A healer. I think I will be fine without this…Vet-my kin are quite resilient.
He sat up a little straighter and found curiosity enough to look around, note the strange arrangements of cabinets and chairs around the room. Should I give him my name? It can’t do any harm, right? He thought to himself.
He met the man’s eyes again and asked in what he hoped was a polite tone: Is this your home? I apologise for intruding as I have done, if it is.
“It’s an RV, so it’s fine, and no, I don’t need your name if ya don’t wanna give it.” This power had its pros and cons. The con being it was telepathy, which meant hearing everything. Strangely, he had never heard of an animal so sentient, not even his Swiss.
“I’ll give ya a minute. Gonna get ya some water,” he said again aloud.
He blinked and after a moment dipped his head infinitesimally. The rat continued to regard him with suspicion. He resisted the urge to prickle at that and looked back at the man before him.
I...Thank you.
Aware now of the thirst at the back of his throat, he carefully laid back down again, sphinx-like, keeping his legs neatly together and his tail tucked around his body, taking up as little space as possible. As the man turned away, he considered whether or not to give him his name, decided there would be no harm in it.
polytheists: i swear by every ancient god whose nigh unutterable name i hath whispered syllable by syllable in terrible love and lovely terror to the vast material void of night
This crystal garden found its way into someone’s heart already but I wanted to share it with you! 2 new gardens will be available tomorrow! They are amazing!!
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Thecrystaljypsy.etsy.com
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The day has dissolved into a slate-grey threat of an incoming storm. Clouds boil blackly in the sky like tar; seagulls shriek as they wheel, vulture-like, above him. Perhaps they sense the chaos the clouds are about to unleash and they have come in to the cliffs for safety. That, or perhaps they have sensed murder on the mind of the woman standing before him. Waiting for the carrion to come to them.
She stands with her back to him, elegant, terrifying and decidedly not human. Auburn hair tumbles in a riot of red over her lean shoulders. A crown of bleached driftwood graces the lines of her skull which sweep up too high, too far. Her waist is too narrow to be normal-her hips are as flat and unassuming as a boy’s. Her shoulders match, sparrow-like, and with her height, give her the look of a skeleton standing against the sea wind.
She will not look at him.
“I’m sorry, Dia, I’m sorry- I didn’t realise-”
“That is no excuse for what you did.”
“It was an accident!”
Suddenly, she is ten feet tall and radiant. Her eyes, too large in her face, are a solid, lightless blue. Fine, iridescent scales shimmer on her skin. The overly-elfin lines of her bones are heightened, so she seems more fish or serpentine than woman. When she raises a hand to hex him, pale webs of skin spread between her fingers. The dim light picks out frail blue veins that spider her skin. He watches the red gills on her neck heave in fury, waits for the sting of the hex to land on his soul-
It does not come.
She makes a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl, and is of normal stature again-she is still a head taller than he. He cannot bring himself to look up from the ground. Words come quieter now as he speaks to the grass.
“I’m sorry. I know nothing I can do can make it up to you.”
Dead silence.
“There is one thing.”
He looks up with fiery hope in his eyes; it fades when he sees her face is as cool and collected as her status requires of her. The driftwood crown she wears looks like the teeth of a terror of the night; fitting, given that that same crown is made from the thrones of other queens she has broken for the right to be coronated. Merfolk laws work strangely, in that sense. He doubts Murigen had struggled with the task of breaking other kingdoms for the right to rule her own.
“You can free me, and let me go.”
“I...Alright.”
The way she says it implies that she was kept against her will, but the binding spell is the remnant of another merish formality. Once, a long time ago, when she had still been soft-scaled and he was still growing to fill the shoulders of his clothes, they had been engaged to be married. The only touches exchanged then, in youth, had been wild slaps and pinches, childish gestures of play. They had grown older, grown closer, softened around each other. He grew to know intimately every spartan curve of her body, every inhuman muscle which traced in strange ways under her skin. How to kiss her to steal her breath away, to apologise, to ask pleadingly for one thing or another. To comfort her silently as he braided her wild hair on the beach, the sharp bones of her shoulders digging into his thighs.
That was before the driftwood crown, and his circles cast in sea salt, and the one thing none of his potions and charms could cure. He had done everything he could, and still Konan had died. For that, she and her kin had never forgiven him, and the rune inked on his chest which promised them to each other had been struck through, scarred over. Forgotten. Dismissed.
As Murigen waits for him to unbind her, he can hear the phantom sounds of her kin’s funeral wails, thin and ungodly and yet beautiful to behold.
Like her. Like her.
The Gaelic comes easily as he shapes and weaves the spell over and around her. A black rune-mark mirrors his on the white skin of her breast, soon to be crossed out and relegated to the past like his. He moves with a practiced grace, economy of motion for the sole purpose of ensuring he does not have to spend more time before her than necessary. As the magick takes hold, the rune is cut through. Dark blue blood wells slowly at the cut. She makes no expression of pain or gratitude, merely waits for it to be over.
He wants nothing more than to take her foreign hands and kiss the backs of her knuckles, show in some way he’ll do anything-anything-to have her back by his side. But she is a stranger now, a stranger who holds his silver-blooded heart in her taloned hands, and there is nothing he can do. The storm which is rolling in from the sea is his fault; he knows he deserves it. He had done everything he could, yet he still could’ve tried harder-
The spell ties itself off neatly, anti-climatically. Murigen dips her head in thanks, or perhaps sadness that things had to be this way. It is difficult to tell. He watches as she steps back towards the cliff, begins taking the shape of an oily-feathered comorant, scales spreading, feathers sprouting. It takes her only a moment (she always had an elegance for shifting he could never match) and then it is done, and she joins the gulls, kin of hers who want to peck out his eyes for his failure, and is gone. Gradually, the malevolent flock disperses back out to the boiling silver sea, dipping like darts under the cataracts of green foam. The storm has whipped the sea into such a frenzy that when the waves crash against the cliffs, foam is thrown up into the air, like snow, like the tongues she would speak in when he breathed against her neck-
But that was a long time ago, and he is no longer the consort of a queen. Her high, breathy voice exists now only in his memories. Like the rest of her, that too has been tempered and pared down by the weight of her driftwood crown.
There is nothing more to say. With a heavy sigh, he closes the circle he’d cast and leaves, the weight of Muirgen’s ocean realm on his shoulders.
Cries of gulls still haunt his dreams to this day.
━━ FULL NAME: Alec Cathán Fearghal Dagda
━━ GENDER & SEXUALITY: cis male / bisexual demiromantic with a preference for the guys.
━━ ETHNICITY & SPECIES: white Irish with Gaelic roots / Silverblooded
━━ BIRTHPLACE & BIRTHDATE: Dagda Manor, 6th March
━ GUILTY PLEASURES: any kind of depressant drug which needs to be smoked (he does stuff other than weed ok), chocolate, mead.
━ PHOBIAS: the sea, aggressive crowds, cats (more of a general unease than fear), being outside during a thunder storm (if its one he hasn’t conjured).
━ WHAT THEY WOULD BE FAMOUS / INFAMOUS FOR: infamous for selling illicit substances/potions and getting tangled up with MI6/Overwatch, famous for producing Infitum
━ WHAT HAVE THEY / WOULD THEY HAVE GOTTEN ARRESTED FOR: Selling said illicit substances.
━ A CHARACTER YOU SHIP THEM WITH: I ship Alec with Sunday mornings and coffee.
━ CHARACTER MOST LIKELY TO MURDER THEM: Lycelle Wiseman, anyone from the Deadlock Gang or Shimada Clan who catches onto his schemes.
━ FAVORITE BOOK GENRE: He likes southern gothic a lot.
━ LEAST FAVORITE BOOK CLICHE: Urban fantasy focusing on vampires. Also, anything that villifies witches/wizards for obvious reasons lmao.
━ TALENTS AND / OR POWERS: aside from magick and alchemy, he’s pretty good at talking himself out of minor arguments and also avoiding drama. He’s pretty good at flirting too, but not seriously.
━ WHY SOMEONE MIGHT LOVE THEM: just for...Being himself?? Like if Alec is in a good mood, he kind of broadcasts it around himself (but not super blatantly??) and so it’s difficult to be sad/tired around him unless ur really trying. He’s also an excellent cook, and needs literally zero excuse to sit someone down and feed them cake and other nice things. Also he’s...Pretty good in the bedroom, so there’s that.
━ WHY SOMEONE MIGHT HATE THEM: for cheating them out of money and/or posioning or hexing them,
━ HOW THEY CHANGE: if he’s given a good enough reason or thinks he has a reason to do so, he’ll step back for a while and approach a person or situation differently.
━ WHY YOU LOVE THEM: he’s actually?? Just a massive sweetheart?? Kind of a jerk and yea, he’s immature, but this man just wants to stroke dogs and plant flowers and make scented bath salts ok let him rest.
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