THE DAY IS YOUNG & IN NO HURRY. the pale sun casts its net across the lake’s surface, chasing the shadows & making dull things bright. agnia had napped alongside her mother on the grassy bank, hypnotized beneath that coaxing sun before rising suddenly, critical & perturbed by her own boredom -- such is every child’s proclivity.
so now she wades through the shallows, one small hand latched around her mother’s fingers while the other hand splits the water’s light-dappled surface. quick to learn, she had consumed the code & teachings of witchcraft with a starved eagerness. she had learned by the tangle of bramble & the pith of the moon, & just as she had been conjured from the froth of water, her talents had naturally inclined themselves toward the particular element as well. she will soon know how to cleave salt from the waves & spin whirlpools with the flick of her wrist. only half-bloomed as a witch, she has never stung herself on the thorn of rotten spellwork; she has never tasted the spoilt fruit of bad magic. to her, the world is bright & possessing myriad curiosities, & she can bend it all at her fingertips.
agnia releases her mother’s hand & the small, pink bow of her mouth wilts downward, fair brows knitting together. she watches the water, tilting her head toward one side & then the other, before she thrusts her hands beneath the surface. as quickly as she had reached into the water does she yank a fish from its depths, the silvery scales glinting in the sunlight. it thrashes about wildly in her hands, but when she frowns at it, her pale blue eyes catching the coal black eye on the side of its head, the thrashing subsides. when she speaks, there is the sweetly imperative press of excitement in her voice. « A FISH, MAMA. »
@viduamor.