Post by Thea on Mar 1, 2021 17:06:30 GMT -5
Felicity
“Ready?”
Felicity’s oceanic eyes looked into the honeyed gaze of her daughter’s before quickly looking away. Standing so close to Sarah, she could practically see her reflection as if she were staring into a tinted mirror. The circles under her eyes, a deep purplish color, conveyed how much sleep she was able to get these past few nights. Her hair hung around her face, saddeningly limp. She had lost some weight in the past week and a half. Well, she couldn’t say “some”, as if she finally got rid of the baby weight she acquired during her pregnancy with Sarah over sixteen years ago. The shadows under her cheekbones and the blade-sharp collar bone jutting from her dress screamed that she was not feeling well. While it was an exaggeration to call herself a walking skeleton, she couldn’t lie to those around her and say that what had happened to her didn’t affect her at all.
While she sat in that prison for taking away what Oberon thought was his, her family had shunned her. Not even her sister Hannah, whom she had been so close when they were wee ones, had spoken to her. Felicity had expected that, even if it stung. After all, she had offended her family’s benefactor and protector. However, she was still able to … have all of the benefits of being in a coven, drawing strength when needed from her family - which was often, considering being locked away did wonders on one’s mental health.
This time, when Hannah called upon her for no other reason than to retrieve the family tome, she did so with the words of exile on her lips. They echoed in Felicity’s ears even now: “May your head never find rest, and thorns and brambles be your nest....”
Trying to ignore the condemning script, Felicity nodded. “Aye.”
Sarah’s lips tilted up, a forced smile of comfort, before picking up two sewing needles from the wicker basket that sat at her feet. The flames from the elements’ candles glinted off them in a way that made them look more like weapons than the tools they were. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she couldn’t discount that since Sarah was leading this ritual, the intention behind it might be reflected off the actions they were making tonight.
Felicity took one of the needles Sarah offered hesitantly; if she were a better mother, mentor, or witch, she would have told Sarah to call this off - to rethink and restrategize the ritual in a way that didn’t come from a war-like mentality. What they were doing tonight wasn’t supposed to be a call to action, but a call to come home and rejoice. Resurrecting the House of Oriven would ultimately bring balance back into Veneifri - or so she was told. But Sarah, who had been spared Felicity’s fate simply because of the need for her creation abilities, didn’t do this for Veneifri’s sake. Sarah did it for her. When she realized that, Felicity had cried. She had cried tears of joy because it showed her that her daughter cared for her. Loved her. It was something Felicity had wanted from the very beginning, but was too afraid to ask for.
Call her selfish. But Felicity let this ritual go on, with the excuse Two birds, one stone in her mind.
With a practiced air, they pricked their pointer fingers at the same time, then set the needles on the table after two perfect pearls of blood appeared on their fingertips. Sarah spoke the first words of the incantation then, voice firm and without a stutter:
Blood of our blood,
We call to thee
Felicity and Sarah turned their hand so that the pearls fell, Sarah’s first, into the bowl of Veneifrian dirt that stood in the center of the lit candles, right beside the one that represented Spirit. Felicity watched in awe as the soil reacted, absorbing their blood before giving way to two separate green shoots.
Those who don’t fit the creed,
But still are connected to the Oriven Tree
Those green shoots grew taller as they reached for another, seeming to have minds of their own. They intertwined, curling around each other, seemingly fueled by Sarah’s words.
Heed our call, see our beacon
And make your way home to Veneifri
Suddenly, more shoots sprang up, wrapping around the first two in great haste, as if they were more than eager. Felicity wondered if they, like the two that originated from her and her daughter’s blood, represented those that would seek them out. Felicity had worried before the ritual if it would work as hoped - those that have been exiled from the coven or the descendents that had will come when called because they, like Felicity, needed a whole to be connected to.
Now, as the first spell had been cast, she realized that Sarah didn’t just call for the exiled. She called for those that didn’t fit the Dancing Witches’ set of ideologies. Her thoughts went to her grandmother, the strict woman that was her own mentor as she was for Sarah. Winifred, much like Aideen, left the family of her own accord, taking her cousin Caoimhe with her. Felicity hadn’t known why, but when she heard that they had left, Felicity had been glad - Winifred seemed to never crack a smile, even before her mother’s death. She had been a cruel teacher, and the main reason why Felicity became a Seelie courtier. A spike of nervousness pierced her consciousness. She wondered if Winifred was still alive, and if she would come to Veneifri.
Sarah took the bowl of soil from the table top slowly, watching her step as she moved backwards. Felicity figured that it was heavy from the look on Sarah’s face, a screwing of her mouth and furrow of her brow. The shoots were becoming thicker, a darker brown as they, still twisting together, reached for the sky. The water witch knew then, flabbergasted and speechless, what was growing.
It was a tree.
After setting the bowl down, Sarah took both her hands and pulled the sapling gently at the base. It came loose reluctantly, possibly a sign that the roots were strong (hell, Felicity wasn’t a plant person - she didn’t know). Sarah pushed the bowl aside telekinetically before putting the young tree into the already-made hole.
Felicity moved so that she could help Sarah, falling to her knees beside her with a grunt and a curse at how much it hurt to do so. Felicity ignored Sarah’s look of worry, taking the bowl of disturbed soil in her hands and dumping it into the hole to cover the exposed roots. Then, they both pushed the mound Greslin had left beside the hole, patting it down firmly. After that, they stood, Sarah helping Felicity up before they stepped back and watched the tree grow.
By that time, the growth had slowed considerably. It brandished lush green leaves, its trunk braided. It was just shy of Felicity’s height, yes, but the fact that it was this tall already, looking healthy and strong, gave her hope.
Sarah turned to her then, a tentative smile on her face. The ritual was working, better than both thought. Her hands found Felicity’s then, palms clasped together and fingers interlocked as they stood beside the physical representation of the Oriven family tree. The next words that flowed from Sarah’s mouth really wasn’t a spell, but more of a prayer. They were low in resonance, but powerful nonetheless, asking their ancestors to watch over those that heed the call and hoped that what the witches did tonight was favorable to them.
As Sarah continued to speak, her eyes closed tightly in a fervent need to be heard, Felicity looked down at the goosebumps rising on her arms. Her family said that it was the presence of the element Spirit that caused that reaction if it wasn’t due to the cold. The Veneifrian night was warm and balmy, so she knew that it wasn’t that. When she raised her gaze up to look back at her daughter, she saw that someone stood behind her.
Well, multiple someones, she realized, as she looked from the man whose hand was on Sarah’s shoulder to the woman just to the right of him, and so on. As Sarah continued to speak, more figures appeared, some just shadows, others as fully detailed and corporeal-looking as Felicity and Sarah. These had to be their ancestors, Felicity thought dully to herself. When she felt a hand on her own shoulder, she whipped her head to see behind her.
Her mother stood there, smiling. There was a knowing glint in her eyes, as if she knew a secret no one else didn’t. Her strawberry-blonde hair was loose around her shoulders, framing her oval face that brandished no crow’s feet or fine lines. She looked … young. And worry-free. “We see you, my happy girl. We hear Sarah, and we approve of what is happening this night.”
And on that note, they were gone.
“Ready?”
Felicity’s oceanic eyes looked into the honeyed gaze of her daughter’s before quickly looking away. Standing so close to Sarah, she could practically see her reflection as if she were staring into a tinted mirror. The circles under her eyes, a deep purplish color, conveyed how much sleep she was able to get these past few nights. Her hair hung around her face, saddeningly limp. She had lost some weight in the past week and a half. Well, she couldn’t say “some”, as if she finally got rid of the baby weight she acquired during her pregnancy with Sarah over sixteen years ago. The shadows under her cheekbones and the blade-sharp collar bone jutting from her dress screamed that she was not feeling well. While it was an exaggeration to call herself a walking skeleton, she couldn’t lie to those around her and say that what had happened to her didn’t affect her at all.
While she sat in that prison for taking away what Oberon thought was his, her family had shunned her. Not even her sister Hannah, whom she had been so close when they were wee ones, had spoken to her. Felicity had expected that, even if it stung. After all, she had offended her family’s benefactor and protector. However, she was still able to … have all of the benefits of being in a coven, drawing strength when needed from her family - which was often, considering being locked away did wonders on one’s mental health.
This time, when Hannah called upon her for no other reason than to retrieve the family tome, she did so with the words of exile on her lips. They echoed in Felicity’s ears even now: “May your head never find rest, and thorns and brambles be your nest....”
Trying to ignore the condemning script, Felicity nodded. “Aye.”
Sarah’s lips tilted up, a forced smile of comfort, before picking up two sewing needles from the wicker basket that sat at her feet. The flames from the elements’ candles glinted off them in a way that made them look more like weapons than the tools they were. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she couldn’t discount that since Sarah was leading this ritual, the intention behind it might be reflected off the actions they were making tonight.
Felicity took one of the needles Sarah offered hesitantly; if she were a better mother, mentor, or witch, she would have told Sarah to call this off - to rethink and restrategize the ritual in a way that didn’t come from a war-like mentality. What they were doing tonight wasn’t supposed to be a call to action, but a call to come home and rejoice. Resurrecting the House of Oriven would ultimately bring balance back into Veneifri - or so she was told. But Sarah, who had been spared Felicity’s fate simply because of the need for her creation abilities, didn’t do this for Veneifri’s sake. Sarah did it for her. When she realized that, Felicity had cried. She had cried tears of joy because it showed her that her daughter cared for her. Loved her. It was something Felicity had wanted from the very beginning, but was too afraid to ask for.
Call her selfish. But Felicity let this ritual go on, with the excuse Two birds, one stone in her mind.
With a practiced air, they pricked their pointer fingers at the same time, then set the needles on the table after two perfect pearls of blood appeared on their fingertips. Sarah spoke the first words of the incantation then, voice firm and without a stutter:
Blood of our blood,
We call to thee
Felicity and Sarah turned their hand so that the pearls fell, Sarah’s first, into the bowl of Veneifrian dirt that stood in the center of the lit candles, right beside the one that represented Spirit. Felicity watched in awe as the soil reacted, absorbing their blood before giving way to two separate green shoots.
Those who don’t fit the creed,
But still are connected to the Oriven Tree
Those green shoots grew taller as they reached for another, seeming to have minds of their own. They intertwined, curling around each other, seemingly fueled by Sarah’s words.
Heed our call, see our beacon
And make your way home to Veneifri
Suddenly, more shoots sprang up, wrapping around the first two in great haste, as if they were more than eager. Felicity wondered if they, like the two that originated from her and her daughter’s blood, represented those that would seek them out. Felicity had worried before the ritual if it would work as hoped - those that have been exiled from the coven or the descendents that had will come when called because they, like Felicity, needed a whole to be connected to.
Now, as the first spell had been cast, she realized that Sarah didn’t just call for the exiled. She called for those that didn’t fit the Dancing Witches’ set of ideologies. Her thoughts went to her grandmother, the strict woman that was her own mentor as she was for Sarah. Winifred, much like Aideen, left the family of her own accord, taking her cousin Caoimhe with her. Felicity hadn’t known why, but when she heard that they had left, Felicity had been glad - Winifred seemed to never crack a smile, even before her mother’s death. She had been a cruel teacher, and the main reason why Felicity became a Seelie courtier. A spike of nervousness pierced her consciousness. She wondered if Winifred was still alive, and if she would come to Veneifri.
Sarah took the bowl of soil from the table top slowly, watching her step as she moved backwards. Felicity figured that it was heavy from the look on Sarah’s face, a screwing of her mouth and furrow of her brow. The shoots were becoming thicker, a darker brown as they, still twisting together, reached for the sky. The water witch knew then, flabbergasted and speechless, what was growing.
It was a tree.
After setting the bowl down, Sarah took both her hands and pulled the sapling gently at the base. It came loose reluctantly, possibly a sign that the roots were strong (hell, Felicity wasn’t a plant person - she didn’t know). Sarah pushed the bowl aside telekinetically before putting the young tree into the already-made hole.
Felicity moved so that she could help Sarah, falling to her knees beside her with a grunt and a curse at how much it hurt to do so. Felicity ignored Sarah’s look of worry, taking the bowl of disturbed soil in her hands and dumping it into the hole to cover the exposed roots. Then, they both pushed the mound Greslin had left beside the hole, patting it down firmly. After that, they stood, Sarah helping Felicity up before they stepped back and watched the tree grow.
By that time, the growth had slowed considerably. It brandished lush green leaves, its trunk braided. It was just shy of Felicity’s height, yes, but the fact that it was this tall already, looking healthy and strong, gave her hope.
Sarah turned to her then, a tentative smile on her face. The ritual was working, better than both thought. Her hands found Felicity’s then, palms clasped together and fingers interlocked as they stood beside the physical representation of the Oriven family tree. The next words that flowed from Sarah’s mouth really wasn’t a spell, but more of a prayer. They were low in resonance, but powerful nonetheless, asking their ancestors to watch over those that heed the call and hoped that what the witches did tonight was favorable to them.
As Sarah continued to speak, her eyes closed tightly in a fervent need to be heard, Felicity looked down at the goosebumps rising on her arms. Her family said that it was the presence of the element Spirit that caused that reaction if it wasn’t due to the cold. The Veneifrian night was warm and balmy, so she knew that it wasn’t that. When she raised her gaze up to look back at her daughter, she saw that someone stood behind her.
Well, multiple someones, she realized, as she looked from the man whose hand was on Sarah’s shoulder to the woman just to the right of him, and so on. As Sarah continued to speak, more figures appeared, some just shadows, others as fully detailed and corporeal-looking as Felicity and Sarah. These had to be their ancestors, Felicity thought dully to herself. When she felt a hand on her own shoulder, she whipped her head to see behind her.
Her mother stood there, smiling. There was a knowing glint in her eyes, as if she knew a secret no one else didn’t. Her strawberry-blonde hair was loose around her shoulders, framing her oval face that brandished no crow’s feet or fine lines. She looked … young. And worry-free. “We see you, my happy girl. We hear Sarah, and we approve of what is happening this night.”
And on that note, they were gone.