It has been years since the fall of her God, years since she set out to bring His unruly flock to heel, years since this particular sheep continued twisting out of her grasp. A situation that was fully expected. Prinnsal, after all, had been one of the honour guard, a soldier she had trained herself, far above any of the little grunts that had died so easily under the stroke of her whip. She would have almost been disappointed with him if he hadn’t managed to evade her for this long.
Almost.
His performance in the hunt was much outweighed by her need to return to the city in a prompt manner. Time moved slowly, but still it moved, and there was no telling what the angels left behind might have done with the city of her God, without her there to take the lead.
Yes, pleasing as the fugitive’s skills had been, she needed to find him soon. Find him, end him, return to her proper station. Only when he died, when the last of the fugitives finally felt the squeeze of her whip against his throat and coughed out the blood of his treachery, would her task be complete. She would be able to move on.
Her thoughts ended there.
Find him, kill him, return to the city. The future beyond that was black and faceless, Unorganized, uncoordinated. All she could count on was that when she came back, something within her would stir. Something within her would tell her what to do next.
At least she hoped it would.
Without guidance, there was no life for her, no future to be found.
She had to kill Prinnsal.
The room he must have inhabited only a day ago was now cold and empty. She had turned it upside down and failed to find a single clue to where he was heading, what future might that crooked, broken mind of his have devised for his own benefit.
That was perfectly alright though.
Coretha had more ways to locate her prey than physical traces he left behind.
The small statue of Lurza was carefully tucked in the side of her bag. As soon as Coretha’s fingers touched the smooth marble, a warmth blossomed through her, a dizzying feeling that was her God’s not her own. His devotion, His love, His obsession. When she held the statue, she could hardly think of anything else but the Goddess behind it, the one that had stolen her God’s heart, the one He did everything for. And the one for who Coretha, as His extension, would also do anything for.
But it was never Lurza that answered the called, the prayer, that Coretha directed towards the statue.
And maybe that was for the best, because the one who did answer brought a glow into the dreary room that Coretha had never even been aware of until Lurza’s emissary answered her prayers that very first night she had called.
Irinia’s wings spread out behind her as she appeared, almost as wide as the room itself. Her skin practically glowed a warm brown, the rushing strength of her Goddess giving her shadow a golden glow. A peaceful expression rested on her face and peace spread from her arms as she opened them, setting them wide as if she was about to embrace the world as a whole. As if she was about to embrace Coretha.
There were no words that Coretha has been programmed with that could explain the way Irinia’s presence made her feel. She could only imagine that this was how her kin had felt when they were born from Rezasel’s still whole mind so many eons ago. This warmth that seeped through clothes and skin, settling into Coretha’s bones. This tranquillity that set her heart in it’s place like nothing else on earth ever did. This total, complete acceptance that just for a moment made Coretha feel like she was a being whole, not a being shattered.
“You called upon my Lady’s guidance?” Irinia’s voice was a chirping of birds, the first warm breeze of spring. Her eyes fluttered open and Coretha caught herself almost tipping into her gaze, attracted to that gentleness like a migratory bird finding it’s way home.
Coretha tightened her grip around the hilt of her whip, reminding herself to breath, to centre herself to time and place and not a person her broken soul longed for. It was hardly appropriate, to set something like this, a strange, eluding feeling, above one’s life function. Both her’s and Irinia’s.
“I’m still tracking the same escapee,” she said, tension seeping out of her shoulders when Irinia showed no derision towards her inadequacies. “He keeps dodging me. I need a hint. If Lady Lurza would be so kind to provide.”
Sadness clouded Irinia’s features for just a moment, casting her face in a shadow of uncertainty. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared. She closed her eyes. Coretha knew her wishes would not be fulfilled.
“My Lady concerns herself not with dealings of your Lord anymore,” Irinia whispered, the slightest touch of pity dyeing her tone blue. “I cannot provide guidance for you, and I implore you not to bother my Lady with such trifling things again.”
Coretha bowed her head. There was nothing more to be said of the topic, despite how that little thorn of resentment stung at her. The frantic adoration for the Lurza still burned in her veins just as it had burned in the veins of her God. But something else still rested beside it in her heart. The bitter feeling she had to chew through every time the Goddess refused to acknowledge any part of Rezasel’s legacy still left upon the earth.
She kept her head bowed as Irinia’s light started to fade, slowly making her way back to the plane that Coretha had never once in her short, painful life laid eyes upon. Warmth seeped out of the room, out of Coretha’s body, with her retreat, leaving the inner workings of Coretha’s mind once again spinning and frantic.
“It is not my Lady’s word, but I have observed your escapee.” The soft whisper, a confession of a crime, floated almost undetectably to Coretha’s ears once Irinia was almost only light. Coretha’s heart lurched in her chest, but she kept her head down as if she didn’t hear a thing. As if there was nothing being said. “He’s quite a bold one. He has made his nest with the predators of our kind. Find them and you will find him. That is all I can tell you.”
Coretha closed her eyes, committing that information and that gentle, reassuring tone to her memory.
“Do stay safe. I’ll stay listening.” The light whispered one last time, before being extinguished entirely.
Coretha righted herself, squared her shoulders against the returning cold and the ice picks lodging themselves into her spine. She would not let this information go to waste. She would find Prinnsal and bring along his end.
Oggi nel primo pomeriggio mi trovavo in centro città, la gente come me si muoveva velocemente per le varie commissioni e affari, nuvole nere e minacciose dall'alta valle minacciavano il cielo azzurro sopra di noi.
In tutto questo, mentre cercavo di raggiungere il parcheggio dove avevo lasciato la mia auto, sento giungere alle mie spalle una voce femminile e giovane "Signore! Signore!".
Mi giro e vedo due ragazze giovani avvicinarsi indicandomi, io mi volto per capire se erano rivolte a me, non vedendo nessun altro mi rigiro e loro annuendo con la testa mi dicono: "Si signore, proprio lei".
Mi fermo, noto che in mano hanno delle cartellette porta fogli e nell'altra mano una penna. Sento che mi sta per capitare un sondaggio. Lo sento forte. Accidenti, le nuvole nere si avvicinano.
- Mi scusi - esordisce quella che sembra essere la meno timida delle due - le devo chiedere un favore.
- Dimmi - per me dare del tu a ragazzi giovani è naturale, sono GGiovane anche io neh?
- Guardi le rubo un secondo, per una ricerca scolastica le devo fare solo una domanda.
- Prego, se posso rispondere bene.
- Crediamo che lei sia un papà vero?
- Da cosa l'hai capito? Dalla mia sicurezza nei modi? Dalla mia evidente presa di coscienza di visione della vita? Del mio sorriso rassicurante e accogliente che la paternità mi ha sviluppato?
Le due ragazze si guardano stranite, la leader mi guarda e aggrottando la fronte mi dice - No, l'età. Potrebbe essere mio padre, quindi... - sorrisino per addolcire il calcio metaforico nelle parti basse che mi ha appena sferrato.
- Ah, ok - balbetto io - si comunque sono un padre.
- Guardi signore, la domanda è semplice. Il 12 giugno del 2005, durante un discorso all'Università di Stanford, Steve Jobs pronunciò la famosa frase "Stay hungry stay foolish", che penso lei sappia cosa vuol dire.
- Si certo, "siate affamati, siate folli".
- Esatto, si ritiene che questa frase sia stata una sorta di testamento che Jobs ha lasciato alle nuove generazioni. La domanda è: se lei dovesse lasciare una frase testamento per i propri figli, per i ragazzi d'oggi, quale sarebbe?
- Mmmh dunque, potrei dire sicuramente " Stay hungry, Estycazz".
- Cioè?! - le pupille delle ragazze si dilatano come quelle del mio gatto quando ha poca luce diretta negli occhi.
- Nel senso che nella vita è giusto essere affamati ma che bisogna stare attenti, perché la vita non è facile e bisogna anche mantenere il giusto equilibrio di disinteresse su molte cose.
Attimo di silenzio. Le due ragazze si guardano e cominciano a discutere tra loro.
- Per me lui ha vinto, tu che dici?
- Si per me va bene, scriviamola. La Prof. potrebbe apprezzarla.
- Si, è divertente. Però è anche forte, può essere la migliore risposta.
A quel punto intervengo io - Scusate ma poi le dovete condividere in classe con i vostri compagni?
- Si! - rispondono in coro le ragazze.
- Ascoltatemi, con una risposta del genere avete due chances:
1) Prima ipotesi: alla lettura della risposta partono 92 minuti di applausi con standing ovation dei vostri compagni, professoressa inclusa. Riceverete una menzione speciale, così da avere diritto all'Università senza finire le superiori e probabilmente, ma non ne sono sicuro, Alberto Angela potrebbe materializzarsi davanti a voi per un'intervista.
2) Seconda ipotesi: la professoressa vi urlerà se vi siete bevute il cervello nella generale ilarità della vostra classe. Probabilmente beccherete un richiamo e i vostri genitori saranno chiamati dal Preside. Vi vergognerete come due ladre di galline. Sta a voi decidere.
Guardandosi tra loro mi dicono - Ci pensiamo, comunque grazie della risposta. Buona giornata.
Si girano e se ne vanno.
Io alzando un po' il tono della voce - Fatemi sapere come andrà a finire!
La ragazza che non aveva quasi mai parlato mi risponde - Come facciamo a farglielo sapere?
Io - Semplice: taggatemi - chiudo con un sorriso da perfetto idiota.
Mi giro le nuvole nere sono vicine e il brontolio dei tuoni si sente più forte, quasi a coprire il vocio della gente che affretta il passo, ma non così forte da coprire le risate delle due ragazze. Che con le mani sul volto le sento pronunciare un chiaro - Ma quello è fuori come un balcone.
Chissà che frase lascerei ai miei figli, sapendo di non avere molte possibilità di vivere a lungo. Questa notte ci penserò.
Magari gliela scriverò e li taggherò qui sul social.
Vedrai se non mi rimuoveranno dalle loro amicizie, questa volta è la volta buona.
Personality: Personality? Even more so than Coretha, Irinia is a blank slate, a nonexistent thing. She exists in the way Lurza made her and does what Lurza tells her to do. She acts like a high priestesses because that was what was ordained and never so much as raises a voice in rejection of the rule that makes her lifeblood. But every now and then, in small, hidden moments that not even she is properly aware of, something stirs within her. Something like pain, something like rebellion. Something like recognition of all the wrong she is forced to do. Something like a desperate wish to set it right.
Appearance: Irinia is a beautiful woman with long, brown curly hair and warm brown skin, her eyes a deep black. Whenever she goes she brings a sense of ethereal elegance with her, peaceful and dignified despite her cruel master. She is one of the last true angels and therefor one of the last angles whose runes are still intact. They flow across her skin like honey, enchanting to look at. When she spreads her wings they are rather fluffy and soft, more fit for showing off than flying and usually appear as if composed of sunlight. She dresses very femininely and usually in warm pastel colors.
Goals: Execute Lurza’s will
Nightmare of the body: Her body is not her own. She is not a person, she is a device, a tool. And with her god the last one standing, with no one left that is powerful enough to defeat her god, she might always remain so.
Why by Irinia ▫ Enjoy this short poem I think is about being cold. 😊🙏 #why #irinia #poet #poets #poetry #poem #readingpoetry #readingpoem #video #poetryreading #poemreading #poetoftheweek #poetsoftheweek #poetryoftheweek #poemoftheweek #potw
Yeah, hangin out with the kiddos is a lotta fun. And so is washiin dishes. To me at least. I cant hang out with you though today... are you gonna be okay? Irinia works with the kiddos too.
