#mir.edit

[ophiaihel]

the slaughter of finches // a style guide.

lookin’ good at the end of the world —

[ophiaihel]

eyra starshaker —

“like her mother, eyra inherited ufel, fire magic. in her palm, with enough focus, comes a bright orange flame, fueled by her willpower & life-force.”

from broken reign by @heroworks.

[ophiaihel]

— Journal pages of the late Cèrsèlo Al Neorciev, the first recorded master of agimiia énoirie.

[ text of photos under the cut ]

Introduction

Magic. It is a strange and bitter word that plagues not only the parchment, but my fingertips, dedicating time to such a remarkably terrible, and yet wonderful, burden. I do not understand how this power as been bestowed upon me; not even the priest, an ‘all - knowing’ man, can fathom why a godless woman would be blessed, made sacred by the goddesses themselves. I cannot remove its presence, though I have tried many a time. The only way would be through death, and there is not enough witchcraft in this realm to coerce me, a knowledgeable mortal, into craving the falchion. So I shall endure this newfound ability, and suffer its consequences in order for others to thrive.

Let this be not a mistake, but a lesson, for the damned and the blessed alike.

Winter, 209 A.S.

Magic, as I have learned, cannot be fabricated from nothingness, nor can it be eradicated into its previous oblivion. It has to be transferred from a grand source, that of light or of darkness. Only am I able to succeed at nightfall and in the shadows, though it has been rumored that a man from a neighboring village has breathed the sun, has set his town ablaze and fled. Rubble and ash are the only source of veracity, but I digress.

When I wield my gift (mind you, the term is used lightly), it seemingly infiltrates the object or person it has been applied upon, and stays there, festering about until I retrieve it. As a trial of this, I enchanted a dagger. As winter bled in, the magic became extremely tenacious, and the weapon, brittle. It is quite terrifying, but I do not dread it. Masters never question their craft, after all.

Summer, 210 A.S.

Agimiia énoirie. That is what they have chosen to call the manipulation of darkness, and agimiia lélgnoril, the possession of light. Peculiar, how I manipulate darkness, yet they possess light. But possess it how? The fools. We all utilize the sources surrounding us, neither possess our element.

And still, people gaze at me with trepidation lingering in their countenances. I am not to be feared, for darkness and light are both a balance, and you cannot be afraid of one, and simply not be terrified of the other. Even so, they are. They are, they are, they are —

tag list ( let me know if you’d like to be added / removed ) –

@flowrsun - @tidesmakers - @lefttowritee - @omgbrekkerkaz - @taohuawrites - @rusty-cat-writes - @katabasiss - @gwylllgi - @kowlazovdi - @the-ichor-of-ruination - @priyaele - @camillabriseno - @hazeywrites - @elliewritesstories - @cometworks - @florhiver - @mirror-of-too-many-books - @syposium - @silverartistcat - @ravenpuffwriter - @elusiveink - @twocrownsoneshittywriter - @lady-redshield-writes - @medusaswrites - @northernrosewritings - @writersloth - @mybookisbad - @sarmarble - @carumens - @mrywrites - @worldbuildng - @delphwrites - @theythoughtthelionswerebad.

[ophiaihel]

ro —

i fought the war.

i fought the war.

i fought the war.

but the war won.

from the fourth general by @newdivinities.

[ophiaihel]

borealix mooncatcher —

“i spit blood through my teeth and sewed up my wounds with whiskey because water cost you an arm and a leg. but i did it anyways, because i knew there’d be more for me to live for.”

from borealix by @kiliyarandkoweir.

[ophiaihel]

[ magnus peadarsan ] general and prince.

you do not dare speak to your prince that way. i can quickly promote you just as i can quickly have your head. i have worked for everything i’ve been given, and how dare you assume otherwise.

for @librasunwritings.

[ophiaihel]

[ knife boy ] the leader.

he wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume.

for @delphwrites.

[ophiaihel]

[ ffenya horrlinn ] a follower of the fow’go.

“nature is about finding balance.”

“find a balance for my workload, this amount is killing me.”

for @gwylllgi.