sangria #1: two roads diverged in a wood - robert frost
Author: Marika Kailaya
Title: the very idea of frost
'Verse: Nagekawashii
Challenge: Sangria: 1. Two roads diverged in a wood - Robert Frost
Counts for the Summer Challenge?: Yes.
Toppings/Extras: N/A
Wordcount: 500
Rating: PG
A/N: OH YAY GOD FANFICTION.
This is where the gods gather: at the crossroads, not of the universe or of time or of faith but of the woods, where the two dark dirt roads cross each other and lead into the woods.
It doesn't matter which road you take: they lead to the same place.
And the place is the centre of the woods, and the woods are heavy and black and thick, leading endlessly to absolutely nowhere.
It isn't the holiest place in the world. On the contrary it isn't properly a place at all, and it's simply deep enough, and old enough, that the gods remember sitting in their grandmothers' laps when they were small, whole incarnations of the universe and mother goddesses cradling their babes in the darkness. And here is a fact: when the children of gods wail it sounds exactly the same as any other infant.
The woods of course smell of earth, the heady and ancient smell of tree bark and soil and falling leaves, of rain and heat and vines that grow freely and twine around everything; it is the gods who bring the other scents, the other sounds.
But it can be said, of course, that the woods are a god themselves.
And here is where gods are born: everywhere. From Kali Ma's black breasts the newly born after the battle nurses, and from Izanami-no-mikoto's womb Fire is born, sending his mother burning and screaming into the underworld until she is no longer the goddess of life but of death; and from their minds, from all their minds, come the tricksters and the liars, the light that glitters not at all pleasantly through the cracks in the sanity-comes the foxes and the fae.
And at the crossroads in the woods the baron fills the world with smoke and the sun wipes ash from her white face, and at their temples and altars and shrines they take their prayers and their requests, and sometimes, sitting in the woods, some of them even desire to please the mortals.
Look: it isn't true. The gods don't care about you. Most of the time most of them just think you're funny, and they have made and will unmake you.
So you will now ask your question, o kitsune, o mortals, o inhumans and servants and miscreants: which was it of the gods who banished you and you alone to the wretched world? Which of these careless gods gathered in the woods, robes spilling about the gods of the trees, withdrew from the earth and from reality Nagekawashii-kai, solely for the purpose of interfering with you, of making you suffer deliberately instead of watching from their perches, curiously?
Which of them do you think cares enough to want to see everyone rot for the crimes of one?
The answer is none. The answer is never. The answer is why are you not accusing the one, the miscreant, the black kitsune, of lying?
In the woods the trees themselves are already falling.
Title: the very idea of frost
'Verse: Nagekawashii
Challenge: Sangria: 1. Two roads diverged in a wood - Robert Frost
Counts for the Summer Challenge?: Yes.
Toppings/Extras: N/A
Wordcount: 500
Rating: PG
A/N: OH YAY GOD FANFICTION.
This is where the gods gather: at the crossroads, not of the universe or of time or of faith but of the woods, where the two dark dirt roads cross each other and lead into the woods.
It doesn't matter which road you take: they lead to the same place.
And the place is the centre of the woods, and the woods are heavy and black and thick, leading endlessly to absolutely nowhere.
It isn't the holiest place in the world. On the contrary it isn't properly a place at all, and it's simply deep enough, and old enough, that the gods remember sitting in their grandmothers' laps when they were small, whole incarnations of the universe and mother goddesses cradling their babes in the darkness. And here is a fact: when the children of gods wail it sounds exactly the same as any other infant.
The woods of course smell of earth, the heady and ancient smell of tree bark and soil and falling leaves, of rain and heat and vines that grow freely and twine around everything; it is the gods who bring the other scents, the other sounds.
But it can be said, of course, that the woods are a god themselves.
And here is where gods are born: everywhere. From Kali Ma's black breasts the newly born after the battle nurses, and from Izanami-no-mikoto's womb Fire is born, sending his mother burning and screaming into the underworld until she is no longer the goddess of life but of death; and from their minds, from all their minds, come the tricksters and the liars, the light that glitters not at all pleasantly through the cracks in the sanity-comes the foxes and the fae.
And at the crossroads in the woods the baron fills the world with smoke and the sun wipes ash from her white face, and at their temples and altars and shrines they take their prayers and their requests, and sometimes, sitting in the woods, some of them even desire to please the mortals.
Look: it isn't true. The gods don't care about you. Most of the time most of them just think you're funny, and they have made and will unmake you.
So you will now ask your question, o kitsune, o mortals, o inhumans and servants and miscreants: which was it of the gods who banished you and you alone to the wretched world? Which of these careless gods gathered in the woods, robes spilling about the gods of the trees, withdrew from the earth and from reality Nagekawashii-kai, solely for the purpose of interfering with you, of making you suffer deliberately instead of watching from their perches, curiously?
Which of them do you think cares enough to want to see everyone rot for the crimes of one?
The answer is none. The answer is never. The answer is why are you not accusing the one, the miscreant, the black kitsune, of lying?
In the woods the trees themselves are already falling.