#Lomma - Au

[littlesilverplatinum]

Pretty

Continued from - x @floaroanemoia​

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-She’d been four when she’d come into Father Nazarov’s care. A young man himself, just shy past sixteen summers and with the weight of his home’s fate readily set upon his sunken shoulders; one couldn’t truly blame him for having felt out of his depths. Another life is a difficult thing to care for when you already feel as though your own future is uncertain; but it was a task he accepted. A task he took on without complaint or demand for aid.  Aid, of course, he still did get. The aspiring successor to Lomma’s highest seat left less than ideal time to care for a young toddler – and so, early within her life, Kari was put into the care of the village’s church. A monastery, filled with young women of all ages, became her home when Father couldn’t be there. They’d feed her, clothe her; sing her hymns and were there to teach her the things that a young boy could not. But still, each and every night she would return to Damian’s home – her arms, outstretched and high as she stumbled upon gravel roads so that he could more easily scoop her into his awaiting embrace. And he’d ask about her day, what she’d learned or had seen, and he would be the last person by her side before John Blund stole her away.

Whatever one may think of his means; his overprotectiveness, his hopes for the young girls path in life – one could at least admit that whatever his motivation, care most certainly was the most prominent one.  He’d trusted her with Sarana for this reason. For he’d seen a shift in her mannerisms, a shift in her desires. She had stopped asking him to cut her hair.-

---

“It’s oh so beautiful, miss… I can’t help but to envy you so.”

-Last they both had seen the elusive vagabond, snow still had covered the grounds of Lomma. Kari, as overjoyed by foreigners as she was, had easily left her washing duties to run into – yes, into – the older woman’s embrace when she’d appeared, crying out in excitement for the travels that was sure to come. Hands, still soaked in lather and wet to the touch.  Hollyhock dolls, tea sets carved out of wood by fatherly hands. Baby dolls stuffed with straw. Growing up as she had, Kari had rarely gotten the chance to play in that specific sort of way that little girls seemed to so evidently enjoy – and this extended to something as simple as caring for one’s appearance.

She was a good girl. Not a pretty girl – or at least, that was how Kari had thought of herself for the longest of time.

Sarana’s golden locks were warm to the touch where the sun had come to linger, and the young girl couldn’t help but wonder how hair of such a light, airy color could feel so heavy. When she’d practiced her braids, it has mostly been upon herself; hidden in her bedroom late in the evening, sat before a mirror cast in candlelight.  Hidden behind her marrow veil, a single, small braid pushed against the side of her head. Pitiful, perhaps, when compared to the intricate weaves she wound into the older woman’s hair now.

Kari bit her lip, her brows furrowing prettily. Another petal was woven into gold.-

“… If father allows for it, then I’d want nothing more.”

---

-Indeed. Little Kari wasn’t so little anymore, and Damian had perhaps been the one to notice it the most. Hollyhock dolls, tea sets carved out of wood by fatherly hands. Baby dolls stuffed with straw… These things, he’d learned, were no longer things that mattered to the young girl. He’d noticed how during morning mass, as the sun begun to shine through the church’s broad windows, that rather than pay attention to his words and the verses of hymns – Kari would simply gaze upon herself in their colorful reflection. Her fingers, sun kissed and clean, tentatively playing with the few strands of hair that she so stubbornly revealed to the world.

He had cut her hair since she’d come into his care. An act done, perhaps initially, out of desperation. For he hadn’t known how one was meant to care for a little girls hair, and she’d been so stubborn in not allowed anyone but him to brush her dark locks. More often than not, therefore, she had wandered into the world with a birds nest upon her head – none the wiser of how she had looked. For she had, after all, been but a child back then. The first time he had taken scissors to her locks, a mess had been made. Lopsided and choppy, and far too short in the back; she may as well have kept her nest compared to what he had done. But she had hopped from his lap. Towards the vanity in the far corner of her room, a gift given to her for when she grew older; and in the mirror, with chubby fingers weaving through her messy locks – Kari has worn the biggest smile that he’d ever seen.

She had loved it, and he had felt his heart swell with relief. And though he certainly amended his faults – practice, after all, does make perfect, the memory of it still lingered with him. Even now that she stood taller than she’d ever been.

But she’d denied him last. Had requested if she could let it grow, there beneath her veil. As though anyone but her sisters would see the change.-

-In hindsight, he had come to regret his words. For she had left his home with her shoulders sunk and with a quiver to her lips. He had told her that she wouldn’t look pretty if she did. That she wouldn’t be herself.

What he had felt, perhaps, was that she no longer would be his little girl if she let it grow. For it meant she didn’t need him anymore.-

---

“Miss Sarana? Say. How… How long has it taken you, to have your hair grow as long as it has become?”

[obliviouskind]

Bacteria

---

They’d lost a child, the young couple. In anguish, through throats thickened by tears and trembling palms clasped in a prayer to God, they’d sought his help. His wisdom, his leadership. Upon their knees they’d fallen and the woman, with her ashen locks, had looked as though she’d seen a ghost.  Rags, wound round their limbs and soaked at their hems.

And ‘please’, they had begged, clutching at his robes, ‘our boy has been seen by neither smith, fisherman nor nurse. He’s nowhere to be found.’

‘He’s but one,’ the woman wept, ‘A baby, nothing more. Surely he has passed!’

He’d left them with the promise of a hunt. That their boarders be scouted for dangerous beasts should the poor boy have been caught somewhere he ought not to be and had warned that, should they not find him come daybreak… then there was little else that he could do. Put faith in the lord, he’d asked of them, and they’d left his sanctuary with nothing but quickly drying tears upon their cheeks.  In his gut’s, Damian had then deemed that something foul was abound. Huntsmen, he called for – and search for the child they did throughout the night. Guided by cloth soaked in pyre, Lomma’s boarders were scouted as he, Father Nazarov, sat upon his knees.

And as the wind beat hail upon his windowsill - he begged. Prayed. For on Lomma’s outskirts, a mother longed that her child never be found. ‘She’s but human,’ he reminded the lord. ‘Have mercy upon her.’

---

Kari had asked him about death that night, and his answer had been that there was tragedy in this world of which one will never be able to comprehend.

She had been but a child, too.

---

It had been the nurse who had suggested the lake. A foreigner that had arrived to the town just a winter prior, but whom had been welcomed into the community as though she’d come from their blood. Marnie, she was called, and she’d sought him in privacy in a manner unbecoming an unmarried woman.

He’d stood with his back strung the entire time.

‘Southwards,’ she’d said, a lilt to her tongue. ‘One knows when the first day of spring has arrived, for the waters will warm and cause bodies hidden in lakes to emerge to the surface due to bacteria.’  He’d deemed her words horrid, wrongful in the house of God and Marnie had suggested that the truth often was.

Before she’d left, by a glance from where the heavy hide of a Stantler framed her shoulders, she’d so kindly offered.

‘Of course… As far north as we are, the water most likely never warms enough for bacteria to begin to breed.’

---

That evening, he retold tales of Necken to little Kari. A young man who hid in murky depths – and that she ought to run, should she hear a fiddle playing near a lake. It meant that it was no longer safe.

‘But music is so beautiful, Damian,’ her youthful voice had queried. Sleepily and sweetly.

‘As beautiful as a mothers love,’ he’d agreed.

---

They found the boy three days later. Bloated, disfigured and with water filling his pleural cavities. The woman – ashen locks, soot streaked cheeks – had been as distraught as she’d seemed the very first evening that he’d seen her and her husband fall to their knees.  ‘Our boy,’ she’d cried, her gaze wide and frightened. He had seen how she’d sought something within him that he could not offer.

He wasn’t the lord.

‘Oh, our dear sweet child…’

He couldn’t forgive so easily.

They’d lost a child, the young couple. In anguish, through throats thickened by tears and trembling palms clasped in a prayer to God.  As though what they’d done could be undone, and that all would be well once more. He wished that it could’ve been the truth.

[realestatesc]

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— Real Estate Agent AU (@real_estateau) August 12, 2017

Source: @real_estateau August 12, 2017 at 11:31AM More info Real Estate Agents Sunshine Coast

[littlesilverplatinum]

Legends Verse / Lomma - Au / Damian Nazarov and Kari

Surrounded by nothing but Mt. Coronet’s cold bosom, a village unmarked upon maps has come to bloom for three short generations. Settled by foreign, just as well as local, folk, the town of Lomma – a ‘pocket’ within the snow – has seen trivial development in so far as infrastructure is concerned; but what it lacks in grandeur, it makes up in culture and spirit. Though not the first settlement in the region to fall into the faith – Lomma houses the first ever church upon Hisui land. With its load-bearing construction of posts that stand on horizontal ledges and support wall strips, the supporting elements in the walls in this way form frames for a filling of standing planks; poles, after which the building type is named. A Stavchurch in its most infantile form. (Stav = Poles.)  This is where Orthism has come to not only grow, but thrive. At the head of the community stands Damian Nazarov – a young man devoted to the faith, acting as the pastor as well as figurehead of the small community. Under his guiding hands one finds monks and nuns, as well as the children of which would come to grow into the aforementioned roles.

At his side, a young nun. A girl known only as Kari.

He’s stoic, charismatic – held in the highest regard and saw himself befitting as the spokesman of God. The outside world, deemed as a threat to their communities newfound way of life while she, young and spirited… If not a little naive, finds that life doesn’t have to be so harsh – and that the world beyond her village walls perhaps isn’t as bad as she’s been told. But she’s obedient, a good young woman and married to her faith; Pastor Nazarov, the sole guardian in life.

And she trusts him more than anyone else.

Lomma is isolated. Self-sufficient, certainly – but not thriving. And a community without trade and outside influence so easily falls into darkness. Especially upon land as harsh as Hisui. But…

There’s always a chance for change.