(no subject)
prompt; magic eight ball
A magic eight ball, that is what some would say the book was. Not Anathema. Not "The Nife and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch". The book was far more accurate than a magic eight ball could ever hope to be. Anathema had learned that when she was eight, when she'd first found it in the house and had began reading it. Since then it had not left her sight, not until she'd lost it in the back of the Bentley with... Anathema didn't quite know how to describe them, there hadn't been a prophecy that had been able to put words to the two either. There had, ironically, been a prophecy that Anathema would lose the book. That she didn't find until later, until after the Armageddon that would have been had ended.
Now that that chapter was over, another had opened along with the rest of their lives. When the package had came containing the next book, Anathema had been curious to see as to what it would contain, though Newt had been convincing enough that it sat, untouched, along with its predecessor. A magic eight ball. Though Anathema had lived her life by the prophecies she would not agree to the comparison that she was one of those believers who asked every question to the ball in hopes of the right answer. For one, she never had any questions - she already had the answers. For the next, she was always right - the prophecies were always right. That had clouded her judgement somewhat, as well as taking the unpredictability out of life. That had been until Newt appeared. Agnes hadn't predicted that, though if she had her words were unseen. Anathema didn't mind this change, not entirely. Though she may feel a little lost - though didn't everyone? - she wasn't alone in that feeling and, as Newt did remind her, they were travelling that unknown path together.
She was, no more at least, the girl following the magic eight ball; she was a girl unknown.
A magic eight ball, that is what some would say the book was. Not Anathema. Not "The Nife and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch". The book was far more accurate than a magic eight ball could ever hope to be. Anathema had learned that when she was eight, when she'd first found it in the house and had began reading it. Since then it had not left her sight, not until she'd lost it in the back of the Bentley with... Anathema didn't quite know how to describe them, there hadn't been a prophecy that had been able to put words to the two either. There had, ironically, been a prophecy that Anathema would lose the book. That she didn't find until later, until after the Armageddon that would have been had ended.
Now that that chapter was over, another had opened along with the rest of their lives. When the package had came containing the next book, Anathema had been curious to see as to what it would contain, though Newt had been convincing enough that it sat, untouched, along with its predecessor. A magic eight ball. Though Anathema had lived her life by the prophecies she would not agree to the comparison that she was one of those believers who asked every question to the ball in hopes of the right answer. For one, she never had any questions - she already had the answers. For the next, she was always right - the prophecies were always right. That had clouded her judgement somewhat, as well as taking the unpredictability out of life. That had been until Newt appeared. Agnes hadn't predicted that, though if she had her words were unseen. Anathema didn't mind this change, not entirely. Though she may feel a little lost - though didn't everyone? - she wasn't alone in that feeling and, as Newt did remind her, they were travelling that unknown path together.
She was, no more at least, the girl following the magic eight ball; she was a girl unknown.