#iataexmin

[kevinvytr-blog]

“Hey, hello. That’s my pencil.” He’d almost not seen it, which wasn’t particularly unusual as he could barely tell the difference between a turtle and a rock, sometimes. But why the hell would someone want his pencil? It looked like a small dog had taken to it like a bone. The dog being him. “Give it back,” he snipped.

@taexmin-ia

[anaikatesch-blog]

Relative Larceny

Counting years was something she had never done, but it was reasonable to assume she had had more than several dozen of them with the witch she had met so long ago. The whole world had seemed to revolve around that woman at the time, a smirk curling around bird legs and brown skin.

She missed her. Always.

Qadira aside, she knew it had been years since she had last visited a temple, and though she had no true ista-devata to invoke within a murti, if she were to engage in a proper ritual (along with anything else, really), she wanted to be there. Stepping into the temple’s vaulted simplicity, Qadira’s bag slid off her shoulder onto the floor as the sand of such a long time ago scratched in her throat. She had been told time and time again by the woman herself how unusual it was for a being of magic to cling to religion, but Hinduism had been the religion of her savior, and there was always that. Regardless of whether she believed in the distractions of the world, how the small passions were ne’er fulfilling, that all that mattered was not so much who a person was but what the whole world covered in its finite expanses, it had her respect (and her breath as she stood in silence).

Lost in the pillars, arches, colors, she stood for who knows how long, arms wrapped around herself and blinking tiredly at the brushings of nostalgia. Home. A shaky exhale had her lowering herself onto her knees as a long respect before she would take her leave.

Home.

@taexmin-ia