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Literature Text
Rejecting the familiar shade of her death-bright companion had not worked. Running to the Shadowgrove, to summon the dead without him… in a secret, deep dark part of herself, she might admit that it had scared her. To Drina she had crowed of a grand triumph; even her twin she could not tell, could not admit that she had feared.
Drina’s power over animals was strange and thrilling; to see a mouse or rabbit dance at her sister’s command was intoxicating, it was a magic that Neira could not understand, could not see, could not touch… it was agony and was euphoria to be so different to her sister: they were one, had always been one, but now they were two and she could not allow Drina to surpass her. Drina’s power of possession was a strange mastery to Neira and she must, must command the dead.
They were two, but they were perfect and they were equal; the same but now different. They would come of age soon - some said that they already had and shirked their trial, they were five after all - but they would come of age separately, they would be adults together and alone and she must master this magic, she must command the dead just as Drina commanded the living.
Her familiar followed her, a whispering wail in the far off distance, but she did not need to hear or see him to know that he was there. He was there as she silvered the tips of her mane, there as she let a shimmer of green fall over her eyes; he was death and he was with her and so she was with death, so her mastery would come and soon, so soon… soon she and Drina would triumph together but apart, a shattered mirror, one but two.
She found herself changing her eyes, greening them without thinking, piquing and pressing the illusions that lived within her so that she became paler, a shivery silver-dark grey and not black; she grew tired less quickly now, long gone was the day she had fainted from a simple change of her eyes. When Drina saw, her face would fill with disgust and rage and the illusion would drop as though it had not been there, and the rage would turn to distress and Neira would murmur words about the dead, and the colt, and spirits changing her, but Drina knew, she still knew that it was Neira who changed herself.
They were no longer the same, no longer a perfect identical pair, but was this not better, to be separate and together, to be two things made more powerful by being one?
Drina could command the living but soon, so soon, Neira would command the dead.
Drina’s power over animals was strange and thrilling; to see a mouse or rabbit dance at her sister’s command was intoxicating, it was a magic that Neira could not understand, could not see, could not touch… it was agony and was euphoria to be so different to her sister: they were one, had always been one, but now they were two and she could not allow Drina to surpass her. Drina’s power of possession was a strange mastery to Neira and she must, must command the dead.
They were two, but they were perfect and they were equal; the same but now different. They would come of age soon - some said that they already had and shirked their trial, they were five after all - but they would come of age separately, they would be adults together and alone and she must master this magic, she must command the dead just as Drina commanded the living.
Her familiar followed her, a whispering wail in the far off distance, but she did not need to hear or see him to know that he was there. He was there as she silvered the tips of her mane, there as she let a shimmer of green fall over her eyes; he was death and he was with her and so she was with death, so her mastery would come and soon, so soon… soon she and Drina would triumph together but apart, a shattered mirror, one but two.
She found herself changing her eyes, greening them without thinking, piquing and pressing the illusions that lived within her so that she became paler, a shivery silver-dark grey and not black; she grew tired less quickly now, long gone was the day she had fainted from a simple change of her eyes. When Drina saw, her face would fill with disgust and rage and the illusion would drop as though it had not been there, and the rage would turn to distress and Neira would murmur words about the dead, and the colt, and spirits changing her, but Drina knew, she still knew that it was Neira who changed herself.
They were no longer the same, no longer a perfect identical pair, but was this not better, to be separate and together, to be two things made more powerful by being one?
Drina could command the living but soon, so soon, Neira would command the dead.
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Comments6
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Oh gosh I've missed writing with you Freddo. We should do something soon to bring Drina back into the fawnling land. Something with a due date so I'll actually work on it.