[Time. Thessaly had seen countless ways of tracking its passing. Across countries and centuries. Across worlds and dimensions. Beings who lived and died were obsessed with marking down what came before and what was to come, and where in that framework they fell. As though situation correlated with singularity. As though defying time meant defying fate.
She was born long before Sister's magic existed. Before the Creator and any devil, before any book good or ill. Yet the pulling tendrils inside of her blood sang like it was yesterday with the familiarity of the crying souls of her home city. One long ago burned to ash.
She was the trickster witch. The homely phantom. She was the anchor and scribe to a past she would only now share with a few, for who else could appreciate the past?
The Twin Songs.
The words sighed in the winds as she appeared. It was a quiet but not gentle rustle. It came out in ancient Greek in the rasps of air. It would sound like a curse to most, but what it meant? A term of affection, for those two little witches that Sister had born. Witches that Thessaly planned to watch over in her way, to provide guidance in traditions that nobody but she still carried.
She was wearing a long skirt and a sensible blouse, hair messily in a braid and glasses thick. She stepped out from the doorway without any pile of smoke or sand or fire because that was trite. She wasn't even trained in divination that well, but some magic was so strong that it vibrated to those who knew the ancient tunes. What she was trained in though was glamour. This truth...
It hurt, but she'd known it even longer.
So she did what she did best. She carried on. Squared her shoulders and focused on the woman for whom this all meant far more than it did to Thessaly.]
There are magics they're not as familiar with. To prologue it. Your appearance.
[No hello, no hugs. She greeted Sister with the prudency of a solution to aid in her plan. Why else bother someone's doorstep? Certainly not for sentimentality. Sister was supremely gifted in obfuscation and glamour, but perhaps additional magic might further aid in her endeavor. An offering, nothing more, and Thessaly wouldn't be insulted if it was rejected.]
no subject
She was born long before Sister's magic existed. Before the Creator and any devil, before any book good or ill. Yet the pulling tendrils inside of her blood sang like it was yesterday with the familiarity of the crying souls of her home city. One long ago burned to ash.
She was the trickster witch. The homely phantom. She was the anchor and scribe to a past she would only now share with a few, for who else could appreciate the past?
The Twin Songs.
The words sighed in the winds as she appeared. It was a quiet but not gentle rustle. It came out in ancient Greek in the rasps of air. It would sound like a curse to most, but what it meant? A term of affection, for those two little witches that Sister had born. Witches that Thessaly planned to watch over in her way, to provide guidance in traditions that nobody but she still carried.
She was wearing a long skirt and a sensible blouse, hair messily in a braid and glasses thick. She stepped out from the doorway without any pile of smoke or sand or fire because that was trite. She wasn't even trained in divination that well, but some magic was so strong that it vibrated to those who knew the ancient tunes. What she was trained in though was glamour. This truth...
It hurt, but she'd known it even longer.
So she did what she did best. She carried on. Squared her shoulders and focused on the woman for whom this all meant far more than it did to Thessaly.]
There are magics they're not as familiar with. To prologue it. Your appearance.
[No hello, no hugs. She greeted Sister with the prudency of a solution to aid in her plan. Why else bother someone's doorstep? Certainly not for sentimentality. Sister was supremely gifted in obfuscation and glamour, but perhaps additional magic might further aid in her endeavor. An offering, nothing more, and Thessaly wouldn't be insulted if it was rejected.]