A shadow stronger than her power over the Dark loomed over the small forest clearing she called home. She sensed a presence trying to break into the hiding spell she cast as she walked the path home from the Manor, where she
Her last sanctuary, defiled. Sandra waited amongst the trees as she felt the presence trying to break in, trying to sniff out her power. How she felt weak, powerless--this was a power greater than hers, probably the source of her power itself. She cannot possibly challenge it, for fear that she would die in the process.
And as soon as she felt the power, it disappeared. Quickly she went back inside her shack, looking over her shoulder every so often. All her spell-tools were left intact--her scrying shard was still on her shelf, her cauldron still had the last remnants of the brew she had started to make several nights before. Her book still lay open on the page that she had left it, yet there was something different about the page that it was opened to.
A line of the spell was missing; the spell of secrecy was broken.
She had to flee.
Dumping the contents of the half-brewed potion she was making into the fire, she scooped up the scrying shard, the book, several herbs, and her quill; dumping all into her small sack she used as a bag. Grabbing the cauldron and the bag, she did one final spell on the shack, and ran out in the direction of the Manor.
She needed to redo the Enchantment; the Circle she had made in her grove was broken.
She feared for him, and herself as well.
---->
I'm moving to a new blog. Check your YM, and there you'd find me.
13.10.07
9.10.07
reminisce
My notes scattered all over the bed, along with index cards and handouts highlighted in a variety of colors. Just waiting, waiting for him.
I reread my previous posts, and I'm surprised at how long I have been posting here; and how a lot of things have happened since then. This blog has now ran the full gamut of emotions, from extreme despair to anger to euphoria and to just plain boredom. Which proves that I'm not as emo as I've previously thought. Since the muse has two homes already, well the posts are not as oddly great as they have been, or then again it's just me.
I also reread his words earlier, and for a while I wished I could wield fire and ice too. He has truly come a long way from that first draft that I did by hand, and even though it's still far from perfect (then again, who is?), that's enough to make me happy.
I reread my previous posts, and I'm surprised at how long I have been posting here; and how a lot of things have happened since then. This blog has now ran the full gamut of emotions, from extreme despair to anger to euphoria and to just plain boredom. Which proves that I'm not as emo as I've previously thought. Since the muse has two homes already, well the posts are not as oddly great as they have been, or then again it's just me.
I also reread his words earlier, and for a while I wished I could wield fire and ice too. He has truly come a long way from that first draft that I did by hand, and even though it's still far from perfect (then again, who is?), that's enough to make me happy.
moonrise
The spilled water seeped into the circle that she had traced into the ground, wetting the hem of her dress. Slowly it crept to her feet, a smile of the Goddess.
As he took her hand and gave the rose, she simply let go of the small cauldron that she held, and let the water spill to the ground. She let herself be swept into his embrace, and on this night of Witch's Moon, for the first time in years, she wasn't alone.
Silence. There was nothing more that could be said, for nothing else really mattered as she was enveloped in his arms.
As he took her hand and gave the rose, she simply let go of the small cauldron that she held, and let the water spill to the ground. She let herself be swept into his embrace, and on this night of Witch's Moon, for the first time in years, she wasn't alone.
Silence. There was nothing more that could be said, for nothing else really mattered as she was enveloped in his arms.
5.10.07
daybreak
"H-how did you get here?" she asked, even though she knew the answer. She let herself be swept into his embrace, and she buried herself in his chest.
She slipped the paper, folded neatly in a square, in his coat pocket as she breathed in his scent, still tainted with the blood of innocents.
"Don't open it until later," Sandra whispered as stopped his hand which had instinctively went to his pocket. "And what brings you here again? I cannot cure all ails."
"On the contrary, you did. With me." he replied, whispering in her ear. "I haven't come to town in the light of day for such a long time. Will you act as my guide?"
"I cannot say the same for me, either. Though I may walk in the Light, I still choose to dance in the Dark."
"Very well--let's get lost together then."
She slipped the paper, folded neatly in a square, in his coat pocket as she breathed in his scent, still tainted with the blood of innocents.
"Don't open it until later," Sandra whispered as stopped his hand which had instinctively went to his pocket. "And what brings you here again? I cannot cure all ails."
"On the contrary, you did. With me." he replied, whispering in her ear. "I haven't come to town in the light of day for such a long time. Will you act as my guide?"
"I cannot say the same for me, either. Though I may walk in the Light, I still choose to dance in the Dark."
"Very well--let's get lost together then."
3.10.07
a reply
If you are/were an LOTR fan, or at least read the books, the story arc of Eowyn should be familiar. For those who haven't read it, though, here's the story in a nutshell. Strong-willed, brave, slayer of the Witch-King, Eowyn is the epitome of a strong woman.
However, she was lost in the paths of love. As we all know Aragorn was only for the Evenstar, Arwen; and yet Eowyn still hoped for his love, a misplaced admiration and affection. It was only in the Houses of Healing that she realized her true feelings, and realized that maybe, just maybe, that the one meant for you was just always there all along. She met Faramir, Captain of Gondor, someone just as brave as she was. For Faramir was just there for her, helping her spirit to heal and to realize her true feelings.
Maybe now I have found my Faramir as well.
He was always there--in victory and in my depths of despair. I've cried out my troubles to him, and he'd listen, even if he was supposed to be doing something else. He understands me more than I do sometimes. Even in the most eccentric of moods, he bears with me, and even let me burn his study (well RP style). I don't have to admit who I really am just to get him interested--I don't need to prove anything to him, for to others I'm only as fascinating as my rank and name.
And maybe I just loved him all along.
It's the only reason why I agreed to edit Terra Nova 1 in the first place--I'm not very fond of editing long works; and free of charge at that. It's the reason why I'd try to cheer him up whenever I see a sigh or a sad emoticon, and he's the only person that I can spill all my secrets to. I just want him to feel that he's not alone in his battles, and together we will face all the world and whatever that comes along with it.
Remember the post entitled "paths" and his poem? Well I've chosen which path to take. I choose the pen over the brush, for the brush can only do so much. With the pen, we will write our dreams together. And now the post entitled "conversation" won't be just fiction anymore.
Love you too, Dave. :)
However, she was lost in the paths of love. As we all know Aragorn was only for the Evenstar, Arwen; and yet Eowyn still hoped for his love, a misplaced admiration and affection. It was only in the Houses of Healing that she realized her true feelings, and realized that maybe, just maybe, that the one meant for you was just always there all along. She met Faramir, Captain of Gondor, someone just as brave as she was. For Faramir was just there for her, helping her spirit to heal and to realize her true feelings.
Maybe now I have found my Faramir as well.
He was always there--in victory and in my depths of despair. I've cried out my troubles to him, and he'd listen, even if he was supposed to be doing something else. He understands me more than I do sometimes. Even in the most eccentric of moods, he bears with me, and even let me burn his study (well RP style). I don't have to admit who I really am just to get him interested--I don't need to prove anything to him, for to others I'm only as fascinating as my rank and name.
And maybe I just loved him all along.
It's the only reason why I agreed to edit Terra Nova 1 in the first place--I'm not very fond of editing long works; and free of charge at that. It's the reason why I'd try to cheer him up whenever I see a sigh or a sad emoticon, and he's the only person that I can spill all my secrets to. I just want him to feel that he's not alone in his battles, and together we will face all the world and whatever that comes along with it.
Remember the post entitled "paths" and his poem? Well I've chosen which path to take. I choose the pen over the brush, for the brush can only do so much. With the pen, we will write our dreams together. And now the post entitled "conversation" won't be just fiction anymore.
Love you too, Dave. :)
surrender
His hands held hers, and her lips met his. For those few seconds, the world stopped.
Had it been any other, she would have resisted and summoned the fiercest demon out of the Dark to vanquish him. But it was him, and only he can force her to sink into a sweet surrender.
Yet fear set in as well, and she pushed him away, running out of the manor and nearly bumping into another man as she went out. Sandra ran into the forest, tears streaming down her face.
Why was she so afraid then? She couldn't understand it herself. Why did she run away from something that she she felt no danger from, from what all the signs had pointed to?
Slowly though, as she sat in a secluded grove near her forest home, an unfamiliar happiness filled her as she banished her fear. Her tears stopped falling.
Had it been any other, she would have resisted and summoned the fiercest demon out of the Dark to vanquish him. But it was him, and only he can force her to sink into a sweet surrender.
Yet fear set in as well, and she pushed him away, running out of the manor and nearly bumping into another man as she went out. Sandra ran into the forest, tears streaming down her face.
Why was she so afraid then? She couldn't understand it herself. Why did she run away from something that she she felt no danger from, from what all the signs had pointed to?
Slowly though, as she sat in a secluded grove near her forest home, an unfamiliar happiness filled her as she banished her fear. Her tears stopped falling.
1.10.07
author's note
You may have noticed the last few posts, respectively titled wicca, petals, and meeting. They're actually tie-ins to DaveTNova's Vampiric Chronicles; first started out just as deviations but are now considered part of the stories themselves. The order then goes like this:
>Chronicles 1-3
>wicca
>Chronicle 4
>petals
>Chronicle 5
>meeting
And I've heard Chronicle 6 will be up soon, so just keep yourselves posted.
They're not purely fiction, I tell you. ;)
>Chronicles 1-3
>wicca
>Chronicle 4
>petals
>Chronicle 5
>meeting
And I've heard Chronicle 6 will be up soon, so just keep yourselves posted.
They're not purely fiction, I tell you. ;)
meeting
A small vial containing the petal, part of the letter, and the ebony liquid that held them together hung around her neck; yet neatly hidden in the folds of her blouse.
Sandra walked the trail to the Manor as the sun started to hide behind the grey clouds, sinking into oblivion. The leaves crunched under her steps; like her spirit, the leaves disintegrate into the earth. Arriving at the grand door of the Manor, she clasped the heavy brass knocker, sighed, and knocked three times.
Oddly enough, the servant let her in without any hesitation. After being led through several corridors and making several turns, she found herself in the drawing room.
And found him there as well, asleep in a worn-down rouge armchair, his face illuminated by the flickering candlelight.
Sandra walked the trail to the Manor as the sun started to hide behind the grey clouds, sinking into oblivion. The leaves crunched under her steps; like her spirit, the leaves disintegrate into the earth. Arriving at the grand door of the Manor, she clasped the heavy brass knocker, sighed, and knocked three times.
Oddly enough, the servant let her in without any hesitation. After being led through several corridors and making several turns, she found herself in the drawing room.
And found him there as well, asleep in a worn-down rouge armchair, his face illuminated by the flickering candlelight.
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