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i need to develop a template for these things...
discovery
Sophitia hums to herself as she makes Cassandra's bed. She fluffs a pillow, taking care not to hit the vase of roses on the bedstand nearby. Sophitia smiles at that - Cassandra has never been the sort of girl to keep flowers in her room. Idly, Sophitia wonders what has made Cassandra change her mind.
Sophitia finishes the bed and is nearly out the door when she notices the medallion lying on the floor. Kneeling down, she takes it in her hand. The medallion is heavy and dark, finely carved into the shape of a bat, and not remotely like anything Cassandra would wear.
Sophitia looks to the roses by the bed, and wonders.
---
exile
It's dark when they leave; the light from the moon and the stars have been snuffed out by the gathering storm clouds. Behind them the town is lit bright as day; the pungent smell of burning wood and pitch from countless torches taints the windy night air. Amy turns away from the lurid red glow and buries her face into the comforting warm wool of Raphael's cloak.
The townspeople had been silent as they'd left, but as they disappear into the night the quiet is broken by cries of triumph and relief. Raphael shakes under her hands, the reins of the horse they ride jangling in his grasp as he tries to control his rage.
"Insolent fools," he hisses. "Don't worry, my sweet. The time will come when we shall claim our rightful place amongst these wretched creatures - then, they will know what it is to fear."
Amy tightens her grip around Raphael's waist. She should do something, she thinks, to assuage such bitter anger. Their transformation is a hideous one; the townspeople are right to be afraid. She is afraid herself, afraid of herself.
But there is a part of her that hungers for retribution. Part of her longs to turn around, to ride deep into the crowd of people who look upon them in fear and hate, and watch them fall at her father's feet, weeping for mercy and forgiveness.
Amy presses closer. "I know," she answers softly. "I know."
Beneath them, horse whinnies and bucks in discomfort. Briefly, Amy wonders what frightens it - the fire, or its' riders.
discovery
Sophitia hums to herself as she makes Cassandra's bed. She fluffs a pillow, taking care not to hit the vase of roses on the bedstand nearby. Sophitia smiles at that - Cassandra has never been the sort of girl to keep flowers in her room. Idly, Sophitia wonders what has made Cassandra change her mind.
Sophitia finishes the bed and is nearly out the door when she notices the medallion lying on the floor. Kneeling down, she takes it in her hand. The medallion is heavy and dark, finely carved into the shape of a bat, and not remotely like anything Cassandra would wear.
Sophitia looks to the roses by the bed, and wonders.
---
exile
It's dark when they leave; the light from the moon and the stars have been snuffed out by the gathering storm clouds. Behind them the town is lit bright as day; the pungent smell of burning wood and pitch from countless torches taints the windy night air. Amy turns away from the lurid red glow and buries her face into the comforting warm wool of Raphael's cloak.
The townspeople had been silent as they'd left, but as they disappear into the night the quiet is broken by cries of triumph and relief. Raphael shakes under her hands, the reins of the horse they ride jangling in his grasp as he tries to control his rage.
"Insolent fools," he hisses. "Don't worry, my sweet. The time will come when we shall claim our rightful place amongst these wretched creatures - then, they will know what it is to fear."
Amy tightens her grip around Raphael's waist. She should do something, she thinks, to assuage such bitter anger. Their transformation is a hideous one; the townspeople are right to be afraid. She is afraid herself, afraid of herself.
But there is a part of her that hungers for retribution. Part of her longs to turn around, to ride deep into the crowd of people who look upon them in fear and hate, and watch them fall at her father's feet, weeping for mercy and forgiveness.
Amy presses closer. "I know," she answers softly. "I know."
Beneath them, horse whinnies and bucks in discomfort. Briefly, Amy wonders what frightens it - the fire, or its' riders.
