Olivia Scene: Aunts, Curses, And Deaths
((I am...more than a little proud of this :D Olivia finds things out.))
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hBcXe2B97TQ
She spun her yarns of red and gold, the needles in her hands clack-clacking over the quiet, early-morning square as she knit. Olivia sat by the fountain waiting, knitting and humming to herself patiently. This meeting had been set up some days ago, with assurances that her contact would arrive. Still, her skinny nerves were strung tight, wondering if the woman would show. The needles calmed her, as did the spider spinning webs above her, on the lamp post.
Her thoughts meandered, to where this meeting may lead…for sure, she would dearly hold to the memory of her first meeting with a member of her father’s family, no doubts there. But what was there to b learned, really? She didn’t know. And that frightened her/ But rejection? Well, Olivia had felt that plenty of times, now hadn’t she? It was no new thing. Still, for all the stock she’d put in finding her father…
“Miss Olivia?” A voice was asking. Looking up, a quick smile on her face, Live beheld a stately woman in her middle years, chestnut hair just barely touched with grey pinned at the nape of her neck, a solemn, if not unfriendly expression on her face.
“…Aye.” Liv rose, dipping her head, inviting the woman to share the bench with her, “Olivia Langolyn, I....I believe your brother was my father..."
"He was," The woman smirked, sitting, smoothing her modest skirts as she did. Liv was amazed at how much her heart soared at that simple confirmation, "Marion Langolyn was the beauty of the town....well, in her day anyway," She chuckled, "Harry was stalwart and true to those fool vows of his...until she sashayed into the church." Shaking her head, the woman remembered herself, offering a hand, "Eloise MacMallin, it's....fine to see you, Olivia." She smiled, then, "...You've got his smile."
Liv bit her lip, it was almost too much. She found herself asking a thousand and one questions about Edward MacMallin, Priest, brother, man of duty. Eloise was more than accommodating, appearing to embrace her newfound niece with gusto. But when it came to the subject of Olivia's mother, the woman was strangely tight-lipped.
"...Your mum was a strange one," She finally said, sighing, "...Something tells me that's hardly news to you., girl. You don't seem a bit like her, though," Eloise smiled, "You seem kind. Open. Your mum was neither of those things, and having spent my years in the same schoolhouse as her, I feel I can say it."
"Say all you want about her," Olivia sighed, shaking her head, "She sought to be powerful, and that's all...what I really wish to know," The warlock licked her lips, "Is if there was anything...out of the ordinary, about how I came into the world."
Eloise chuckled, "Well, not that I knew of!" She grinned, winking, "Though, there was somethin' odd, about how she wrote my brother...they wrote notes to each other for a few months, you see," She explained, tapping her chin, "He didn't want the Bishop to know...and so they devised a code, he told me about it, as he told me 'most everything."
"Code?" Olivia's ears perked. Weeks of pouring over her mother's journals, and finding nothing but inane babblings and the musings of a cold, heartless woman came back to her. If some of those entries of nonsense had been in some kind of code, though....Eloise was nodding.
"Aye, switching the places of every third word," The woman smirked, "Simple, and yet devastatingly clever! She'd send him what looked like a poem about the wind, and it was really a letter 'bout meeting behind the chapel. Really, he only shared with me because of how in awe he was of her skills at making a damn fine puzzle...."
Olivia's grin just went wide. For the rest of the meeting, her spirits were at the highest they'd been (outside of Anvernus' company) in months. She had a lead...
Upon returning home, Liv was elated that, while still hesitant to become close, her aunt had embraced her as, indeed, family. It was a start, and a better one than many fel-users got. Even more so, though, was she driven by this new lead. Hurrying to her desk in the sparse flat she and Anvernus shared, Liv sat down, flipping to the first entry her dead mother had written, and began the tedious task of attempting the code on each and ever line of script Marion Langolyn has scribbled.
It went slowly, at first, until Olivia found her rhythm. Most pages held nothing, though a few, especially research notes, held random snippets of lively poetry. These pleased Olivia, as they meant she was on the right course, that her mother had stuck to her old ways, that even at her most puzzling, she was indeed predictable.
As the journal dissolved into it's more inane, obsessive ramblings, Olivia found more and more hidden messages, and how they held her transfixed, sitting at her rough wooden desk, late-afternoon sun slanting across the floorboards. Hidden, blasphemous recipes and formulas of a burgeoning Apothecary, brilliant and terrible at once. Finally, she reached the time frame during which her own curse would have been cast, and Liv tried her code key all the more carefully.
When she reached the entry, at last, her insides curled in anticipation as the words of a particularly bizarre bit of prose became a rant on her daughter's curse. When she finished, Olivia stared at the bit of scratch paper before her, a knot tied around her throat.
"My daughter, beautiful one, terrible one. Sent the wolves after me, I know that you have, whily girl, clever girl. But there's only one cure to this, the weaving I wound about you. Only by my own living consent, spoken words, will your curse ever be undone..."
It went on, but it was enough. Liv slumped in her chair, staring at the words before her. She'd sent Niyne and Aeliira to kill her mother, weeks ago, and they'd done so.
But only her living, consenting voice could undo the curse.
Olivia blinked back the tears of frustration in her eyes, of sadness, of guilt....what if they -could- have reconciled, what if she could have brought her evil, self-serving mother back? It could have all have been undone...
But no. Marion Langolyn was long-lost, long before Niyne and Aeliira has killed her. That future was some child's fairytale. A tale Olivia had never, would never be granted.
She would never break this. She would always need to draw what little strength she could from others. She would never be able to stand on her own, choose her own path, make her own fucking self as strong or as weak as she wanted....unless....
Anvernus' face flashed in her mind, back when she'd told him she was close to unraveling this. His expression had said it all...he liked her needing him. How to tell him, that she always would? That would involve a vow though, and they didn't hold to those. No, she would make it clear in other ways, that she would always need him, need his energy, his strength.
"How to ask, though?" She whispered, woodenly, into the quiet, idyllic room, George the Spider spinning above her.
How do you ask the person you love to kill you?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hBcXe2B97TQ
She spun her yarns of red and gold, the needles in her hands clack-clacking over the quiet, early-morning square as she knit. Olivia sat by the fountain waiting, knitting and humming to herself patiently. This meeting had been set up some days ago, with assurances that her contact would arrive. Still, her skinny nerves were strung tight, wondering if the woman would show. The needles calmed her, as did the spider spinning webs above her, on the lamp post.
Her thoughts meandered, to where this meeting may lead…for sure, she would dearly hold to the memory of her first meeting with a member of her father’s family, no doubts there. But what was there to b learned, really? She didn’t know. And that frightened her/ But rejection? Well, Olivia had felt that plenty of times, now hadn’t she? It was no new thing. Still, for all the stock she’d put in finding her father…
“Miss Olivia?” A voice was asking. Looking up, a quick smile on her face, Live beheld a stately woman in her middle years, chestnut hair just barely touched with grey pinned at the nape of her neck, a solemn, if not unfriendly expression on her face.
“…Aye.” Liv rose, dipping her head, inviting the woman to share the bench with her, “Olivia Langolyn, I....I believe your brother was my father..."
"He was," The woman smirked, sitting, smoothing her modest skirts as she did. Liv was amazed at how much her heart soared at that simple confirmation, "Marion Langolyn was the beauty of the town....well, in her day anyway," She chuckled, "Harry was stalwart and true to those fool vows of his...until she sashayed into the church." Shaking her head, the woman remembered herself, offering a hand, "Eloise MacMallin, it's....fine to see you, Olivia." She smiled, then, "...You've got his smile."
Liv bit her lip, it was almost too much. She found herself asking a thousand and one questions about Edward MacMallin, Priest, brother, man of duty. Eloise was more than accommodating, appearing to embrace her newfound niece with gusto. But when it came to the subject of Olivia's mother, the woman was strangely tight-lipped.
"...Your mum was a strange one," She finally said, sighing, "...Something tells me that's hardly news to you., girl. You don't seem a bit like her, though," Eloise smiled, "You seem kind. Open. Your mum was neither of those things, and having spent my years in the same schoolhouse as her, I feel I can say it."
"Say all you want about her," Olivia sighed, shaking her head, "She sought to be powerful, and that's all...what I really wish to know," The warlock licked her lips, "Is if there was anything...out of the ordinary, about how I came into the world."
Eloise chuckled, "Well, not that I knew of!" She grinned, winking, "Though, there was somethin' odd, about how she wrote my brother...they wrote notes to each other for a few months, you see," She explained, tapping her chin, "He didn't want the Bishop to know...and so they devised a code, he told me about it, as he told me 'most everything."
"Code?" Olivia's ears perked. Weeks of pouring over her mother's journals, and finding nothing but inane babblings and the musings of a cold, heartless woman came back to her. If some of those entries of nonsense had been in some kind of code, though....Eloise was nodding.
"Aye, switching the places of every third word," The woman smirked, "Simple, and yet devastatingly clever! She'd send him what looked like a poem about the wind, and it was really a letter 'bout meeting behind the chapel. Really, he only shared with me because of how in awe he was of her skills at making a damn fine puzzle...."
Olivia's grin just went wide. For the rest of the meeting, her spirits were at the highest they'd been (outside of Anvernus' company) in months. She had a lead...
Upon returning home, Liv was elated that, while still hesitant to become close, her aunt had embraced her as, indeed, family. It was a start, and a better one than many fel-users got. Even more so, though, was she driven by this new lead. Hurrying to her desk in the sparse flat she and Anvernus shared, Liv sat down, flipping to the first entry her dead mother had written, and began the tedious task of attempting the code on each and ever line of script Marion Langolyn has scribbled.
It went slowly, at first, until Olivia found her rhythm. Most pages held nothing, though a few, especially research notes, held random snippets of lively poetry. These pleased Olivia, as they meant she was on the right course, that her mother had stuck to her old ways, that even at her most puzzling, she was indeed predictable.
As the journal dissolved into it's more inane, obsessive ramblings, Olivia found more and more hidden messages, and how they held her transfixed, sitting at her rough wooden desk, late-afternoon sun slanting across the floorboards. Hidden, blasphemous recipes and formulas of a burgeoning Apothecary, brilliant and terrible at once. Finally, she reached the time frame during which her own curse would have been cast, and Liv tried her code key all the more carefully.
When she reached the entry, at last, her insides curled in anticipation as the words of a particularly bizarre bit of prose became a rant on her daughter's curse. When she finished, Olivia stared at the bit of scratch paper before her, a knot tied around her throat.
"My daughter, beautiful one, terrible one. Sent the wolves after me, I know that you have, whily girl, clever girl. But there's only one cure to this, the weaving I wound about you. Only by my own living consent, spoken words, will your curse ever be undone..."
It went on, but it was enough. Liv slumped in her chair, staring at the words before her. She'd sent Niyne and Aeliira to kill her mother, weeks ago, and they'd done so.
But only her living, consenting voice could undo the curse.
Olivia blinked back the tears of frustration in her eyes, of sadness, of guilt....what if they -could- have reconciled, what if she could have brought her evil, self-serving mother back? It could have all have been undone...
But no. Marion Langolyn was long-lost, long before Niyne and Aeliira has killed her. That future was some child's fairytale. A tale Olivia had never, would never be granted.
She would never break this. She would always need to draw what little strength she could from others. She would never be able to stand on her own, choose her own path, make her own fucking self as strong or as weak as she wanted....unless....
Anvernus' face flashed in her mind, back when she'd told him she was close to unraveling this. His expression had said it all...he liked her needing him. How to tell him, that she always would? That would involve a vow though, and they didn't hold to those. No, she would make it clear in other ways, that she would always need him, need his energy, his strength.
"How to ask, though?" She whispered, woodenly, into the quiet, idyllic room, George the Spider spinning above her.
How do you ask the person you love to kill you?