty under the golden candelabras, if not for one empty straw basket, padded on the inside with a knitted, dark blue blanket.

„Vos mos non postulo is ultum diutius , parum parvulus“

She stepped into the circle, standing over the basket. There was nothing sinister about this to behold, it was somewhat lovely and serene, of not for the fact her eyes had blackened over a good while back. There was no noise, no rise of tempo. It was like she was singing a gentle lullaby...

„Tamen ego postulo vestri sedo , parum parvulus
Postulo vestri sedo quod vestri core , parum parvulus...“

Kneeling by the straw basket, she picks it up to hold it like a child, smiling, eyes closed. There is a gentle stir inside the room, and a sound of a baby‘s gurgle. From the candles rises a faint string of light, of dark, of green, and lazily moves to her, in a curious yet determined fashion.

„Orbis terrarum est turpis , parum parvulus,
mos solvo vos, parum parvulus“

And slowly the strings meet over her basket in her arms, and a tiny ball begins to form as she keeps singing, gently, voice never rising, until she slowly lulls the song to silence...

„Quod ego mos usquequaque tutela vos , quod ego mos usquequaque servo vos tutus , quod vos mos nunquam fatigo.
Fides mihi parum parvulus...“

And all went silent. In the basket lay a tiny sphere of light blue and gold, a bright glow deep inside. It was so tiny, like a marble ball, or an acorn, lying in the basket, shining softly like it was somewhat in a calm state.

„Somnus , parum parvulus. Somnus...
Quod vos es mei....“

Desdimone opened her eyes and put down the basket, reaching into her pocket for what appered to be a ladies keepsake box. Opening it, she placed her hankerchief inside, and gently picked up the glowing marble she placed it inside and closed it, before returning it to a safe place inside her garments.
She smiled softly as the candles died.
First step compleated, the essence was hers. She looks tired and drained, but it hardly mattered to her. It has been a success. And as unimportant and understated it had looked, it had taken her days to prepaire, choose the channels and set the stage.
But she was strong.

Standing, she smoothed her skirts and headed out, silent, smiling, delicate, unassuming.
...A small delicate flower in a large dress with endless patience and a big heart and somewhat uninteresting, and more then that, without any edge...

Far away, somewhere, a newborn fell asleep suckling it‘s mother, and never woke again.

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Othragon Rotarm


Posts : 363
Join date : 2009-11-15
Age : 34
Location : Portugal

PostSubject: Re: Lullaby for the Lost   Wed Sep 01, 2010 1:05 am

Sweet, sweet Mona. Things keep dying around her.
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