(no subject)
ii.
She questions while she changes. She moves and morphs and shrinks and grows and the whole time she is questioning, insatiable curiosity not of arrogance but of true desire, even as her body rips itself apart and comes back together.
you are an airchild, and your weakness will be pride. says the man, lifting a single golden feather from a table.
what does that mean? she asks as she has been asking. He shows her instead of telling.
She is falling, surrounded by feathers of all sizes and colors that pierce her like knives, sticking in her legs and arms and eyes and ripping her open, searching her. Air is all around her, yet she cannot draw breath to cry out or question. She is blinded by the feathers, clumps of them sprouting from each eye socket, before the man comes to her. He falls with her, bettering her hearing and her scent to compensate for her lost eyes and toning her muscles for battle. you are the fury of the hurricane and the searching spring breeze. So shall be you and your magic.
who are you? she asks. He does not answer.
The winds stop, and in the stillness she takes a blind step.
She lives
(she is dead)
and he calls her justice
iii.
She dreams while she changes. She moves and morphs and shrinks and grows and the whole time she is dreaming of what she can become, not out of pride but out of excitement, even as her body rips itself apart and comes back together.
you are a firechild, and your weakness will be love. says the man, cupping a ball of flame in his palms.
what does that mean? she chirps. He shows her instead of telling.
She is burning, flesh melting from her charring bones as she exults in her change. The fire runs through her veins even as they disintegrate, filling her with power and fury, charring her to ash. The man comes to her, fuses magic runes into her bones and piles the ash over them into a cruel parody of her former shape. you are the rage of the inferno and the comforting caress of the sun. so shall be you and your magic.
who are you? she asks. He does not answer.
The flames subside, and from her cocoon of ash she rises.
She lives
(she is dead)
and he calls her courage
iv.
She weeps while she changes. She moves and morphs and shrinks and grows, and the whole time she weeps, not the tears of a petulant child but the tears of a woman in despair, even as her body rips itself apart and comes back together.
you are a waterchild, and your weakness will be betrayal. says the man, holding a gemmed chalice full of clear water.
She asks for nothing, but he shows her anyway.
She is drowning, lungs filling with cold death as she flounders for a surface that is not there. The water paralyzes her, she cannot move except to claw at her throat and hope to render gills there. The man is swimming toward her, running his hands over her body, giving her scales that shimmer in the watery light and turning the water in her lungs to breath. you are the sudden cruelty of the tsunami and the changeability of the tides. So shall be you and your magic.
Who are you? she asks. He does not answer.
She rises from the waves, bleeding oxygen.
She lives
(she is dead)
and he calls her temperance.
She questions while she changes. She moves and morphs and shrinks and grows and the whole time she is questioning, insatiable curiosity not of arrogance but of true desire, even as her body rips itself apart and comes back together.
you are an airchild, and your weakness will be pride. says the man, lifting a single golden feather from a table.
what does that mean? she asks as she has been asking. He shows her instead of telling.
She is falling, surrounded by feathers of all sizes and colors that pierce her like knives, sticking in her legs and arms and eyes and ripping her open, searching her. Air is all around her, yet she cannot draw breath to cry out or question. She is blinded by the feathers, clumps of them sprouting from each eye socket, before the man comes to her. He falls with her, bettering her hearing and her scent to compensate for her lost eyes and toning her muscles for battle. you are the fury of the hurricane and the searching spring breeze. So shall be you and your magic.
who are you? she asks. He does not answer.
The winds stop, and in the stillness she takes a blind step.
She lives
(she is dead)
and he calls her justice
iii.
She dreams while she changes. She moves and morphs and shrinks and grows and the whole time she is dreaming of what she can become, not out of pride but out of excitement, even as her body rips itself apart and comes back together.
you are a firechild, and your weakness will be love. says the man, cupping a ball of flame in his palms.
what does that mean? she chirps. He shows her instead of telling.
She is burning, flesh melting from her charring bones as she exults in her change. The fire runs through her veins even as they disintegrate, filling her with power and fury, charring her to ash. The man comes to her, fuses magic runes into her bones and piles the ash over them into a cruel parody of her former shape. you are the rage of the inferno and the comforting caress of the sun. so shall be you and your magic.
who are you? she asks. He does not answer.
The flames subside, and from her cocoon of ash she rises.
She lives
(she is dead)
and he calls her courage
iv.
She weeps while she changes. She moves and morphs and shrinks and grows, and the whole time she weeps, not the tears of a petulant child but the tears of a woman in despair, even as her body rips itself apart and comes back together.
you are a waterchild, and your weakness will be betrayal. says the man, holding a gemmed chalice full of clear water.
She asks for nothing, but he shows her anyway.
She is drowning, lungs filling with cold death as she flounders for a surface that is not there. The water paralyzes her, she cannot move except to claw at her throat and hope to render gills there. The man is swimming toward her, running his hands over her body, giving her scales that shimmer in the watery light and turning the water in her lungs to breath. you are the sudden cruelty of the tsunami and the changeability of the tides. So shall be you and your magic.
Who are you? she asks. He does not answer.
She rises from the waves, bleeding oxygen.
She lives
(she is dead)
and he calls her temperance.