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The Ruins of Our home [Shadows and Light coven grounds]



 
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Guinevere Atwood

Guinevere stood still in the rain. She let the water run over her in droplets.  The early evening rain fell in a rhythmic beat around her.  Then she saw Kyon motion toward the complex, aseries of buiding adjoining around the small courtyard.   Those buildings and the small courtyard had imprisoned her far too young.


She shook her head sadly at Kyon.  "This is no longer my home and this no longer my place to be.  She let the rain call her and engulf her in it's mist.  She slowly vanished from his sight.

March 11, 2019 06:25 pm

Kyon-gel

Not turning back as the girl disappeared from the Realm, he saw it clearly nonetheless. She had come and delivered to him a gift and now faded away. He may never speak of her again, having no other around that would even now she existed, but he would not forget her. In so many words, she confirmed to him that his actions were correct. What this place had once been was no longer.

... The only things of worth are those we give value...

Kyon’s steps continued into the courtyard, towards the simple fountain at its center. Covered with weeds and broken, he cared not for the stone, but for the true fount beneath, and bending down to plant his fingers of his new hand into the soil.

-----

Once upon a time when he was still coming into his own he met, among his many interests, a female witch of extraordinary character. She was fiery, fierce, and proud. She was kind and patient. They were deeply in love before they knew it.

One of first creations he made to gift, directly from his body, was a blue rose. He cast from the space over his sternum an intention of love. As an imbuement of his flesh in devotion, it was an offering to a goddess he would one day marry. It was a treasure. Not because of its rarity, but simply because of the reaction it created in turn when gifted.

The Blue Rose became a symbol between them, and later became a key symbol of their Coven. It was even taught and changed over time between the members, until even now he saw the reflection in the spirit-flowers of Ronan’s children’s children.

-----

The earth cracked and bent away as the fountain’s base was toppled over, pushed apart from the soil by the expansion of the hardened combination of his newer fungal flesh and the power of this symbolic attachment of his past love and life. The blue flower in his palm was worth the meeting of a Guinevere’s passing spirit.

“Goodnight Guin... may you find peace.”

March 11, 2019 07:50 pm

Kyon-gel

More delicately now, the figure knelt into the mud and reached down into the earth with their stumpy left arm. Farther and farther, they moved like tap roots, spreading the gaps between as it spread and burrowed onward. His sight followed, tracing the unmaintained fount, back to its source. It had stopped flowing upward a long time ago it seemed, but that was not the problem. Kyon tapped this spring in order to funnel a blessing, but without maintenance it would continue to hamper the natural reclamation of the coven. Others might have thought it was already in ruins, but the foundation of the past must crumble for the future to take root.

With a gentle removal of his old glyphs, he capped the fount of Her freshwater, integrating the flow back the way he found it circulating through Her body. “Mother, it was always yours… thank you.”

Leaving the mycelium expanse behind his stump pulled free again. Kyon stood, turning his mask-facing toward the Coven Hall, and walked towards the once grand entrance, now faded of its polish. “I think... I stashed a bottle in the cellar wall…?” Nothing else inside should hold value to Kyon at this point, having been lived in beyond his departure. He expected that the only things to greet him inside would be more ghosts... and a bottle of Rioja 1891. Worth it!

The seal cracked and the witch went inside.

March 12, 2019 11:53 am

Kyon-gel

Tonight had been a transformative series of moments, and a grand beginning of his new existence in the Realm. From the rotting body of his clone barely holding together, he was able to transcend through the feeding of his curse and replacing tough fibers with spindly threads. This had been an accounting and reclamation of his past. During the Witching Hour, from midnight to a minute passed, a flurry a change had befallen the ruins of the old coven. Like a spirit of entropy, he had descended upon the old forest mansion.

He had crushed his own corpse-tree... licked his dead wife’s blood from the soil... clear-cut and destroyed creations born of his own seed... freed a trapped spirit... and staunched the power that fed into the fountain and throughout the gardens, a spring he and Fleta had pulled to the surface during the ceremony to invoke power into the grounds.

Some pieces small, some larger, he was collecting what he had once given. While it may have looked to certain others that he was enraged, or perhaps in a state of violent grief, he was not hear to smash away the reminders but to rediscover what was buried once in the lies they told each other and the lies they told themselves.
March 12, 2019 11:27 pm
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