Adoria and Mark are -- bless them -- an odd couple. Mark is reluctantly, biologically, an old guard, old school, good old boy to his boots hunter. The darkness found him in the paddies in Vietnam and chased him to Berlin, to the old world, the old woods where he met Her.
He could have sworn she was vila. Or navka. It was the way the world was quiet around her. It was the way moonlight shown on her through the leaves, greedy for her skin. It took some tricky negotiating to keep her there. ( he found out, later, that she could have killed him, whispered to the woods to not let go of his boots and pull him in the soil, a gift, fertilizer. it only made him fall in love with her more once he found out how close to death he was. )
Adoria is quite thoroughly, purposefully, a spirit talker. She hums to plants to get them to grow, sings to birds to find out what the weather is going to be like, hushes the lost souls of children who wander from their tombstones to her comforting hearth. Old Witching, the first kind, of sweetness and strength, of listening more so than doing, of seeing plainly. ( it’s funny, the secrets you learn just by being quiet. the world will speak to you in low tones, will wrap you in the past like a cloak and hold you close. )
“You have iron bones, boy,” she whispered as he caught her in the sunlight, in the marshy, narrow Brandenburg woods. Boy, boy, boy. His hands were on her hips, her hands on his neck, his shoulders, and he spun her around.
“And you have silver in your blood, darlin’.” And she was shining, now, brighter than any gem he’d ever seen. The world was smiling as she kissed him.
The Homestead is expansive. The Homestead is quiet. The Homestead has a large cellar with locked doors and relics and holy water. The Homestead has flowers blooming year round, through the snow and heat. The Homestead is always full with extended family, adopted family, and friends of friends. ( great beasts have slept and woken and left offerings of secrets and other old things. ) All are welcome, as long as they know no harm is to be done within the grounds. The old man is the one that is whispered about, the one to not cross, but it quickly becomes apparent that the mother is the one to be feared, too much to be whispered of. ( feared and loved. she walks a fine line. )
Come in, sit down, there’s a bed waiting for you. ( oh, a fae poisoned you? you have a nasty bite that’s not closing? let’s take care of that, too. now, now, there’s no shame in being a werewolf, as long as you’re mature about it, don’t you worry. )
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