(Untitled)

[speaksonlytruth]

[OOC: Because I had to do a snoopy dance.
Coherence & planning to follow. Adoption'Comicsverse!]

The door opens to blinding whiteness.
And a woman steps out of it. Through the door.

Emerald eyes blinking; focusing on the funny little room.

Comments

[wolflord_andain]

Well, that light show was certainly interesting.

What precisely it heralds remains to be determined.

Which is why Galadan's gaze makes its way toward the front of the room, winter-grey eyes cool and assessing.

Perhaps speech will follow, if it seems . . .

Worthwhile.

[speaksonlytruth]

She looked around slowly, appraising the area in front of her. The rush of so many voices and voices. Of people. Again. Again? Focus was an effort, and oddly enough as it started to form her gaze stopped.

On The Window.

And slowly, genuinely, she smiled.

[wolflord_andain]

Ah.

Now that is interesting.

And still Galadan waits before approaching.

Something still more interesting may yet happen. It is always best to be prepared.

[speaksonlytruth]

Stars.

Stars. Dying.
Stars. Being born.

Death. Destruction.
Life Creation.

Stars.

She walked toward it, slow and buoyant, like she wasn't quite sure where the floor was when she stepped, only that she was drawn, that she went to it. She stopped though right before the window, shoulders relaxed, staring quiet and calm.

[wolflord_andain]

"Take comfort," Galadan says at last, voice very dry.

"The view is highly unlikely to go anywhere."

He makes no move to stand, however. Not yet.

[speaksonlytruth]

Jean turned her head, almost reluctant, toward the voice. The stars sang on anyway. "And yet it is ever changing?" Her voice was quiet starting, from long disuse. Muscle and throat and shape and form.

[wolflord_andain]

Galadan merely raises one eyebrow.

"I should not go so far as that. There is a pattern to it, long in duration thought it may be."

[speaksonlytruth]

"There is a pattern to all destruction and creation."

But, her expression said, that did not make each one the same.

[wolflord_andain]

"Warp and weft and the breaking of the loom. Well I know it."

His voice remains so very dry.

"Still and all, any tale retold may suffer some change at each revision."

[speaksonlytruth]

"Or repave tattered threads to make room for the new." Her head tilted faintly, as though to something she heard. "Tears and tapestries alike."

[wolflord_andain]

"As to that, most I know have yet to live past the end of days."

They came close, just the once.

Fionavar may not see its like again.

[speaksonlytruth]

Many haven't. Most will never need to contend with the idea of it even. Does he know many who've held their universe in their hands and unmade time, though?

"The end of their days? Or the world?"

[wolflord_andain]

One was more than enough.

"For some, the difference is not so great."

[speaksonlytruth]

"They are blessed in that."

It is true, but she feels the edge of it.

[wolflord_andain]

Blessed is a word, certainly, and one that Galadan chooses not to quibble with.

"It has certainly been said before."

[speaksonlytruth]

The contest to the statement is in the words though.

But she doesn't press or comment. Instead she turned, looking around her, hesitating, but not returning to the gaze of the window. That will wait. It was too close to go far. Instead, she asked, "What is this place?"