Jaenelle has a thing about keeping track of the people she cares about. No, honestly; more of a Thing. She hasn't seen Dean for a while, though she's been peripherally aware that he's been agitated. She can't keep an eye on everyone at once, though, and she's been busy trying to build up the Mansion's defenses, trying to work out a way to keep ( Read more... )

Jaenelle loves the outdoors. She always has - it's part of being Witch, and partly just her, that she likes to feel the air and the smell of life around her. Today she is sitting on the porch swing, wearing a light sundress, and swinging slowly back and forth as she looks out at the woods ( Read more... )

Jaenelle is ready ( Read more... )

Jaenelle is practicing.

Holding one of the long bladed sticks that Lucivar so prizes, she sweeps gracefully through the movements, wearing the loose pants that allow her to move freely, poised almost on her toes.

It would look like dancing if it weren't for the weapon and the deadly focused look in her eyes.

Jaenelle is sitting by the lake, singing ( Read more... )

Jaenelle has Plans. More pointedly, Jaenelle has had plans, and it's looking like a beautiful day, and she needs some help. Urgently ( Read more... )

Jaenelle has put out a notice to everyone she can think of, in her rather sprawly script:

If anyone finds one Melisande Shahrizai, please bring her to me. Alive. Jaenelle.

There's one word for her mood right now, and that's 'stressed' - Morgoth seems to be imminent, she hasn't seen Caranthir in a while which is worrying, Lucivar's been oddly tetchy ( Read more... )

Jaenelle is not a happy witch. More to the point, Jaenelle is not a happy Witch ( Read more... )

Jaenelle is outside again, looking once more a) alive and b) focused. She's standing at the edge of the lake, humming, her brow furrowed, and thinking intently. There are people she wants to see, conversations she (doesn't) want to have, and things that need doing, but for a moment here, she's just going to look at the lake and enjoy a moment of ( Read more... )

Jaenelle is sitting outside, singing, not loudly but not quietly either, her fingers weaving spidersilk on a wooden frame, looking distracted, thoughtful, her sapphire eyes distant. She pauses to tuck her hair behind her ears, examining her work with curious intensity, and then nods to herself and resumes working with nimble fingers, seemingly at