Karla's Workroom, The Estate, Sidra, Glacia, Kaeleer
Karla sat in front of her loom, a tangled web taking shape in front of her, her eyes distant and unfocused, looking at the in between in the threads, where Craft danced and prophecy lay. An image danced in front of her, fuzzy and indistinct, but growing clearer with every thread she added. The Ebon-gray at her throat glowed with a soft inner light, illuminating her face and hands as she worked. But she didn't see it, didn't see anything other than the vision unfolding in front of her.
A cradle, festooned in streamers of blue and silver, sat in the nursery. Out the glass balcony doors, the sun rose and set, rain fell, snow flurried, leaves changed. Seasons came and went, months ticking by. As time passed, the cradle was filled with toys and blankets, some worn and well-loved, remnants of Kayla's infancy, others still new, colors bright and patterns unfaded. On the wall above the cradle, a moon waxed, never waning, growing rounder and rounder with the passage of time. And when it was full, the light coming in from the balcony was warm and gold, and flowers grew along the edge of the doors. Baby pink roses, dark blue irises, purple trailing wisteria, and thick-headed peonies nodded at Karla through the glass. Later spring then, or early summer.
For a few glorious moments, everything was lovely. And then dark clouds rolled over the sky, darkening the room. Time continued to pass now, but the cradle remained empty. Dust gathered over the crib, the toys, and the entire nursery. Neglect and disuse hung over the room, like the streamers that hung limp and tarnished now, untouched. Outside the doors, the flowers withered, turned brown, and died where they were.
Karla came back to herself slowly, spiraling up from the depths of her vision. She needed to talk to Warren. If she was reading her vision right--and she was, she knew she was, she was a fully-trained Black Widow--if Kayla didn't have a younger sibling by the summer, she never would.
Nommy.
[Open for phone calls and visits.]
A cradle, festooned in streamers of blue and silver, sat in the nursery. Out the glass balcony doors, the sun rose and set, rain fell, snow flurried, leaves changed. Seasons came and went, months ticking by. As time passed, the cradle was filled with toys and blankets, some worn and well-loved, remnants of Kayla's infancy, others still new, colors bright and patterns unfaded. On the wall above the cradle, a moon waxed, never waning, growing rounder and rounder with the passage of time. And when it was full, the light coming in from the balcony was warm and gold, and flowers grew along the edge of the doors. Baby pink roses, dark blue irises, purple trailing wisteria, and thick-headed peonies nodded at Karla through the glass. Later spring then, or early summer.
For a few glorious moments, everything was lovely. And then dark clouds rolled over the sky, darkening the room. Time continued to pass now, but the cradle remained empty. Dust gathered over the crib, the toys, and the entire nursery. Neglect and disuse hung over the room, like the streamers that hung limp and tarnished now, untouched. Outside the doors, the flowers withered, turned brown, and died where they were.
Karla came back to herself slowly, spiraling up from the depths of her vision. She needed to talk to Warren. If she was reading her vision right--and she was, she knew she was, she was a fully-trained Black Widow--if Kayla didn't have a younger sibling by the summer, she never would.
Nommy.
[Open for phone calls and visits.]