(no subject)
The corners and edges of the great hall are faint and indistinct in the dim light that falls from the aquamarine-topaz windows set high in the room's walls. The boundaries almost seem to shift continually in the shadows that haunt this chamber now. Odd reflections gleam in emerald glass from unexpected angles, showing ever-changing scenes of other worlds in their depths.
The White Rider is apparently untroubled by any of it, although ice-blue eyes glance from this image to that scene, watching as figures appear and vanish in the smoke.
A soft musical trill draws her attention, and she turns to the robin in its mirror-bright cage of gleaming silver wire. "It's time, cariad," Blodwen murmurs, leaving her throne to drop a few seeds into her pet's cup. She watches as the little bird hops from branch to branch within its prison home, wings fluttering, and her smile is warm as she thinks of another -- her robin prince, her dear Mordred. "A birthday present it will be for him-- and a surprise for so many!" She laughs, and the sweetly cruel sound echoes from the glass all around.
A splash of white at her wrist catches the light, as Blodwen sends the barest touch of power coiling along the knotted bracelet that she wears, tracing a path that is now fixed in her mind with blood-red clarity. "An easy visit it will be to make, after all."
She straightens and turns away from the cage toward the door of the great hall. As she moves through the hallway and out into the courtyard under the open sky, the White Rider seems somehow to change from the familiar form of Blodwen Rowlands. She grows tall and fair, shining in the dim light with a strange brightness of her own. Cloth writhes around her and then shapes itself into a kirtle of dazzling green, the eldritch emerald of the glass palace absorbed now into the white of her cloak and dress.
She laughs, soft and musical and delighted, and then curls her hand around the clear glass globe that is never far from her now, hanging as a pendant on a silver chain at her throat. There is a flash as white smoke fills it suddenly, twisting around upon itself as it boils with the deep-pink stain of Raven's blood--
(to shift and change)
--and then another flash, this one of white-feathered wings, as a snowy owl soars through the gates and vanishes into the howling mist.
The White Rider is apparently untroubled by any of it, although ice-blue eyes glance from this image to that scene, watching as figures appear and vanish in the smoke.
A soft musical trill draws her attention, and she turns to the robin in its mirror-bright cage of gleaming silver wire. "It's time, cariad," Blodwen murmurs, leaving her throne to drop a few seeds into her pet's cup. She watches as the little bird hops from branch to branch within its prison home, wings fluttering, and her smile is warm as she thinks of another -- her robin prince, her dear Mordred. "A birthday present it will be for him-- and a surprise for so many!" She laughs, and the sweetly cruel sound echoes from the glass all around.
A splash of white at her wrist catches the light, as Blodwen sends the barest touch of power coiling along the knotted bracelet that she wears, tracing a path that is now fixed in her mind with blood-red clarity. "An easy visit it will be to make, after all."
She straightens and turns away from the cage toward the door of the great hall. As she moves through the hallway and out into the courtyard under the open sky, the White Rider seems somehow to change from the familiar form of Blodwen Rowlands. She grows tall and fair, shining in the dim light with a strange brightness of her own. Cloth writhes around her and then shapes itself into a kirtle of dazzling green, the eldritch emerald of the glass palace absorbed now into the white of her cloak and dress.
She laughs, soft and musical and delighted, and then curls her hand around the clear glass globe that is never far from her now, hanging as a pendant on a silver chain at her throat. There is a flash as white smoke fills it suddenly, twisting around upon itself as it boils with the deep-pink stain of Raven's blood--
(to shift and change)
--and then another flash, this one of white-feathered wings, as a snowy owl soars through the gates and vanishes into the howling mist.