The magi awoke from a dream, her family gone, and herself, missing.
Her amaranth eyes snapped open, lashes fluttering like snowflakes, quick to notice she was no longer in sere wood or brumal fog, but in the warmth of her bedroom. At the acacia nightstand beside her laid a bouquet of hyacinth and an envelope, sealed with crimson wax and her name labelled with ebony ink. Once arisen and sitting upright, she put on her reading spectacles and peeled the seal off, withdrawing a letter:
"To my dearest Stella,
Forgive me, I tried the best I can to make this letter in that olden aesthetic you like. Nonetheless…
Happy birthday! And here's to many more to come. You'll notice there's a package next to your wardrobe, I conspired with Julius to make that happen. Its worth will never match how much you mean to me, just as how I can't ever match your verbose way of writing. You likely already know this, but you've truly filled a void in my heart.
Thank you so much for being my friend.
Yours,
Henrich."
Her lips cracked into a smile whilst removing her glasses from her porcelain face, setting it back down on the nightstand with the letter. Her attention shifted to the wardrobe—indeed, a parcel was placed beside it. Upon unwrapping it, within the cardboard box she found a dress.
In the parcel was a dress with a separate bodice and skirt; the tulle that made the outer layers were of ashen gold, and smoke, with glit beads embroidered like the stars of yesternight's sky. With it, too, was a belt and pair of shoes with more gleaming thread and jewelry woven atop, with a matching collar-piece and cuffs to hold the sleeves in place. Never would she need to fret over which garments to wear underneath, however, for there was a set provided specially for the dress. There, too, were gloves of the same tulle, and to finish was an aureate laurel wreath. Not long after her morning shower did she dress herself, the idea of what to wear embedded in her mind the moment her gaze hit the parcel.
Only now, the witch's gaze focused on her reflection in the mirror before her. Staring at herself in the ensemble eased her prior disconnection she felt when waking. Yet for a tick did she avert her eyes to behold her mother's sewing machine, its purpose reminding her of loss unspoken proved to be telling. Nevertheless, despite everything, she knew something was awry; deep down, she felt far older than twenty-one. It was when she returned to staring back at herself did she remember her dream.
In another time, far from home,
Trekking through dank fog,
Leather boots stained by morass,
And dragging pale fingers against aspen bark.
A warped image of the Magi,
Projected onto the River,
Yet unbeknownst to all did the doors open,
Which lead to another realm.
Plummeting into dark waters,
The portrait on the River tore asunder,
In water was she not sunken freely,
But pulled into abyssal depths.
As fuscia orbs bulged down, deep viridian eyes stared back.
Through turbulence and depths beyond,
Towards the River's end,
She arose from silver loch,
Now afloat in a sea of stars.
As above, so below,
The damsel emerged onto shores of stardust,
On the infinite horizon,
Was the Key and Gate of yore.
From beyond shone starlight,
And before the Beyond One entered the Faun,
The All-Mother with gossamer fur,
The Magi enthralled by Her might.
As cerulean orbs beamed down, byzantine eyes gaped back.
Aethereal dust fain kissed her skin,
Her spirit blesst yet accursed by the Old Ones,
At the zenith of the starry ocean,
Before deliquium did she sing in prayer:
O Ygnaiih,
Ya gotha naflgrah’n,
Ya ee r’luh stell’bsna,
H’naflgrah’n.
O Shugg 'Fhalma,
Ya gotha n'ghft,
R'luhh ngee y'vulgtmm,
Yorr'e k'yarnak.
Anon she hath fallen from the stars above to the earth below…
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