(no subject)
I haven't written anything creative (unless you count my IB extended essay) for a long time. If ever.
Morwen appeared first in an English assignment in grade 10. And never again, though I tried to resurrect her later that year. She doesn't like being told what to do, though, and refused to cooperate with the process. She showed up today without warning, indifferent to the fact that she'd been gone for 5 years.
She brought a friend.
"Where are we going?"
Morwen glanced down at the small girl clinging to her hand. Dark hair, narrow face, eyes sharpened with fear. Far too young to be here, tonight.
"Somewhere safe." She quickened their pace, dragging Ceilidh forward.
Quickly regaining her feet on the cracked asphalt, the girl was unfazed. "Where are we going?"
Morwen ignored the question, merely squeezed the girl's cold fingers in her own. She didn't know exactly where they were going either, but Ceilidh didn't need to know that.
Down an alley. Around the front of a brick building. Morwen stopped to listen- No. Back out. Another alley. Up a fire escape. A jimmied lock and the splintering of wood. Ceilidh pressed into Morwen's side, wordlessly, as they edged down the grimy hall, Morwen's fingers reaching for the threads she knew were there. There were ways to find people, no matter how often they moved.
Fourth door. Morwen found the thin bit of plastic they called a key, swiped it through the slot and entered.
Tobacco smoke and cinnamon, nauseatingly pungent. Morwen withdrew her hand from Ceilidh's and strode across the apartment to the kitchen, drawing the blinds as she passed the window. Some attempt at daylight revealed yellowed wallpaper and floral carpets, an overturned bookcase serving as a table. Near it, an orange armchair enthroned a tortoiseshell who opened one irritated golden eye to tell Morwen what it thought of her intrusion.
The wise woman was in the kitchen, of course, seated crosslegged on a cushioned chair. She waved a hand to the matching chair, waited for Morwen to sit down. Two teacups sat on the small table beside her.
"Six years, girl."
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Tea?" The offered cup held something black and opaque.
"No, thanks." Morwen knew better than to try the wise woman's tea. Her last visit to the apartment had resulted in a week of sleeplessness and undesired second sight.
The woman nodded and drank from the cup herself. She looked grandmotherly, crinkled eyes and a puckered smile under thin white hair. Grandmotherly, Morwen mused, if one could imagine a grandmother dividing a Wraith from its soul with a single motion of her wrist. Valerie- though no one called her that, no one who saw the threads of things- was the sort of woman who was feared more than loved. She was not cruel, but she was compassionate in the coldest of ways. She knew how to kill, and she knew how to heal. The only force that had first compelled her to receive Morwen with one hand rather than the other was the deep obligation she'd sworn to a couple centuries ago.
Like all the timeless, the wise woman was patient. And so Morwen found herself talking, despite herself.
"Her name is Ceilidh. She isn't mine. Her father left her with me before Tobias killed him."
Silence.
"I can't look after her. The Skaiguul know my presence too well."
More silence. Waiting.
"Could you... keep her well? Safe? Fed?"
The woman's nod was almost imperceptible. "I will."
"Thank you." The gratitude she felt surprised Morwen. She hadn't exactly expected the wise woman to turn away Ceilidh, yet she had never felt comfortable asking Valerie for anything. Even as she raised Morwen, the wise woman had always gave what was right, what was just. Morwen had always known that she would receive precisely what she deserved, be it a trinket for the holidays or a beating for starting a fight at school. No tantrum could spark irrational anger, no pleading could elicit grace. Making requests was not only terrifying, it was useless.
Out in the living room, the women found Ceilidh sitting on the bookcase, the tortoiseshell sniffing her hand. Morwen walked over, crouched down to look the girl in the eye.
"Ceilidh? I'm going to have to leave you here."
The girl drew her hand back from the cat and reached for Morwen's. "Okay."
"It's safe here. You'll have everything you need." And nothing more, thought Morwen, though she quickly dispelled the idea. She squeezed Ceilidh's hand and moved away.
The girl looked from Morwen's grey eyes to the wise woman's face. "Hi," she said.
Valerie stepped forward, extending a deceptively thin hand. Morwen had seen those fingers crush bone. "Ceilidh. It's a pleasure to meet you." Young fingers wrapped around old.
Morwen left the apartment as she came, aware of the space changing behind her as she walked down the corridor. Descending the fire escape, she hesitated then turned around, climbing to the roof. The sky was mercifully clear. She lifted her head, knowing the moments she could spare were few. Above, the stars glistened, countless and without regard.
Morwen appeared first in an English assignment in grade 10. And never again, though I tried to resurrect her later that year. She doesn't like being told what to do, though, and refused to cooperate with the process. She showed up today without warning, indifferent to the fact that she'd been gone for 5 years.
She brought a friend.
"Where are we going?"
Morwen glanced down at the small girl clinging to her hand. Dark hair, narrow face, eyes sharpened with fear. Far too young to be here, tonight.
"Somewhere safe." She quickened their pace, dragging Ceilidh forward.
Quickly regaining her feet on the cracked asphalt, the girl was unfazed. "Where are we going?"
Morwen ignored the question, merely squeezed the girl's cold fingers in her own. She didn't know exactly where they were going either, but Ceilidh didn't need to know that.
Down an alley. Around the front of a brick building. Morwen stopped to listen- No. Back out. Another alley. Up a fire escape. A jimmied lock and the splintering of wood. Ceilidh pressed into Morwen's side, wordlessly, as they edged down the grimy hall, Morwen's fingers reaching for the threads she knew were there. There were ways to find people, no matter how often they moved.
Fourth door. Morwen found the thin bit of plastic they called a key, swiped it through the slot and entered.
Tobacco smoke and cinnamon, nauseatingly pungent. Morwen withdrew her hand from Ceilidh's and strode across the apartment to the kitchen, drawing the blinds as she passed the window. Some attempt at daylight revealed yellowed wallpaper and floral carpets, an overturned bookcase serving as a table. Near it, an orange armchair enthroned a tortoiseshell who opened one irritated golden eye to tell Morwen what it thought of her intrusion.
The wise woman was in the kitchen, of course, seated crosslegged on a cushioned chair. She waved a hand to the matching chair, waited for Morwen to sit down. Two teacups sat on the small table beside her.
"Six years, girl."
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Tea?" The offered cup held something black and opaque.
"No, thanks." Morwen knew better than to try the wise woman's tea. Her last visit to the apartment had resulted in a week of sleeplessness and undesired second sight.
The woman nodded and drank from the cup herself. She looked grandmotherly, crinkled eyes and a puckered smile under thin white hair. Grandmotherly, Morwen mused, if one could imagine a grandmother dividing a Wraith from its soul with a single motion of her wrist. Valerie- though no one called her that, no one who saw the threads of things- was the sort of woman who was feared more than loved. She was not cruel, but she was compassionate in the coldest of ways. She knew how to kill, and she knew how to heal. The only force that had first compelled her to receive Morwen with one hand rather than the other was the deep obligation she'd sworn to a couple centuries ago.
Like all the timeless, the wise woman was patient. And so Morwen found herself talking, despite herself.
"Her name is Ceilidh. She isn't mine. Her father left her with me before Tobias killed him."
Silence.
"I can't look after her. The Skaiguul know my presence too well."
More silence. Waiting.
"Could you... keep her well? Safe? Fed?"
The woman's nod was almost imperceptible. "I will."
"Thank you." The gratitude she felt surprised Morwen. She hadn't exactly expected the wise woman to turn away Ceilidh, yet she had never felt comfortable asking Valerie for anything. Even as she raised Morwen, the wise woman had always gave what was right, what was just. Morwen had always known that she would receive precisely what she deserved, be it a trinket for the holidays or a beating for starting a fight at school. No tantrum could spark irrational anger, no pleading could elicit grace. Making requests was not only terrifying, it was useless.
Out in the living room, the women found Ceilidh sitting on the bookcase, the tortoiseshell sniffing her hand. Morwen walked over, crouched down to look the girl in the eye.
"Ceilidh? I'm going to have to leave you here."
The girl drew her hand back from the cat and reached for Morwen's. "Okay."
"It's safe here. You'll have everything you need." And nothing more, thought Morwen, though she quickly dispelled the idea. She squeezed Ceilidh's hand and moved away.
The girl looked from Morwen's grey eyes to the wise woman's face. "Hi," she said.
Valerie stepped forward, extending a deceptively thin hand. Morwen had seen those fingers crush bone. "Ceilidh. It's a pleasure to meet you." Young fingers wrapped around old.
Morwen left the apartment as she came, aware of the space changing behind her as she walked down the corridor. Descending the fire escape, she hesitated then turned around, climbing to the roof. The sky was mercifully clear. She lifted her head, knowing the moments she could spare were few. Above, the stars glistened, countless and without regard.