Not even her beloved fiancées knew the date Addie had been brought into the world at the hands of the then Lady Suncrest, the Praetorium Confessor’s mother a century and a half ago. Nor had she even mentioned that a grand storm had whipped from the coast and battered the windows of the Silverfall estate on the 20th day of the last month in the year. 154 years ago.
Maladir had claimed the thunder and lightning was Odyn’s blessing Adilynia’s birth, while the one who labored told tales of rain bringing a breath of life. As proof, Candaris Silverfall had seen the collection of seven freckles beneath her newly arrived daughter’s right eye and claimed it as proof Eonar had touched her as well.
Vynalia told the story of knowing the moment her sister had taken her first breath. How it had taken the air out of her lungs and left her stumbling to her knees in tears when the first cry of her little voice was heard. That when she had finally been let into see her, Addie’s tiny little pinkie finger had curled around hers and cemented a life-long link shared between sisters.
Raelin remembered Addie’s birth as the moment Vinnie was touched by the Light, and how she’d paced like a caged animal until they let her in to see her new sister. And how, even at 14 years old, he knew that Vinnie would have burned worlds for the tiny bundle in her mother’s arms that had Silverfall ebon locks and clear blue eyes. He had joked that it was the moment he knew he would always take second place to the Pixie, but never once had he complained about it.
For almost a century and a half, the Silverfall sisters had survived the trials of life in knowing they could always find solace in one another. They had built mantras and effigies to not breaking under the pressure they put on themselves. They’d found invincibility in the locking of pinkie fingers and crooked grins that were mirrors of one another, and never once believed they could be parted.
When the unthinkable happened and Addie found herself alone, there had been no reason to celebrate her life. It was only a half version anyway without the sister she shared a birthday with. Addie learned to cover up the pain of not having Vinnie around, but now their nameday was nothing more than a reminder that her sister wasn’t here to celebrate it.
Still, her loved ones and family members did not feel the same. While they’d not forced parties on her, the trinkets given over the years had served as a reminder that she was never far from their thoughts. That even if the Rose was gone, there was still reason to celebrate that Addie survived another year.
Those reminders came in plain brown paper packages with Hearthglen postmarks and handwriting she knew by sight in belonging to each sender. Usually, they’d be stacked outside her tent or home, preventing her from leaving until they were all opened, as the Praetorium dearly loved to prank one another. Without her in camp, they’d been forced to send them in such a mundane way that Addie couldn’t help but chuckle in knowing their usual practical jokes were disrupted.
“No walling up my door this year, you rotten asses…” she muttered to herself as the first box was picked up with the scrawling and beautiful lettering that could only have been written by the current Lady Suncrest.
For decades now, Brilaria had given Addie the same gift every year; a tinkered animal found in the world. Over the years, a child’s wind up toy had become reason for the now Confessor to push the limits of her abilities to build something new and remarkable for one of her dearest friends. Hawkstriders and lynx had become horses and dragons over the years, but this year’s gift served as more primal take on the veritable zoo Addie had acquired.
The metallic devilsaur was a beautiful and genius creation of gears and plates that only moved with the turning the wind up at its back. While not remarkable in base movement, the lifelike mannerisms were nothing more than tension and intricate combinations of mechanical work. She knew to work within the rules of Nishan, were Outsider magic was bound in gilded bracers and make something inert but beautifully put together.
“Oh that’s...brilliant and funny…” On the outside it was an innocuous toy, but the story attached was a now fond memory of getting trapped in a tree stump while evading the very creature now before her.
The next package was barely legible as could only be done by Raelin. She felt her eyes roll up in her head in realizing he’d made sure to include the Guardian’s nickname in his addressing; ‘Dame Princess Pixie Adilynia Silverfall’ just because he was an ass and found it amusing to poke at his best friend.
“Ass…” she muttered as the twine was undone on the lopsided wrapping and the mug pulled from the bright purple paper. It instantly made her chuckle and nod in agreement with the sentiment written in bold lettering on the plain white mug. Raelin always knew how to make her laugh, and even with distance between them had impeccable timing. “Damn good thing you can keep up…” she mused, tracing the lettering with a single finger and shake of her head.
In the last, Addie found a dozen letters from the Praetorium knights containing photographs and well wishings that she’d pour over later for the details of their lives in her absence. She had missed everything from engagements to newly arrived children and while she’d not have traded her current assignment for the world, she could admit she dearly missed the simplistic life the knights of the Praetorium had fashioned for themselves in the once Scourge infested Plaguelands.
The last item in the box caught her attention, not because it was a thin velvet box, but for the familiar handwriting of her father scrolled on a simple white card.
To my Pixie,
She is with you every step of the way.
Happy Birthday!
Love, Papa
Maladir’s choice of words was apt for the delicate anklet he’d obviously had custom crafted for the occasion of her birthday. Sparkling sky sapphires and diamonds formed blue roses on truesilver links that lay against the white silk interior. The sight of it made her eyes shine with unshed tears, but the encouraging words from her father lifted her spirits as her fingertips traced along the delicate petals with a faint smile. “It’s perfect, Papa…”
Removing it from the box, the circle of shining metal was fastened around her ankle with an approving hum of sound as Addie glanced to the words on the card again with a quiet smile. They was far more truth in them now than she’d have believed a year ago and knowing that was cause enough claim victory for her battered heart. Where once she had lost hope of ever feeling the draw of her sisters soul, now, she clung to the memories given as a gift. Memories that had cast hope across the Shadowlands and brought peace to otherwise unsettled hearts.
“Happy Birthday, Vinnie…” she whispered as her fingers lifted to brush away the tears on her cheeks.
Maybe next year, she’d feel like celebrating.
(( @marquis-teren-kiden @marquis-lycan-kiden @silverfall-patriarch @ironbound-praetorium for mentions))
There has been a quote ringing in my head for awhile now: “Not only does it not get any easier, it actually gets harder.”
Dan Blank August 17, 2017
There has been a quote ringing in my head for awhile now: “Not only does it not get any easier, it actually gets harder.”
That is from Dani Shapiro, reflecting on on the desire that nearly every writer and artist has. When you are working so hard to try to create work you can be proud of, and develop a career around it, you often hope to reach a place where everything isn’t such a struggle.
Where it is easier to create, easier to feel validated, easier to reach your audience, easier to get your next book deal, or client, or exhibit, or the like; to where it is easier to earn money from your craft.
Dani’s quote is a cold splash of water on that desire. That, as you get more successful, it may, at times, actually becomes more difficult to create; to reach people; to get another deal; to feel that any of this is sustainable.
a - Age: Forty-nine and feelin’ fine b - Biggest fear: the dark (and sharks) c - Current time: 8:35pm d - Drink you last had: I split the last of the cream soda with the Beast e - Every day starts with: cursing the alarm clock f - Favorite song: currently listening to Modern English a lot lately, so maybe “Melt With You" g - Ghosts, are they real: Not to me h - How many pets do you have: One sleepy cat and a turtle i - In love with: Mr. Birdy (on a good day) and an electric blanket (on a bad one) j - Jealous of: People that can summon the strength to straighten the house before they go to bed k - Killed someone: I plead the Fifth l - Last time you cried: This morning, when I dropped Eagle off at the airport. m - Middle name(s): Catherine n - number of siblings: Younger brother and sister o - One wish: to never worry about money p - Person you last called/texted: my sister q - Questions you’re always asked: Have we met? r - Reasons to smile: Garlic bread s - Song last sang: - "Just Give Me a Reason” by Pink and that guy from fun. It’s so sappy, but someone did a Turnadette fanvid to it years ago and for some strange reason I can’t pass it by. t - Time you woke up: 4:30am (usual time is 6) u - Underwear color: I’m a bird of mystery v - Vacation destination: A deserted island with electricity, plumbing and wifi and just a few huts with 1,000 count bedsheets w - Worst habit: Procrastinating x - x-rays you’ve had: my teeth, and my right hand after I got into a bar fight y - Your favorite food: Pretty much anything someone else cooks for me (and cleans up) z - Zodiac sign: Pisces
I tag @the-old-bird-rockbird and @missouiser
(I will tag them both everyday until they do it–and they know I am annoying enough to mean what I say)
@pixiejessd. @lovetheturners. @skerrie
There’s simply no real substitute for physical presence. We delude ourselves when we say otherwise, when we invoke and venerate “quality time,” a shopworn phrase with a debatable promise: that we can plan instances of extraordinary candor, plot episodes of exquisite tenderness, engineer intimacy in an appointed hour.
“The Myth of Quality Time” / Frank Bruni / NYTimes
