[Chrestomanci] The Songmaster's Solo
Title: The Songmaster's Solo
Fandom: Chrestomanci
Character: Millie Chant, pre-LoCC
Prompt: Dec 29: Here they Sang About Tomorrow on 31_days, and #11 - Red
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters, situations and worlds of Chrestomanci belong to DWJ and her publishers.
Words: 334
The Oracle sings of the future. She sings of menstrual blood which will flow, the soft drip of puberty, of womanhood. The Goddess is Fertile, and so her blood will flow, staining the soil a living red.
The Child dies. Her life is stripped from her, cleanly in the night, like the extra life of a Temple Cat.
The Oracle already knows where the next Child is.
The world of Asheth fasts in the red heat before the Living Asheth comes to the Temple. The children feel weak in the midday sun, clinging to their mothers in spite of the heat. The vibrant stalls and commerce halts for three days of sombre festival, because the Goddess has come. The still dust rises with the sweep of the Priestess’ rust-red robes against the clay cobbles, as they carry their burden through the wind-less streets. The girl-Child is still, her eyes staring out from the golden swaddling clothes at the world which stares at her.
Thousands of hands stretch out towards her, and the whispers of a million prayers fill her ears.
Before her walks the oracle, singing of the future, drowning out the silent voices of the silent crowd. Here is our Goddess, the Oracle sings, her voice soaring a cappella. Here is her Temple. Here are her people. Here are her hands. Here is our Goddess.
The Child gurgles, content. Her left foot waves above the blankets, Marked by Asheth.
The Oracle brings Death in the night, an Omen-Song upon her lips, to tell The Child of her future.
The Child’s life will be slipped from her possession in the night, and her blood will congeal within her veins, settling into patterns of red and purple.
Or perhaps, this time, she goes forth into the burning desert of the real world, scared of the Oracle who haunts the black shadows.
Still, The Child dies one Death, because the moon caused her blood to
drip.
drip.
drip.
onto the terracotta tiles of the Goddess’s Shrine.
Fandom: Chrestomanci
Character: Millie Chant, pre-LoCC
Prompt: Dec 29: Here they Sang About Tomorrow on 31_days, and #11 - Red
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters, situations and worlds of Chrestomanci belong to DWJ and her publishers.
Words: 334
The Oracle sings of the future. She sings of menstrual blood which will flow, the soft drip of puberty, of womanhood. The Goddess is Fertile, and so her blood will flow, staining the soil a living red.
The Child dies. Her life is stripped from her, cleanly in the night, like the extra life of a Temple Cat.
The Oracle already knows where the next Child is.
The world of Asheth fasts in the red heat before the Living Asheth comes to the Temple. The children feel weak in the midday sun, clinging to their mothers in spite of the heat. The vibrant stalls and commerce halts for three days of sombre festival, because the Goddess has come. The still dust rises with the sweep of the Priestess’ rust-red robes against the clay cobbles, as they carry their burden through the wind-less streets. The girl-Child is still, her eyes staring out from the golden swaddling clothes at the world which stares at her.
Thousands of hands stretch out towards her, and the whispers of a million prayers fill her ears.
Before her walks the oracle, singing of the future, drowning out the silent voices of the silent crowd. Here is our Goddess, the Oracle sings, her voice soaring a cappella. Here is her Temple. Here are her people. Here are her hands. Here is our Goddess.
The Child gurgles, content. Her left foot waves above the blankets, Marked by Asheth.
The Oracle brings Death in the night, an Omen-Song upon her lips, to tell The Child of her future.
The Child’s life will be slipped from her possession in the night, and her blood will congeal within her veins, settling into patterns of red and purple.
Or perhaps, this time, she goes forth into the burning desert of the real world, scared of the Oracle who haunts the black shadows.
Still, The Child dies one Death, because the moon caused her blood to
drip.
drip.
drip.
onto the terracotta tiles of the Goddess’s Shrine.