Beltane. A time where the worlds of faerie begin to break free and spill their magic anew. A time when the realms choose a single figure; a woman, a queen, a vessel of beauty and fertility meant to carry their torch of the great spring thaw into the glorious, fruitful blaze of summer.
It is a time of magic, or perhaps, the beginning of such. Everyone knows the magic hour between this realm and the next happens during two greater sabbaths, you see...
Samhain and MidSummer.
Now those are two truly magical days. Niches in time where the dead, the immortal, the magical, the mortal, and all the wither-wall between can touch without fear of being trapped by the other. With such magic threatening to brim over once more, it is odd, perhaps, that down one of the whimsically lit paths during the week's celebrations you would see even one sorrowful face. But there it was. There she was. Perhaps you have seen her before in your waking or sleeping" Around some dark, lonely corner lingering with elegantly plaited hair and that fine, fine carving of cloth. In the reflection of your evening company's wine glass, balefully gazing to you with those delicately carved eyes. Beside the fireplace of the Inn, cradling a leafy wreath in her exquisitely carved fingers. Glowing all manner of darks and lights from the nearby lick of flames; a tragic soul encased in stone. A statue beautifully carved as a babe might hope to grow. A product of labor; a labor of love. Such a nonpareil did not come from the tired hands of enlisted help, but from the heart of muse-touched craftsman under the spell of some great vision.
Feminine, soft, and with a face half encased in a wash of unbound hair....Wait, hadn't her hair been bound the times before"
Nevermind such childish thoughts now. It isn't her appearance that concerns you, time scored and weather worn as it is, but the presence of her. Not unnerving by any means, but evocatively sad and undeniably attractive to the empathetic heart. Perhaps you could be the wizard to free her from some terrible spell" Or the knight to break the stony chains that keep her bound" Even a friend, somehow, who's tears could melt the casing that keeps her shielded from the love the world should be giving her as a living, breathing woman...
But she is not living. She is a statue. Isn't she" She's cool as the air grazing by your cheek, lacking both a pulse and even the faintest spark of life. And you are most certainly not a knight, or a wizard, or a friend; at least not to this unfortunate inanimate.
You are a patron of the seasonal festivities, and just another pair of feet meant to pause before walking on by the sad, sad bit of statuary. Perhaps it'll soothe your sympathies to leave her flowers"
http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs44/f/2009/085/1/d/Spring_sorrow_by_ultraPearl.jpg
((OOC- This is an open call to all and any. My statue does not often bring herself out, but when she does, so many Rhydinians both love and loathe her appearances. Take her as you will, but caution, all things have a memory....:) Also, if a question of her integrity is in your mind, please refer to the profile. Nothing can truly break her, or harm her. Questions? PMs are always welcome.))
It is a time of magic, or perhaps, the beginning of such. Everyone knows the magic hour between this realm and the next happens during two greater sabbaths, you see...
Samhain and MidSummer.
Now those are two truly magical days. Niches in time where the dead, the immortal, the magical, the mortal, and all the wither-wall between can touch without fear of being trapped by the other. With such magic threatening to brim over once more, it is odd, perhaps, that down one of the whimsically lit paths during the week's celebrations you would see even one sorrowful face. But there it was. There she was. Perhaps you have seen her before in your waking or sleeping" Around some dark, lonely corner lingering with elegantly plaited hair and that fine, fine carving of cloth. In the reflection of your evening company's wine glass, balefully gazing to you with those delicately carved eyes. Beside the fireplace of the Inn, cradling a leafy wreath in her exquisitely carved fingers. Glowing all manner of darks and lights from the nearby lick of flames; a tragic soul encased in stone. A statue beautifully carved as a babe might hope to grow. A product of labor; a labor of love. Such a nonpareil did not come from the tired hands of enlisted help, but from the heart of muse-touched craftsman under the spell of some great vision.
Feminine, soft, and with a face half encased in a wash of unbound hair....Wait, hadn't her hair been bound the times before"
Nevermind such childish thoughts now. It isn't her appearance that concerns you, time scored and weather worn as it is, but the presence of her. Not unnerving by any means, but evocatively sad and undeniably attractive to the empathetic heart. Perhaps you could be the wizard to free her from some terrible spell" Or the knight to break the stony chains that keep her bound" Even a friend, somehow, who's tears could melt the casing that keeps her shielded from the love the world should be giving her as a living, breathing woman...
But she is not living. She is a statue. Isn't she" She's cool as the air grazing by your cheek, lacking both a pulse and even the faintest spark of life. And you are most certainly not a knight, or a wizard, or a friend; at least not to this unfortunate inanimate.
You are a patron of the seasonal festivities, and just another pair of feet meant to pause before walking on by the sad, sad bit of statuary. Perhaps it'll soothe your sympathies to leave her flowers"
http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs44/f/2009/085/1/d/Spring_sorrow_by_ultraPearl.jpg
((OOC- This is an open call to all and any. My statue does not often bring herself out, but when she does, so many Rhydinians both love and loathe her appearances. Take her as you will, but caution, all things have a memory....:) Also, if a question of her integrity is in your mind, please refer to the profile. Nothing can truly break her, or harm her. Questions? PMs are always welcome.))