[ There is a promise that hangs on Lauralae's hands, a reminder of things that she had said months before. A whisper of power she had never had before, latent power that settles in her chest, beyond the call of blood and the power that it offers - something that won't need her life essence to protect her, that won't need her to turn into a wolf in order to survive.
It had come to her at a party, flashes of which settle on Lauralae's mind. The reminder of a handsome woman, a charming young lady (human, of course, which still settles awkwardly on her shoulders, makes her travelling companion bristle and froth with anger) that made her feel somewhat charmed for a bare hour. It had been some time and the weight still settles on her, confusing her, and she ignores it as she waits.
Letters were all they had - she knows she needs to find an alternate means of talking to people, especially if she means to keep her eyes on Iorveth and his shard - but for now they do. She waits, curled in the darkness of the trees, hovering as she watches. Her lady is meant to stop by soon, for them to walk south together for a time, for Lauralae to travel with her until she has picked up the magic that everyone in this world knows.
( Months have come and gone since she met the young Aellyn and heard her whisper of a dark form of magic. It had struck her at the time as full of potential to be of incredible use, especially for medical purposes. Were there not a positive to balance the destructiveness of it, she would never have agreed to learn it. Yet she has, because her drive to never again be so completely at the mercy of another demands it just as much as does her compassionate nature.
In any case, she has been looking forward to reuniting with Lauralae for a long time. Because in this elf, she has found a dear friend. The contents of their letters sent back and forth via raven tell her that well-enough, and her heart warms while she gently knees Llŷr, the Ceffyl Dwr gifted to her by Dorian Gray over a year past. They descend through the clouds together, as though borne from the mist itself (he certainly was), and she keeps a sharp eye out for her friend while marvelling silently at the beauty of the scenery spread out below them.
The woods, just to the North of Mair. They had agreed to meet here, and this is where she settles Llŷr, his hooves patting softly in the dirt when he lands. Once he is stationary, Elizabeth dismounts, and glances back at him with a warm smile. )
Come with me. ( She says simply, and moves into the trees, knowing full-well that Lauralae does not tarry upon the open road. )
It is safe, my friend. The way is clear.
( Just in case she's within earshot. In fact, she assumes that she is. )
[ The friendship that has budded between the two of them, like a flower that needs special care and attention for it to grow and flourish, to be nurtured or it would wilt and die far too quickly. Lauralae's concern with it would not be so important to her were it not for the strange kindness this woman had showed her, the way that it lights her insides and confuses her -- the last person that had been so kind and tender to her had died from her own mistakes, had died because she had felt foolish enough to love, and she is uneasy as she watches the lady approach.
A beast of magic, she notes, and she's curious about it for all that she pretends to ignore it. It's far too easy to walk forward and greet Elizabeth, to nod her head and watch her with a calm concern that might not be present with anyone else. Iorveth has seen it, of course, her constant companion in the months that have gone bye, the man who now carries her shard of blood granite for her (trust, she thinks, comes in strange forms in this world) but it is foreign to human eyes.
She says nothing, at first, simply follows the other woman into the depths of the trees, relaxing as the darkness and the forestry cocoons around her like a blanket of protection. In the trees she is a predator, her pace slow and steady as she steps through, head held high. She has lived in forests such as these, hunted for her own food and survived from it and nothing else; she is more at home here than she has been in her house. ]
I would not be standing so idly if it were not safe, lady.
[ It's almost derisive, really, and she halts her words before more comes out. Instead, she walks forward, a few paces faster to catch up, and squeezes her hands tight. Calm is important, especially when this woman is trying to be so kind (but for what reason? Why? Other than her magic, what does she have to offer?) ]
( This is a most delicate bond, one which Elizabeth has sought every opportunity to nurture, just like a flower transplanted into new soil. The sun and water are replaced by letters and kind words, smiles and time spent together. Admittedly, the lattermost of those has been difficult to arrange, due to Lauralae's nomadic lifestyle. But somehow they are managing together to make this work, and this connection forming between them is beginning to blossom. This young woman is one whom has known little kindness, at least of late. Much as had been the case for Elizabeth with the exception of Richard, before she had been sent here.
To be warm and tender toward Lauralae, then is second-nature to her. As easy for her as it is to breathe. Llŷr tosses his head, sending a rain of water droplets shimmering through the air. Gently, she pats his neck and whispers to him soft words of encouragement in order to soothe him. Once it seems to work, she turns her head to look sidelong at her friend for a long moment before fixing her gaze back on the road.
Silence reigns for a long time, in which Elizabeth finds herself enormously at ease. Comfortable, she walks with an easy, graceful gait, slow and steady to match her friend's pace. Her bearing, as always is regal and proud, which means a straight posture, and her head held as high as is Lauralae's. When the Aellyn finally speaks, she laughs softly. )
True enough. I have need of lessons in how to survive in the wilderness without company, I suspect.
( The humour is self-deprecating, but kept light and airy. Her smile comes more easily and holds more warmth than it has in months. Time truly is healing her wounds from earlier in the past year. Llŷr follows close at their heels, as though he prefers to keep close to Elizabeth. )
Then I shall follow wherever you lead. ( Her features soften. ) You look very well, indeed. I am glad of it.
[ The bond that's between them is, in Lauralae's eyes, a fleeting, fragile thing. It's like a newborn; small, easily damaged and scared. In truth, she doesn't know how to handle what is developing between them - for all that Elizabeth is kind (and handsome, if she is going to be honest with herself) there is a steel block between them. Lauralae is not the kind to believe that anything between them might last longer than the bond between teacher and student. She knows what it is to be used; it's as clear as daylight.
It doesn't mean she doesn't intend to enjoy it whilst she can, of course. Her eyes cast down, drawing her gloves higher on her hands and securing them before she steps ahead, watching at the ease with which Elizabeth holds herself; it's as though she was born and bred into power, and whilst Lauralae knows nothing of her history she believes it to be likely. She has the gait, she has the power.
The nearest clearing is a few strides to the east and she makes the movement easily, turning her body and barely turning her head back to look at her friend - it's better to say ally, she thinks - before she nods, once, sharply. ]
It would be better to learn quickly. You will not survive for long alone if you don't educate yourself, no matter how much power you have.
[ She doesn't pick up on the humour, the tenderness of it lost on her, and she moves to breach the clearing and step through, frowning as her robe is caught on a thorn. She takes the moment it needs to undo herself before she feels her face go a touch pink, staring at Elizabeth before she turns her head away.
Foolishness. ]
I have had nothing to fear. Iorveth is a good companion and a capable warrior and I have more power in one hand than most have in all their body.
( By virtue of her past experiences, Lauralae cannot be expected to look at this bond and assume it will last. Elizabeth herself knows naught about it in order to assume anything on the other girl's behalf. But the events of her own life thus far have made her prone to bond slowly but deeply with others, and quickly (and no less deeply) with a precious few. These bonds are relationships she treasures, and has no intention to throw away. Elizabeth has lost far too many loved ones in her short life in order to do that. Even had she not, she is not the type to do so. Lauralae is clever and lovely and makes her feel safe.
All virtues which she holds in high regard. And once they have taught one-another all they might, her care for this girl will remain. Beyond the bond of teacher and student, or the fact that she is a shardbearer while Lauralae is not lies one much more simple and plain: Elizabeth bears a strong fondness for her. And while she walks as one accustomed to power, she also has a warm countenance, as she smiles over at her with a like sense of ease. )
I will endeavour to do so. ( Her smile fades somewhat, and her gaze turns wistful, as though she is looking straight into the past to find a new resolve. ) I would not have survived long at home either without further education.
( The seriousness is lost now and her humour returns, gentle and fond as before. ) Even so, it is good to see you well. And I am glad that you are so well-protected as that none will ever so much as think of harming a strand of hair upon your lovely head.
( The flirtation will continue; Lauralae had better get used to it, and quickly. This is all rote with Elizabeth. )
[ There is something to be said about Elizabeth's tenderness towards her, how gentle and soft she is when the rest of the world had been so cruel and dark in it's regard. Lauralae had suffered, she had fallen, she had been cruelly treated and had transformed from it, becoming a wild creature of darkness and habit more than she had survived it, and the gentle nature of her lady, the kindness she feels, was not so strong that it counterbalanced that. Lauralae is strong, dangerous, but she feels softened, now, as if she is melting at the kindnesses.
She fears it, however. She fears becoming weak to another, falling prey to the urge to trust and offer herself, in loyalty or otherwise, and letting herself fall because of it. It is easier, she knows, to be cruel and dark, hopeless to enjoy other company, than it is to be a tender daughter or a loving bride. She is a wolf, snarling in the dark, and intends to be nothing less. ]
Then you have a sharp mind and the means to prove yourself. Let that be your strength when your body betrays you.
[ For they are female, not as powerful as muscled men, strengthened by their weight and what nature gives them. It is their blood that will empower them, make them stronger and darker in their own right.
The gentle words, though, oh! And the flirtation. It makes Lauralae's cheeks turn a hushed pink, her frown lifting a little at the edges. She doesn't smile, but it's a very near thing. ]
None would dare, lady, save those that wished for their deaths to be swift and dangerous, to see themselves suffer. Come.
[ She brushes off the lovely words, ignoring the rise of her heartbeat, turning with arms wide open. She drops her hood, ears a dark mar against her skin, and she nods. ]
( Lauralae's words strike a strong chord deep within her spirit, and she finds herself nodding in agreement. Her smile does not fade so much as soften, as the Aellyn manages to endear herself to her without any great effort at all. It seems that she is just one of those people who is honest and strong enough to say the right things that resonate well with her and cause her to want to draw herself closer to them. That is what she wishes to do, regardless of how Lauralae sees herself.
They can be darker and more powerful together, rather than alone. For she knows the truly fearsome power of two women united in magic together against a common foe. )
With your wisdom and guidance, I will do so. There is much to admire in you, my friend.
( Much more than her friend might consider, actually. Or perhaps not, as it seems her flirtation has not escaped her notice. Elizabeth can feel heat rising to her own cheeks while her smile curves upward in pleasure.
It is most pleasant to draw such a reaction from her. )
Please, call me Elizabeth. I believe you have more than earned that right by now. And it would be a pleasure.
( Yes, this woman is dangerous, dark and powerful. Perhaps that is all part of her charm in her eyes. Being near to her is to feel the thrill of being alive as much as the quiet surety of complete safety. Both of which she appreciates very much in her.
She folds back the long, belled sleeves of her gown and shrugs her plaited hair over her shoulder. )
I have attended the university in Redgate for a time, but I was also born with it. My own powers stems from water, since I am descended from a river goddess. My mother taught me a little of how to wield it.
[ She is a stern teacher, she is sure of that, and she will not be kind nor gentle. She will force the teaching, force the lessons upon her with hard and steel words and force. Blood is power, blood is strength, and it cannot be done so easily by someone kind and soft. You must harden yourself, she thinks, be steel and iron where there is room for you to bend, and that is the lesson Elizabeth must learn. She is too kind, too sweet, and Lauralae must see that banished.
It is almost a shame to hear it, to let it be so.
The idle flattery, however, is not welcome, and she shakes her head. Let Elizabeth regard her for what she knows, not what she assumes. ]
Much to admire and much to learn from, I think.
[ Her lips curl into something dark, a little dangerous, and she lifts her arms. Her robe is long, covering her forearm and longer, but she draws them back. Her gloves cover only her hands, revealing her forearms - covered in scars, long thing marks, from knife and nail both, baring her power without shame.
Elizabeth is unmarred, beautiful in her pale skin. Lauralae wishes to see her marked for her trouble, to see her blood drip. ]
You will show me your power. Draw upon your shard, upon your latent magic, to show me your strength. Show me what is at your disposal and I shall show you how to draw your blood to the surface, to stretch out your gifts.
[ She smirks. ]
Then you will teach me your magic. A trade of power, our true passion.
( So, Lauralae would have her be more like her mother? The thought would frighten her as nothing else ever could. Precisely because it would be so very easy to take that step, to shed all goodness and light left in her to be a dark, vengeful thing. But her father could be dark and vengeful, too. He had drowned his own brother in a barrel of wine, had he not? And slain Warwick by his own hands. Edward could never have been mistaken for a soft nor easy man, simply because he had been so within the circle of his family.
She releases a deep exhale, and nods once, a slow incline of her head. )
Of that I have no doubt.
( There is something about the look which comes over Lauralae's face now which beckons her, a dark, thrilling allure, similar to what she had felt on the eve of Samhain. Only deeper. She looks upon those scars without flinching, finding a terrible sort of beauty in them. A ferocity which kindles fire in her, as her eyes meet those of her mentor, and hold, bright with intensity and with no intention of looking away.
She is not afraid. Indeed, she shifts to stand straighter before her, and focuses, feeling, sensing, living in the water all around her. Deep in her chest, something seethes with warmth. It is new, but again, not frightening. Elizabeth breathes in, breathes out, and clouds roll in overhead. A clap of thunder can be heard, rolling, dull and yet dangerous in the distance. And then, the heavens open, and rain pours from the sky. Just overhead, and not over a large swath of land, but she is improving. Already, she has surpassed the little her mother had taught her. )
I accept. ( Her smile now twists a little, showing another side of her, darker, bolder. ) And if it is passion you desire, you need only ask, my lady.
( Another clap of thunder, and she broadens her smile. ) It will be my pleasure.
[ Lauralae would have her be powerful; she values strength in others, magical especially, and she wants to see more of it. It thrills her, and a dark part of her mind, a curling, desperate thing that pushes her forward and begs for more strength, that wishes and hopes for her to lose herself to the dark power that has taken her hands. She has no other choice but to fight it - and, so, she does, when she can, pushing her power into other thoughts and other things.
She watches, intense, as ever. ]
Good.
[ It is obvious that she is a dark, dangerous creature; she is made up of that darkness, her hands a reflection of it, and she shifts as she watches him, her eyes dancing over Elizabeth's features before she forces herself to calm. The voice in the back of her mind whispers at her, hissing at her to take shard and power, but she silences it as she gazes, staring.
The clouds come, however, as Elizabeth calls for them, and Lauralae tilts her head up to watch. She steps forward, dark eyes moving over dark clouds, and she says nothing, just stares and watches. After a few moments, she breathes out, her lips curling into a smirk. ]
( Ever has darkness drawn her, for all the light she bears, there is more than simply a tendril of night at the core of her sun in splendour. That is why she is here, why she is Unseelie and not dancing amidst the sunflowers and the daisies of Glaschu. Perhaps, even, this girl may be yet another reason for her to be here. The intensity of her gaze brings to the fore an answering surge of power and anticipation in the pit of her stomach.
She breathes in, breathes out, and smiles for her. Lightning flashes through the clouds, and strikes a nearby tree. The smell of ozone, burning wood and raw power remain heavy in the air, cloying. )
There is more. I see things others cannot. Events which are happening, or will occur. I can, in theory, alter the course of my fate. And.. curse whomever I choose to death and ruin.
I can trace my descent back to a river goddess in a land called Burgundy, far away from here. Melusina was her name. All that she has bestowed upon me, I will do my utmost to thus gift unto you.
( She steps closer, her gaze intensifying. )
What power might our blood purchase us in this world, dear heart?
[ She wants more of this, she thinks. The flash of power, the strength, the coiling burn of it that brushes over her skin and makes her want more. Nothing else seems as important in this moment and she drifts, moving forward and closing her eyes, breathing out a soft noise before she swallows, her dark eyes drinking it all in. This is what she wants, she thinks. This strength, this power, it enlightens her more than anything else she had ever dreamed of.
Lauralae wants to reach up and touch the lightning, to thread her fingers through the raw power, but she knows that is foolish. There's nothing she can do about that. ]
You have the Sight. The Visions. That is something the Aellyn once celebrated; love of the Oracle, of the future that might once have been told.
[ She doesn't hesitate, just letting herself watch Elizabeth. ]
Melusina is a handsome name.
[ But that is not important now, is it? ]
Anything. It can be used for the strongest of magic, of ritual. It can be used to empower runes, to summon, to suffocate. You can use another's blood as a tool to ensure their destruction.
( Since arriving here, her magic has drawn a stunning degree of acceptance from the people here. It had not taken her long to blossom, to feel some sense of pride in her power, which also in turn blossomed. But no one has ever reacted to it the way Lauralae now is, with a sense of awe and—well, she seems downright thrilled by it. The notion excited her, and another flash of lightning arces across the sky. Should the Aellyn meet her gaze, she will find it as intense and stormy as the weather about them. When the rain begins to fall, she tips her face up toward it and smiles, welcoming the embrace of her divine ancestress. )
You know it. ( That startles her, and yet it does not. Elizabeth inclines her head. ) Since I was a very little girl. But I have never known how to control it. This Lady Oracle, do you know if she would have been able to do so?
( Perhaps it is a lost art, one she might discover anew and learn for herself. If it means she can see things other than simply blood and death, that would be fantastic. )
One day, I will tell you her story.
( The wind picks up, and then dies down. Elizabeth breathes in, breathes out, and the fall of rain begins to ease, the rolls of thunder to grow more distant. Through simple use, she has grown better able to control this aspect of her power. )
That holds a note of terrible beauty to it. Yes. I would learn it. An equal trade.
[ What Lauralae wants is obvious; she is drawn to the magic, the power, the feel of a shard and the sense of strength that washes over her in waves. She wants to drown herself in it - which is, she thinks, rather apt, considering what strength Elizabeth brings forward. Her eyes close as she lets herself reach out with her own magic, as if the call of her blood might wrap around the other woman and stifle, steal, take - because that is what she wants. Power to earn her own freedom.
Slowly, she shakes her head. ] The Aellyn know it. They spoke highly of those with the Sight, the Oracle, that which they guide. Their calendars hail what is foretold and they whisper knowledge of what is to come. That is all I know of.
[ Would Elizabeth work out that she was once one of them, she wonders? Would the woman know that she speaks to a trueborn Aellyn cast out of her land for shame and evil? It matters not; none would speak to her people of her, none would risk it. Breathing out, Lauralae takes a step forward. ]
One day I will tell you one in return.
[ But that is not important now. What is important now is the magic, and she turns her gaze to stare, hard and sure. ]
( The moment Lauralae reaches out with her power, she can feel it. Her shard burns bright and hot in her chest, as though someone has thrust a red hot poker within the cavity of her body to pry it out from between her ribs. But more than that, the wind picks up. Thunder rolls across the heavens, and lightning shoots down to strike several trees not far from where they stand. Melusina is defending her, she realizes. Yet there is more to it, is there not? It is nearly as though by the same token, the goddess is embracing this dark, foreign power.
For a split-second, anger tears through her, bright and wild and terrible. Lightning strikes again, burning the very earth and mulch of the forest floor a deep black. As black as Lauralae's eyes. It is quick to depart, leaving behind an excitement that shakes her to the very core of herself, her skin on fire and tingling, almost as if.. well. Her own eyes are as dark and turbulent as their combined power. Some part of her calls to something in the other woman, and the same is true in the reverse. A wild and dangerous part, which wants this woman and her power. )
You know much more than most. ( Stepping forward, she closes most of the distance between them, until she is only barely heeding the strict wishes Lauralae put forth on their first meeting. They are so close that she can see the fluttering beat of her pulse at her throat, and feel her warmth. Close enough to kiss, should she desire it. And perhaps she does. )
I will not pry, if they are your people. But if you know aught of how I might turn a curse into a gift, I would be eternally in your debt. That, I know, is no small thing.
( But that is how much she is willing to give never to have to only see blood and death again. ) I will be very honoured upon that occasion. Perhaps it will come close to approaching your beauty.
( It likely will not, because there is no sort of beauty in all this land like hers. No mere words could ever hope to capture it. )
My power is also within my blood; inherited, though the centuries. You will need it, I think, to practice my sort of magic. Will you take it?
( Her gaze is also sure, but holds a double meaning, now. ) Be gentle, is all I ask.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spring.
early april. (north of mair).
no subject
In any case, she has been looking forward to reuniting with Lauralae for a long time. Because in this elf, she has found a dear friend. The contents of their letters sent back and forth via raven tell her that well-enough, and her heart warms while she gently knees Llŷr, the Ceffyl Dwr gifted to her by Dorian Gray over a year past. They descend through the clouds together, as though borne from the mist itself (he certainly was), and she keeps a sharp eye out for her friend while marvelling silently at the beauty of the scenery spread out below them.
The woods, just to the North of Mair. They had agreed to meet here, and this is where she settles Llŷr, his hooves patting softly in the dirt when he lands. Once he is stationary, Elizabeth dismounts, and glances back at him with a warm smile. )
Come with me. ( She says simply, and moves into the trees, knowing full-well that Lauralae does not tarry upon the open road. )
It is safe, my friend. The way is clear.
( Just in case she's within earshot. In fact, she assumes that she is. )
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A beast of magic, she notes, and she's curious about it for all that she pretends to ignore it. It's far too easy to walk forward and greet Elizabeth, to nod her head and watch her with a calm concern that might not be present with anyone else. Iorveth has seen it, of course, her constant companion in the months that have gone bye, the man who now carries her shard of blood granite for her (trust, she thinks, comes in strange forms in this world) but it is foreign to human eyes.
She says nothing, at first, simply follows the other woman into the depths of the trees, relaxing as the darkness and the forestry cocoons around her like a blanket of protection. In the trees she is a predator, her pace slow and steady as she steps through, head held high. She has lived in forests such as these, hunted for her own food and survived from it and nothing else; she is more at home here than she has been in her house. ]
I would not be standing so idly if it were not safe, lady.
[ It's almost derisive, really, and she halts her words before more comes out. Instead, she walks forward, a few paces faster to catch up, and squeezes her hands tight. Calm is important, especially when this woman is trying to be so kind (but for what reason? Why? Other than her magic, what does she have to offer?) ]
We should find a quiet space.
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To be warm and tender toward Lauralae, then is second-nature to her. As easy for her as it is to breathe. Llŷr tosses his head, sending a rain of water droplets shimmering through the air. Gently, she pats his neck and whispers to him soft words of encouragement in order to soothe him. Once it seems to work, she turns her head to look sidelong at her friend for a long moment before fixing her gaze back on the road.
Silence reigns for a long time, in which Elizabeth finds herself enormously at ease. Comfortable, she walks with an easy, graceful gait, slow and steady to match her friend's pace. Her bearing, as always is regal and proud, which means a straight posture, and her head held as high as is Lauralae's. When the Aellyn finally speaks, she laughs softly. )
True enough. I have need of lessons in how to survive in the wilderness without company, I suspect.
( The humour is self-deprecating, but kept light and airy. Her smile comes more easily and holds more warmth than it has in months. Time truly is healing her wounds from earlier in the past year. Llŷr follows close at their heels, as though he prefers to keep close to Elizabeth. )
Then I shall follow wherever you lead. ( Her features soften. ) You look very well, indeed. I am glad of it.
no subject
It doesn't mean she doesn't intend to enjoy it whilst she can, of course. Her eyes cast down, drawing her gloves higher on her hands and securing them before she steps ahead, watching at the ease with which Elizabeth holds herself; it's as though she was born and bred into power, and whilst Lauralae knows nothing of her history she believes it to be likely. She has the gait, she has the power.
The nearest clearing is a few strides to the east and she makes the movement easily, turning her body and barely turning her head back to look at her friend - it's better to say ally, she thinks - before she nods, once, sharply. ]
It would be better to learn quickly. You will not survive for long alone if you don't educate yourself, no matter how much power you have.
[ She doesn't pick up on the humour, the tenderness of it lost on her, and she moves to breach the clearing and step through, frowning as her robe is caught on a thorn. She takes the moment it needs to undo herself before she feels her face go a touch pink, staring at Elizabeth before she turns her head away.
Foolishness. ]
I have had nothing to fear. Iorveth is a good companion and a capable warrior and I have more power in one hand than most have in all their body.
no subject
All virtues which she holds in high regard. And once they have taught one-another all they might, her care for this girl will remain. Beyond the bond of teacher and student, or the fact that she is a shardbearer while Lauralae is not lies one much more simple and plain: Elizabeth bears a strong fondness for her. And while she walks as one accustomed to power, she also has a warm countenance, as she smiles over at her with a like sense of ease. )
I will endeavour to do so. ( Her smile fades somewhat, and her gaze turns wistful, as though she is looking straight into the past to find a new resolve. ) I would not have survived long at home either without further education.
( The seriousness is lost now and her humour returns, gentle and fond as before. ) Even so, it is good to see you well. And I am glad that you are so well-protected as that none will ever so much as think of harming a strand of hair upon your lovely head.
( The flirtation will continue; Lauralae had better get used to it, and quickly. This is all rote with Elizabeth. )
no subject
She fears it, however. She fears becoming weak to another, falling prey to the urge to trust and offer herself, in loyalty or otherwise, and letting herself fall because of it. It is easier, she knows, to be cruel and dark, hopeless to enjoy other company, than it is to be a tender daughter or a loving bride. She is a wolf, snarling in the dark, and intends to be nothing less. ]
Then you have a sharp mind and the means to prove yourself. Let that be your strength when your body betrays you.
[ For they are female, not as powerful as muscled men, strengthened by their weight and what nature gives them. It is their blood that will empower them, make them stronger and darker in their own right.
The gentle words, though, oh! And the flirtation. It makes Lauralae's cheeks turn a hushed pink, her frown lifting a little at the edges. She doesn't smile, but it's a very near thing. ]
None would dare, lady, save those that wished for their deaths to be swift and dangerous, to see themselves suffer. Come.
[ She brushes off the lovely words, ignoring the rise of her heartbeat, turning with arms wide open. She drops her hood, ears a dark mar against her skin, and she nods. ]
What do you know of magics?
no subject
They can be darker and more powerful together, rather than alone. For she knows the truly fearsome power of two women united in magic together against a common foe. )
With your wisdom and guidance, I will do so. There is much to admire in you, my friend.
( Much more than her friend might consider, actually. Or perhaps not, as it seems her flirtation has not escaped her notice. Elizabeth can feel heat rising to her own cheeks while her smile curves upward in pleasure.
It is most pleasant to draw such a reaction from her. )
Please, call me Elizabeth. I believe you have more than earned that right by now. And it would be a pleasure.
( Yes, this woman is dangerous, dark and powerful. Perhaps that is all part of her charm in her eyes. Being near to her is to feel the thrill of being alive as much as the quiet surety of complete safety. Both of which she appreciates very much in her.
She folds back the long, belled sleeves of her gown and shrugs her plaited hair over her shoulder. )
I have attended the university in Redgate for a time, but I was also born with it. My own powers stems from water, since I am descended from a river goddess. My mother taught me a little of how to wield it.
Though I have much to learn, regardless.
no subject
It is almost a shame to hear it, to let it be so.
The idle flattery, however, is not welcome, and she shakes her head. Let Elizabeth regard her for what she knows, not what she assumes. ]
Much to admire and much to learn from, I think.
[ Her lips curl into something dark, a little dangerous, and she lifts her arms. Her robe is long, covering her forearm and longer, but she draws them back. Her gloves cover only her hands, revealing her forearms - covered in scars, long thing marks, from knife and nail both, baring her power without shame.
Elizabeth is unmarred, beautiful in her pale skin. Lauralae wishes to see her marked for her trouble, to see her blood drip. ]
You will show me your power. Draw upon your shard, upon your latent magic, to show me your strength. Show me what is at your disposal and I shall show you how to draw your blood to the surface, to stretch out your gifts.
[ She smirks. ]
Then you will teach me your magic. A trade of power, our true passion.
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She releases a deep exhale, and nods once, a slow incline of her head. )
Of that I have no doubt.
( There is something about the look which comes over Lauralae's face now which beckons her, a dark, thrilling allure, similar to what she had felt on the eve of Samhain. Only deeper. She looks upon those scars without flinching, finding a terrible sort of beauty in them. A ferocity which kindles fire in her, as her eyes meet those of her mentor, and hold, bright with intensity and with no intention of looking away.
She is not afraid. Indeed, she shifts to stand straighter before her, and focuses, feeling, sensing, living in the water all around her. Deep in her chest, something seethes with warmth. It is new, but again, not frightening. Elizabeth breathes in, breathes out, and clouds roll in overhead. A clap of thunder can be heard, rolling, dull and yet dangerous in the distance. And then, the heavens open, and rain pours from the sky. Just overhead, and not over a large swath of land, but she is improving. Already, she has surpassed the little her mother had taught her. )
I accept. ( Her smile now twists a little, showing another side of her, darker, bolder. ) And if it is passion you desire, you need only ask, my lady.
( Another clap of thunder, and she broadens her smile. ) It will be my pleasure.
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She watches, intense, as ever. ]
Good.
[ It is obvious that she is a dark, dangerous creature; she is made up of that darkness, her hands a reflection of it, and she shifts as she watches him, her eyes dancing over Elizabeth's features before she forces herself to calm. The voice in the back of her mind whispers at her, hissing at her to take shard and power, but she silences it as she gazes, staring.
The clouds come, however, as Elizabeth calls for them, and Lauralae tilts her head up to watch. She steps forward, dark eyes moving over dark clouds, and she says nothing, just stares and watches. After a few moments, she breathes out, her lips curling into a smirk. ]
Beautiful. This power is beautiful.
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She breathes in, breathes out, and smiles for her. Lightning flashes through the clouds, and strikes a nearby tree. The smell of ozone, burning wood and raw power remain heavy in the air, cloying. )
There is more. I see things others cannot. Events which are happening, or will occur. I can, in theory, alter the course of my fate. And.. curse whomever I choose to death and ruin.
I can trace my descent back to a river goddess in a land called Burgundy, far away from here. Melusina was her name. All that she has bestowed upon me, I will do my utmost to thus gift unto you.
( She steps closer, her gaze intensifying. )
What power might our blood purchase us in this world, dear heart?
no subject
Lauralae wants to reach up and touch the lightning, to thread her fingers through the raw power, but she knows that is foolish. There's nothing she can do about that. ]
You have the Sight. The Visions. That is something the Aellyn once celebrated; love of the Oracle, of the future that might once have been told.
[ She doesn't hesitate, just letting herself watch Elizabeth. ]
Melusina is a handsome name.
[ But that is not important now, is it? ]
Anything. It can be used for the strongest of magic, of ritual. It can be used to empower runes, to summon, to suffocate. You can use another's blood as a tool to ensure their destruction.
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You know it. ( That startles her, and yet it does not. Elizabeth inclines her head. ) Since I was a very little girl. But I have never known how to control it. This Lady Oracle, do you know if she would have been able to do so?
( Perhaps it is a lost art, one she might discover anew and learn for herself. If it means she can see things other than simply blood and death, that would be fantastic. )
One day, I will tell you her story.
( The wind picks up, and then dies down. Elizabeth breathes in, breathes out, and the fall of rain begins to ease, the rolls of thunder to grow more distant. Through simple use, she has grown better able to control this aspect of her power. )
That holds a note of terrible beauty to it. Yes. I would learn it. An equal trade.
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Slowly, she shakes her head. ] The Aellyn know it. They spoke highly of those with the Sight, the Oracle, that which they guide. Their calendars hail what is foretold and they whisper knowledge of what is to come. That is all I know of.
[ Would Elizabeth work out that she was once one of them, she wonders? Would the woman know that she speaks to a trueborn Aellyn cast out of her land for shame and evil? It matters not; none would speak to her people of her, none would risk it. Breathing out, Lauralae takes a step forward. ]
One day I will tell you one in return.
[ But that is not important now. What is important now is the magic, and she turns her gaze to stare, hard and sure. ]
Educate me and I will educate in turn.
no subject
For a split-second, anger tears through her, bright and wild and terrible. Lightning strikes again, burning the very earth and mulch of the forest floor a deep black. As black as Lauralae's eyes. It is quick to depart, leaving behind an excitement that shakes her to the very core of herself, her skin on fire and tingling, almost as if.. well. Her own eyes are as dark and turbulent as their combined power. Some part of her calls to something in the other woman, and the same is true in the reverse. A wild and dangerous part, which wants this woman and her power. )
You know much more than most. ( Stepping forward, she closes most of the distance between them, until she is only barely heeding the strict wishes Lauralae put forth on their first meeting. They are so close that she can see the fluttering beat of her pulse at her throat, and feel her warmth. Close enough to kiss, should she desire it. And perhaps she does. )
I will not pry, if they are your people. But if you know aught of how I might turn a curse into a gift, I would be eternally in your debt. That, I know, is no small thing.
( But that is how much she is willing to give never to have to only see blood and death again. ) I will be very honoured upon that occasion. Perhaps it will come close to approaching your beauty.
( It likely will not, because there is no sort of beauty in all this land like hers. No mere words could ever hope to capture it. )
My power is also within my blood; inherited, though the centuries. You will need it, I think, to practice my sort of magic. Will you take it?
( Her gaze is also sure, but holds a double meaning, now. ) Be gentle, is all I ask.