and if you fall like Lucifer fell, you fall in flame
An astronomical unit away through the vacuum of space, the sun burned hot and yellow. Sol III, or its doppelganger-twin, shed radiation trapped by the greenhouse gases of this Earth, or almost-Earth, until what had been a temperate morning grew decidedly warm. Tabula Rasa's flora and fauna would absorb the change in ambient temperature without notice.
Morgan Le Fay strove to emulate them, noting the heat as a distant fact of meteorological interest at best, that in no way touched her physical form. In her dress of twilight violet, she flowed like water over river stones, slipped like falling shadow across the island. She was stardust, and her sister the sun would not harm her.
Such were her thoughts, fresh from her morning meditation at the waterfall, and upon her ritual trip to the clothing box - where a Lantean air sung in soft nostalgia yielded a peculiarly styled but lovely dress in stunning periwinkle silk. This grace, at least, a small trick of focus and discipline, had been left to her when she had either fallen, been grounded in ire or compassion, or had the entirety of her being forced into this limited human body.
New dress tucked neatly into the crook of her arm, Morgan strode in graceful purpose toward New Atlantis. She had contrived in the main, until now, to avoid the issue of precisely what had befallen her. But though she told herself it mattered not at all, it was far from an academic question. If the Others had set her down for penance, she might hope to re-Ascend only when she had learned what lesson they believed she needed. If she had been relieved from her eternal battle or set gently down to recover from it, then re-Ascension would require only time and dedication.
Yet if by some operation of the technology or sentience of the island, her energetic form and abilities had been forcibly suppressed, the solution lay in science. Science quite beyond anything they might achieve on the island in the span of a mortal life - even did she have the help of the best minds Cameron's Earth had to offer.
She might never re-Ascend. Worse, she might never know how to try.
So troubling did she find that thought, she lost her distributed mental focus. The day's heat slammed into her. At precisely the same moment, her toe caught on something underfoot and sent her sprawling.
Stunned, she knelt upon the ground a full minute before the throbbing in her knees and stinging on the heels of her hands drove her upright to sit. It was not until she reached for the new dress that she noticed the livid scrapes on her hands, nor the red stain blossoming on the violet silk over her knee.
She bled.
Emotion clawed her throat. Fury and panic twinned. She bled.
She told her skin to mend itself. She whisked a thought toward the stain to remove the iron that made it red. And still, she bled.
Summoning every bit of dignity she possessed, Morgan gathered herself to rise. It was nothing. She had tripped and fallen, something Cameron and Teyla had undoubtedly done hundreds of times in their lives. She had tripped and she had fallen, nothing more.
Nothing more, and the tears that wet her cheeks were of no more consequence than the heat she found she could no longer ignore.
Probably not the best time to meet her from her perspective, but a great one from mine. Especially if you are an ex-immortal, god, magic user or non-human. Friends, of course, are welcome. She's distraught in her Morganish way, so she may not stick around long. I apologize in advance if she bolts or tears a strip of someone's hide. XD Oh, yes, ST/LT just fine. Come n' play?
Morgan Le Fay strove to emulate them, noting the heat as a distant fact of meteorological interest at best, that in no way touched her physical form. In her dress of twilight violet, she flowed like water over river stones, slipped like falling shadow across the island. She was stardust, and her sister the sun would not harm her.
Such were her thoughts, fresh from her morning meditation at the waterfall, and upon her ritual trip to the clothing box - where a Lantean air sung in soft nostalgia yielded a peculiarly styled but lovely dress in stunning periwinkle silk. This grace, at least, a small trick of focus and discipline, had been left to her when she had either fallen, been grounded in ire or compassion, or had the entirety of her being forced into this limited human body.
New dress tucked neatly into the crook of her arm, Morgan strode in graceful purpose toward New Atlantis. She had contrived in the main, until now, to avoid the issue of precisely what had befallen her. But though she told herself it mattered not at all, it was far from an academic question. If the Others had set her down for penance, she might hope to re-Ascend only when she had learned what lesson they believed she needed. If she had been relieved from her eternal battle or set gently down to recover from it, then re-Ascension would require only time and dedication.
Yet if by some operation of the technology or sentience of the island, her energetic form and abilities had been forcibly suppressed, the solution lay in science. Science quite beyond anything they might achieve on the island in the span of a mortal life - even did she have the help of the best minds Cameron's Earth had to offer.
She might never re-Ascend. Worse, she might never know how to try.
So troubling did she find that thought, she lost her distributed mental focus. The day's heat slammed into her. At precisely the same moment, her toe caught on something underfoot and sent her sprawling.
Stunned, she knelt upon the ground a full minute before the throbbing in her knees and stinging on the heels of her hands drove her upright to sit. It was not until she reached for the new dress that she noticed the livid scrapes on her hands, nor the red stain blossoming on the violet silk over her knee.
She bled.
Emotion clawed her throat. Fury and panic twinned. She bled.
She told her skin to mend itself. She whisked a thought toward the stain to remove the iron that made it red. And still, she bled.
Summoning every bit of dignity she possessed, Morgan gathered herself to rise. It was nothing. She had tripped and fallen, something Cameron and Teyla had undoubtedly done hundreds of times in their lives. She had tripped and she had fallen, nothing more.
Nothing more, and the tears that wet her cheeks were of no more consequence than the heat she found she could no longer ignore.
Probably not the best time to meet her from her perspective, but a great one from mine. Especially if you are an ex-immortal, god, magic user or non-human. Friends, of course, are welcome. She's distraught in her Morganish way, so she may not stick around long. I apologize in advance if she bolts or tears a strip of someone's hide. XD Oh, yes, ST/LT just fine. Come n' play?