[Voice and Written Post | Unprotected]
[Soft, ringing notes of a harp can be heard over the distant ripple of water. They fade away into silence and there is a rustle and a thud. A moment later, Cerceus's face can be seen gazing thoughtfully into the crow's eye.]
Come here.
Seriously, come here. I won't try to eat you again. [snort] I learned my lesson, thanks.
[His hand sweeps out and collects the bird, bringing it to what looks like his lap - despite the darkness, his scales shine like jewels in the moonlight, and droplets of water cling, glistening, to the muscled curves of his stomach where it fades into scales.]
Can you transcribe? Take my words and write them to paper, for posterity, so to speak? I hate losing something after I've written it. Like a quick-quotes quill, only without the embellishments? Believe me, I can embellish enough on my own. But I hate writing free-hand, it's clumsy and slow, and my mind works a little faster than that. It's not like typing. I type pretty well. But since there's no keyboard, you're going to have to do it for me.
All right. Take this down.
How do we start this, Catha? [soft chuckle] I have an idea. Let's do open it the same way Gaiman does. [There is a rustle as he strokes the crow's feathers.] Gather 'round, children...
[Begin Written, but if anyone is listening at the time this is being transcribed, they can also hear it unfold in Cerceus’ smooth, soothing, melodic voice, gently underscored by his harp]
Once upon a time, in the age of gods and monsters, there lived a young woman named Thespe. She had hair that looked as though it had been spun of sunlight, and eyes like the clearest emeralds. So great was her beauty that the birds and beasts who looked upon her face stood as if struck, and flitted down to her hands or allowed her to rest herself upon their necks, for love of her. And though the sun looked down on every man, woman, and child in its travels across the sky, it could find no one in all the world fairer than she.
Thespe lived alone on the land settled by her forefathers, whose lives had been given in glorious exploits. She had no sisters or brothers, but she was not lonely, for she listened to the voices of the trees and took companionship with the beasts. And Thespe was happy, though in all her tender years, she had never laid eyes upon a man.
It came to pass as Thespe sat near the seashore, combing her silken hair, that the wind and waves carried to her a voice both dark and sweet. Though she cast her eyes in every direction, she beheld no man or woman from which the song could come. But the music compelled her and so she searched along the shore until she spied a maiden bathing in the shadow of a stone.
She was as dark as Thespe was fair, and a comb of gold she drew through her raven hair, and on the rocks beside her was the speckled skin of a seal.
Thespe was greatly amazed and forgetting fear, approached the sea maiden who, when she laid eyes upon her, was deeply moved and swift-captured by the love reflected in Thespe’s eyes. They spoke no word to each other but with kisses, made no promises but sighs, and in each other swelled, as the surging sea. When they were spent with love and weary, Thespe begged the maiden to tell to her her name.
“I am Anwyn,” said she.
Thespe then questioned her about the seal skin which she had with her.
“It is mine,” the sea maiden said, “and I will wear it again when I return to the sea, but this night, and many nights henceforth, I remain in the arms of my love.”
So Thespe took the sea maid, Anwyn, to her home, and there they lived in fellowship, as lovers. But Thespe’s dreams were troubled with fears and portents. So one night, as Anwyn lay sleeping, Thespe roused herself and stole away to the chest where Anwyn’s sealskin was kept. When she had laid hands upon it, she hid it in a secret place, beneath the foundation stone, and when she had done this, she hastened to bed and made as if she had never been gone.
Thespe and Anwyn drank deeply of each other’s love and lived many long years in happiness and plenty, but it happened that as time passed, Anwyn felt the stirring of the waves within her breast, and many hours she spent at the shore, looking out to sea. By the day, her melancholy grew, until Thespe, roused with fear and jealousy, bade her stay within the house and go to the seashore no more. And her word held Anwyn as surely as iron, for a sea maid must serve the will of the one who holds her skin. Day by day, she sickened and waned, and day by day, Thespe’s jealousy grew. In her weakness, Anwyn begged her lover to return her skin to her, lest she die imprisoned on the land. Her request enraged Thespe so that she searched out the sealskin where she had concealed it, and when she had brought it forth, she laid it before Anwyn’s eyes.
“See the skin which you have asked for,” said Thespe, “see that which resides more deeply in your heart than I. If I am to be condemned to misery, I would not suffer in loneliness. In life or death, I will cleave to you, for I can do naught else but what my heart bids me do. If you would go to the sea, I would stay by your side, or else, go not at all.”
And when she heard these words, Anwyn’s heart was moved by great sadness, for she knew that what Thespe asked was impossible. “Stay you, and I go,” said she to Thespe, “for there is no spell that can bring you to my side. In all the ages of the earth has the sea moved upon the shore, but in the depths of her remained unmoved. Thus it was when we had our beginning; now comes the end. In faith, I beg of you, give to me my freedom and taint not our love with bitterness, for if you spurn the ancient laws, no good will come to you in this life or the next.”
Then grief fell upon Thespe and she was seized with madness, and put forth a knife with which to flay the sea maid’s skin. But Anwyn took the skin and fled to the shore, and as she drew the shawl around her shoulders, her maiden’s form changed to that of a seal. No sooner had the water kissed her skin than crazed Thespe drove the blade into her back and spilt her blood upon the sand.
When Thespe saw what she had done, her heart was shattered. In sorrow, she drew close the body of her lover, but there it betrayed her - in her hands was naught but foam, for the sea folk return to foam when they die. Thespe beheld the breaking of the waves and, when she had perceived, took herself to a high rock and threw herself into the sea.
When Thespe woke, she beheld a river, terrible still and deep, unmoved by the passing of a ferry to the shore. And the boatman said to her, “Give me coin to pay the fare, that I may take ferry your soul to its eternal punishment in the underworld.”
And Thespe said to the boatman, “Punish me not, for I can suffer no greater agony. My heart is shattered within me. I would pay you with the shards. Take them from my breast if you desire them… they do naught but wound me.”
Said the boatman, “I desire them not. Of what worth are the splinters of a sinful heart when Virtue hath its lack in Hell, and Hell is overrun by lack of it?”
“Is there no virtue to be found in love?” said Thespe, “for though I gave her all my heart, my love has played me false.”
And the boatman said to her, “Love is that which yearns for the betterment of thy beloved. In thy heart is no love at all, but vain self-indulgence. Hadst thou made thy sacrifice for thy beloved, thy purity would pay the toll - now stay, until some passerby look upon thee with mercy, for the sea folk possess no souls eternal, and for thy act, thou shalt find no forgiveness.” And he turned Thespe away to wander in mourning and madness for eternity.
And here is the truth of the story - that is not love which seeks its own fulfillment in its beloved, nor seeks to be made whole by their indulgence, nor treats upon the beloved to be changed according to one’s wish. Such love is built upon naught but shifting sands, but love which seeks the betterment of the beloved is like bedrock, and if returned in kind, will hold through any storm.
Here ends the tale of Doomed Thespe. Let him hear it who will.
((All material is copywrite© Sonneillon Virul))
Come here.
Seriously, come here. I won't try to eat you again. [snort] I learned my lesson, thanks.
[His hand sweeps out and collects the bird, bringing it to what looks like his lap - despite the darkness, his scales shine like jewels in the moonlight, and droplets of water cling, glistening, to the muscled curves of his stomach where it fades into scales.]
Can you transcribe? Take my words and write them to paper, for posterity, so to speak? I hate losing something after I've written it. Like a quick-quotes quill, only without the embellishments? Believe me, I can embellish enough on my own. But I hate writing free-hand, it's clumsy and slow, and my mind works a little faster than that. It's not like typing. I type pretty well. But since there's no keyboard, you're going to have to do it for me.
All right. Take this down.
How do we start this, Catha? [soft chuckle] I have an idea. Let's do open it the same way Gaiman does. [There is a rustle as he strokes the crow's feathers.] Gather 'round, children...
[Begin Written, but if anyone is listening at the time this is being transcribed, they can also hear it unfold in Cerceus’ smooth, soothing, melodic voice, gently underscored by his harp]
Once upon a time, in the age of gods and monsters, there lived a young woman named Thespe. She had hair that looked as though it had been spun of sunlight, and eyes like the clearest emeralds. So great was her beauty that the birds and beasts who looked upon her face stood as if struck, and flitted down to her hands or allowed her to rest herself upon their necks, for love of her. And though the sun looked down on every man, woman, and child in its travels across the sky, it could find no one in all the world fairer than she.
Thespe lived alone on the land settled by her forefathers, whose lives had been given in glorious exploits. She had no sisters or brothers, but she was not lonely, for she listened to the voices of the trees and took companionship with the beasts. And Thespe was happy, though in all her tender years, she had never laid eyes upon a man.
It came to pass as Thespe sat near the seashore, combing her silken hair, that the wind and waves carried to her a voice both dark and sweet. Though she cast her eyes in every direction, she beheld no man or woman from which the song could come. But the music compelled her and so she searched along the shore until she spied a maiden bathing in the shadow of a stone.
She was as dark as Thespe was fair, and a comb of gold she drew through her raven hair, and on the rocks beside her was the speckled skin of a seal.
Thespe was greatly amazed and forgetting fear, approached the sea maiden who, when she laid eyes upon her, was deeply moved and swift-captured by the love reflected in Thespe’s eyes. They spoke no word to each other but with kisses, made no promises but sighs, and in each other swelled, as the surging sea. When they were spent with love and weary, Thespe begged the maiden to tell to her her name.
“I am Anwyn,” said she.
Thespe then questioned her about the seal skin which she had with her.
“It is mine,” the sea maiden said, “and I will wear it again when I return to the sea, but this night, and many nights henceforth, I remain in the arms of my love.”
So Thespe took the sea maid, Anwyn, to her home, and there they lived in fellowship, as lovers. But Thespe’s dreams were troubled with fears and portents. So one night, as Anwyn lay sleeping, Thespe roused herself and stole away to the chest where Anwyn’s sealskin was kept. When she had laid hands upon it, she hid it in a secret place, beneath the foundation stone, and when she had done this, she hastened to bed and made as if she had never been gone.
Thespe and Anwyn drank deeply of each other’s love and lived many long years in happiness and plenty, but it happened that as time passed, Anwyn felt the stirring of the waves within her breast, and many hours she spent at the shore, looking out to sea. By the day, her melancholy grew, until Thespe, roused with fear and jealousy, bade her stay within the house and go to the seashore no more. And her word held Anwyn as surely as iron, for a sea maid must serve the will of the one who holds her skin. Day by day, she sickened and waned, and day by day, Thespe’s jealousy grew. In her weakness, Anwyn begged her lover to return her skin to her, lest she die imprisoned on the land. Her request enraged Thespe so that she searched out the sealskin where she had concealed it, and when she had brought it forth, she laid it before Anwyn’s eyes.
“See the skin which you have asked for,” said Thespe, “see that which resides more deeply in your heart than I. If I am to be condemned to misery, I would not suffer in loneliness. In life or death, I will cleave to you, for I can do naught else but what my heart bids me do. If you would go to the sea, I would stay by your side, or else, go not at all.”
And when she heard these words, Anwyn’s heart was moved by great sadness, for she knew that what Thespe asked was impossible. “Stay you, and I go,” said she to Thespe, “for there is no spell that can bring you to my side. In all the ages of the earth has the sea moved upon the shore, but in the depths of her remained unmoved. Thus it was when we had our beginning; now comes the end. In faith, I beg of you, give to me my freedom and taint not our love with bitterness, for if you spurn the ancient laws, no good will come to you in this life or the next.”
Then grief fell upon Thespe and she was seized with madness, and put forth a knife with which to flay the sea maid’s skin. But Anwyn took the skin and fled to the shore, and as she drew the shawl around her shoulders, her maiden’s form changed to that of a seal. No sooner had the water kissed her skin than crazed Thespe drove the blade into her back and spilt her blood upon the sand.
When Thespe saw what she had done, her heart was shattered. In sorrow, she drew close the body of her lover, but there it betrayed her - in her hands was naught but foam, for the sea folk return to foam when they die. Thespe beheld the breaking of the waves and, when she had perceived, took herself to a high rock and threw herself into the sea.
When Thespe woke, she beheld a river, terrible still and deep, unmoved by the passing of a ferry to the shore. And the boatman said to her, “Give me coin to pay the fare, that I may take ferry your soul to its eternal punishment in the underworld.”
And Thespe said to the boatman, “Punish me not, for I can suffer no greater agony. My heart is shattered within me. I would pay you with the shards. Take them from my breast if you desire them… they do naught but wound me.”
Said the boatman, “I desire them not. Of what worth are the splinters of a sinful heart when Virtue hath its lack in Hell, and Hell is overrun by lack of it?”
“Is there no virtue to be found in love?” said Thespe, “for though I gave her all my heart, my love has played me false.”
And the boatman said to her, “Love is that which yearns for the betterment of thy beloved. In thy heart is no love at all, but vain self-indulgence. Hadst thou made thy sacrifice for thy beloved, thy purity would pay the toll - now stay, until some passerby look upon thee with mercy, for the sea folk possess no souls eternal, and for thy act, thou shalt find no forgiveness.” And he turned Thespe away to wander in mourning and madness for eternity.
And here is the truth of the story - that is not love which seeks its own fulfillment in its beloved, nor seeks to be made whole by their indulgence, nor treats upon the beloved to be changed according to one’s wish. Such love is built upon naught but shifting sands, but love which seeks the betterment of the beloved is like bedrock, and if returned in kind, will hold through any storm.
Here ends the tale of Doomed Thespe. Let him hear it who will.
((All material is copywrite© Sonneillon Virul))