(no subject)
She had told the Doctor when he brought her to Stavin Five that there were things she had never had to worry about, and it had even been true. Always before, she'd had power to draw on, the power of the Dark within her at her command to ease the path where needed, even while she was living as if she were mortal. Now that she is mortal in truth, she's not at all certain how she'll manage to start over in this new place, this new world, this new life.
It turns out to be surprisingly easy.
As promised, the interplanetary passport stands up to inspection easily, and "Anghared Blodwen North" moves through immigration without trouble. A couple of jewels pried from the hilt of Rilian's dagger buy her what she needs to live comfortably, if simply, in a cottage on the edge of the sea, not far from a little village that itself is only a few hours' high-speed train ride north and west of the planetary capital. It's peaceful there, and she discovers that the sound of the waves is strangely comforting-- and that listening to it keeps her from having to think too much about what to do next.
After about a month, however, she finds that she's growing restless-- and just a little tired of being alone. She decides to start slowly, going into the village from time to time for her marketing, or spending an afternoon in a little cafe with tea, simply chatting with people and becoming acquainted with them. She learns that the little village is known for its art, displayed locally in small private galleries that, despite their unassuming nature, nevertheless draw their patrons from places all over Stavin Five.
It's on one of these trips that she that she finds the cloud-soft synth-fiber and pseudowool thread piled in a bin in a corner of a little craft shop. She picks up a colorful selection to take with her back to the cottage.
She also purchases a pair of silver knitting needles, which chime softly as she works.
The delicately-made shawl that she wears into town on her next visit occasions no small amount of excited comment. Before she goes back to the cottage, she's agreed to bring some of her work in to show one of the gallery owners, Magdalyn Simonds. By the end of the second month, she's signed to a contract as an artist who specializes in "Terran crafts." By the end of the third, the fragile, beautiful pieces from the hands of "newly-discovered artist Anghared North" are in high demand among the gallery's clientele.
The doorbell beeps discreetly as she walks into the gallery, carrying a long, flat box, and the light soft voice is pleased and warm as she calls, "Magda? Are you about, dear?"
"Just a moment--" It's not longer than that, either, before Magdalyn hurries out from the back. "Angie, love, how nice to see you! Do say you've brought me something really special this time, won't you?"
'Angie' laughs, shaking her head. "Oh, and you'll have to decide that, I'm afraid-- but here, see for yourself." She sets the box on a table and opens it, lifting out something black and delicate enough that it almost seems to flutter as she lays it down. Carefully, with the other woman's help, Anghared spreads out a soft knitted cape.
Magdalyn looks at it in stunned silence before she breathes, "Angie, it's glorious. You've outdone yourself, you surely have." Cautiously, she traces an accent worked in among the black pseudowool with midnight-blue thread. "This is exquisite. These markings-- it makes it look as though you've crafted real feathers here, and gives the impression of wings to the piece as a whole."
"Does it?" The satisfaction in the soft musical voice is very clear. Anghared toys absently with a silver ring on a chain at her throat as she watches the other woman examine her work. "Why, and glad I am to hear it, goodness yes."
"It does. And if you'll forgive me an awful play on words, it should fly right out the door, that I can promise you, which is excellent news for us both." Smiling, Magdalyn looks up at her, and then hesitates as she notices the ring. "Look, Angie-- I don't mean to pry, especially as I'm not the sort of woman to look a gift artist in the eye, or whatever that old Terran saying was. It's just... well, you're out in that cottage all alone, and there's any number of people I could introduce you to, people who'd love to meet you, some of them very nice men, if you follow me..." She breaks off, with a meaningful look at the ring on its chain. "So I figured I'd ask, see if you were interested in getting to know a few of them. Or is there someone?"
Startled, she laughs softly and shakes her head. "Oh, my goodness me-- no, there's no one. It's nothing like that. A reminder it is, that's all."
"A reminder?"
"Why yes," Anghared tells her, as her fingers steal back to the ring once more. "A reminder that sometimes wishes can come true."
Magdalyn smiles. "What a lovely, enchanting idea-- if a fanciful one, I hate to say." She grins, adding, "Or did you already have a wish come true? Maybe a wish to become a famous artist?"
Anghared North shakes her head, and the soft musical voice is very certain indeed as she says, "Oh, not yet. I haven't gotten my wish yet." Smiling gently, she finishes, "But I will, someday."
It turns out to be surprisingly easy.
As promised, the interplanetary passport stands up to inspection easily, and "Anghared Blodwen North" moves through immigration without trouble. A couple of jewels pried from the hilt of Rilian's dagger buy her what she needs to live comfortably, if simply, in a cottage on the edge of the sea, not far from a little village that itself is only a few hours' high-speed train ride north and west of the planetary capital. It's peaceful there, and she discovers that the sound of the waves is strangely comforting-- and that listening to it keeps her from having to think too much about what to do next.
After about a month, however, she finds that she's growing restless-- and just a little tired of being alone. She decides to start slowly, going into the village from time to time for her marketing, or spending an afternoon in a little cafe with tea, simply chatting with people and becoming acquainted with them. She learns that the little village is known for its art, displayed locally in small private galleries that, despite their unassuming nature, nevertheless draw their patrons from places all over Stavin Five.
It's on one of these trips that she that she finds the cloud-soft synth-fiber and pseudowool thread piled in a bin in a corner of a little craft shop. She picks up a colorful selection to take with her back to the cottage.
She also purchases a pair of silver knitting needles, which chime softly as she works.
The delicately-made shawl that she wears into town on her next visit occasions no small amount of excited comment. Before she goes back to the cottage, she's agreed to bring some of her work in to show one of the gallery owners, Magdalyn Simonds. By the end of the second month, she's signed to a contract as an artist who specializes in "Terran crafts." By the end of the third, the fragile, beautiful pieces from the hands of "newly-discovered artist Anghared North" are in high demand among the gallery's clientele.
The doorbell beeps discreetly as she walks into the gallery, carrying a long, flat box, and the light soft voice is pleased and warm as she calls, "Magda? Are you about, dear?"
"Just a moment--" It's not longer than that, either, before Magdalyn hurries out from the back. "Angie, love, how nice to see you! Do say you've brought me something really special this time, won't you?"
'Angie' laughs, shaking her head. "Oh, and you'll have to decide that, I'm afraid-- but here, see for yourself." She sets the box on a table and opens it, lifting out something black and delicate enough that it almost seems to flutter as she lays it down. Carefully, with the other woman's help, Anghared spreads out a soft knitted cape.
Magdalyn looks at it in stunned silence before she breathes, "Angie, it's glorious. You've outdone yourself, you surely have." Cautiously, she traces an accent worked in among the black pseudowool with midnight-blue thread. "This is exquisite. These markings-- it makes it look as though you've crafted real feathers here, and gives the impression of wings to the piece as a whole."
"Does it?" The satisfaction in the soft musical voice is very clear. Anghared toys absently with a silver ring on a chain at her throat as she watches the other woman examine her work. "Why, and glad I am to hear it, goodness yes."
"It does. And if you'll forgive me an awful play on words, it should fly right out the door, that I can promise you, which is excellent news for us both." Smiling, Magdalyn looks up at her, and then hesitates as she notices the ring. "Look, Angie-- I don't mean to pry, especially as I'm not the sort of woman to look a gift artist in the eye, or whatever that old Terran saying was. It's just... well, you're out in that cottage all alone, and there's any number of people I could introduce you to, people who'd love to meet you, some of them very nice men, if you follow me..." She breaks off, with a meaningful look at the ring on its chain. "So I figured I'd ask, see if you were interested in getting to know a few of them. Or is there someone?"
Startled, she laughs softly and shakes her head. "Oh, my goodness me-- no, there's no one. It's nothing like that. A reminder it is, that's all."
"A reminder?"
"Why yes," Anghared tells her, as her fingers steal back to the ring once more. "A reminder that sometimes wishes can come true."
Magdalyn smiles. "What a lovely, enchanting idea-- if a fanciful one, I hate to say." She grins, adding, "Or did you already have a wish come true? Maybe a wish to become a famous artist?"
Anghared North shakes her head, and the soft musical voice is very certain indeed as she says, "Oh, not yet. I haven't gotten my wish yet." Smiling gently, she finishes, "But I will, someday."