#Marie Whitegold Anderson

[bloodredx]

OC-tober 2022 Master Post

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for joining me on this annual endeavor, I hope everyone enjoyed following along. I would like thank @oc-tober2022 for creating such a fantastic list. It was a pleasure taking a crack at these prompts, and fun to look at them through my own lens. For convenience, the links to all the prompts are below, in case you missed any. I hope you folks follow along for NaNoWriMo this year. Thank you again!

Day 1: Childhood

Day 2: Impossible

Day 3: Control

Day 4: Hidden

Day 5: Failure

Day 6: Reflection

Day 7: Routine

Day 8: Graceful

Day 9: Role Reversal

Day 10: Dream

Day 11: Fight

Day 12: Beginning

Day 13: Fear

Day 14: Legend

Day 15: Reality

Day 16: Victory

Day 17: Lie

Day 18: Obstacle

Day 19: Façade

Day 20: Death

Day 21: Different Era

Day 22: Memory

Day 23: Bound

Day 24: Forgotten

Day 25: Weakness

Day 26: Temptation

Day 27: Strange

Day 28: Disease

Day 29: Change

Day 30: Fun (Free Choice)

Day 31: Companionship (Free Choice)

[bloodredx]

Day 4: Hidden

What efforts have been made to look past the veil, cross the boundaries between the known, the unknown, is there a difference in truth? The realm of the Children, how fascinating a byproduct of their creation. For the Beloved do not hold this, unless of course it is due to consorting with the bounds of this form. How deft their wings, to carry them back home, wherever that may be.

No, the Children of course remain in locales far from the concrete and formed of the world, residing in realms of spirituality that form the reflection of who and what they are, were, and always will be. It is no more mutable than they are, the whims of the Precious Living holding next to no influence in such sacred spaces. After all, Water, she will always be Water, unless he is Ice. Such is a place frozen and deep, dark, all in opposition to that which Fire claims. Simple ideas, thou must already be loosely aware if nothing else. The same that Earth and Wind stand opposed, but all four together in their opposites. Only the Twins have to be together, for the Beginning is nothing without the End that defined it. Bizarre in their initial companionship that such spaces are intrinsically connected, and even now with the Beginning long since slain that her realm remains as solid as the day she last stood before this form. Had this form the stamina, it might possess curiosity to stroll amongst the black soil and white skies that have long laid asleep in that space. The End dare not step there either, despite his many visitations there past.

What secrets lie in wait for all the shrines, all left in tethers and tatters to connect the Precious Living to the Children, they know not what lays hidden and sleeping. Despite that some shrines still harbor souls! Regularly too! To be so close and not witness what is before them! And none yet wonder in all their grasping why no shrine to this form is available. Bah. Perhaps one day. Perhaps someone curious enough. Still, the reaching of the Precious Living into the realms they cannot survive, nor really understand will cause undoing in the most wonderful of catastrophes. To strive for a hand in the beyond. It corrupts through and through. Mages, scholars, those both with and without the Vestiges in their blood. The Song must flow. To warp the Notes, why, that is disrespect to the entire piece.

--

Careful. Marie’s head turned to the left as silently as possible. The library was quiet, she was the only one standing in there after all. Her only company; the few motes of dust floating around the damask drapery, the private collection of books old and new, and the silent face of the ancient stone bust of her ancestor. The gem crusted eyes staring in judgement, the amethysts encased within judging. Look at how y’all had fallen. It seemed to whisper, the wrath and disappointment of each of her great grandmothers. She ran a finger along the dark oak shelving, waiting one more moment to ensure the coast was clear before whispering a spell on her fingers as she kissed them quick, placing them swiftly onto the forehead of the bust.

There was a gentle clicking, so soft even Marie could barely hear it, as the narrowest part of the bookshelf began to peel back, swinging open as a door to reveal the secret chamber hidden behind. She floated quickly inside, muffling the air behind her to silence as she closed the passage. Only once everything was still did she finally touch her toes to the floor, whispering pathetically to herself. “Esc’lyr, have some grace on this fool.”

A small stone idol, one of the great goddess of air sat to the side, and she knelt before it in reverence, desperate for the answers she did not possess. Her mind raced with the implications, her second son showing potentials for her family’s gift. According to the text of her foremothers, it could happen that men should hold some notion of their magic, but it was exceedingly rare. Even still, he could be no greater than a hedge mage, a facsimile of the real thing. How cruel. To leave me all ‘lone with this blood an’ leave me with a husband that would sooner kill me if he knew the truth. An’ grant me sons on top of it. Her head stooped low with shame. Of course, she loved her sons. Nathaniel was stolen away from her by his father, already tainted by the rhetoric of his anger. And Mitchell, well, she would gladly trade everything for him. The fact his sneeze sent him near sky-bound was a testament to his miracle nature, and thank the goddess that Sigmund hadn’t seen it. He already was much too rough on the boys, but especially to Mitchell. The boy was soft, a pure heart, but that made him beautiful to his mother. If Sigmund knew this too? She shivered at the thought.

But why now? Why now when she was only a few months off from giving birth to what the doctor had assured her would be a daughter. Her last chance. A tear fell from her eye, rolling along her cheek and past the thick, black curls of hair that had fallen loose over the course of the day. Mitch bein’ that way only makes it complicated. He ain’t able to fill the shoes. The stone effigy of Esc’lyr offered no answers, only sitting back on her carved companion cloud, eyes closed to the suffering of her devoted worshiper. “I just wanted to protect ‘im.” Her voice cracked. “Now he has to know an’ he’ll never be free of this.”

If the goddess knew any truths, she was not inclined to share them. Hiding them deep inside both the echoes of the wind-filled swamps and the lost labyrinths of time. But then again, stone couldn’t speak on the best of days either. Marie stood up, thanking the idol for just listening if nothing else, and turned back to the assembly of tools and charms hidden away behind the walls of the library. Her fingers traced over the collection of carved rune charms, each one glowing a faint purple in response to her touch until she finally landed on the one she wanted. A simple one, a rune she never wanted to part with. Ain’t gotta choice left.

Pulling out a small chisel, she slowly picked away at the wood of its back, until finally the shape of Mitchell’s true name took form. Whispering one last blessing, she kissed it to silence its hum and cease the glow, blending away the newly engraved shapes in one rippling swell. She flipped it over, reading the single shape of the sacred word. Prevail.

(OC-tober challenge by @oc-tober2022 can be found here.)

[bloodredx]

Day 13: Grow

“Someday, I’ll be even more powerful than ya, mama!” Mitch smiled at his mother, proud of the little breeze he had just managed to summon. He began to ramble on in the way excited children always do.

Marie forced a sad smile, knowing her legacy couldn’t truly be passed onto her son, for it was not how the spirits worked. Long ago, they had decreed the magic was traceable in all the women in her bloodline, and here she was, the last one of that line. It was a miracle he had this much potential to begin with, especially at the tender age of seven. Most indications of skill didn’t manifest until around ten years, but the spirits had decided to give her son the cruel hope that he could excel with practice. “We’ll see, Mitch. It’ll take a lot of work.”

Marie was nothing if not a practical woman, and holding the ever looming weight that her breed of wind magic would go the way of extinction, made the best with what she could. She had been given two sons thus far, and loved them dearly of course. There was never a day where they couldn’t cause her to smile, but she secretly put all her hopes on her now infant daughter. Stella was the one who could take her mantle, not Mitch or Nathaniel. Nathaniel at least would have the blessing of never knowing about this, as he was too much like his father to show any potential. She was shocked, to say the least, when her middle child began throwing paper airplanes much farther than naturally possible, sneezing so hard he shot himself backwards, and other magical misfires that forced her to conceal Mitch’s talents from her husband in any way possible. He would need to know to at least not cause needless accidents, if he would ever grow into such powers at all.

She knelt in front of her son, delicately placing her hands on his shoulders. “I want ya to know, that no matter what, Mitch, ya mama loves ya.”

The boy beamed, going in for a hug. “Of course mama, I’ll always love ya too. And when I grow up, I’ll be big and strong enough to protect ya from anythin’. I’ll beat anyone up that’s mean to ya.”

She kissed his forehead delicately before admonishing him softly. “Now, that’s all well an’ good, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. No need to rough up everyone when we can talk ‘bout most problems.”

“But even so, if it messes up, I’ll just blast ‘em away!” he stuck his hands out dramatically, expecting a big gust of wind to blow out, and frowned angrily when another soft breeze gently shifted the trees in front of them.

Marie chuckled softly. “Of course dear. We’ll get ya there soon enough. But let’s do something more helpful to ya, ya ever want to make potions?”

She returned to her feet and guided her son back to her workshop. If nothing else, he could learn the practical things anyone with a hint of a magical spark could perform. Maybe then he wouldn’t grow up to be so disappointed.

(OC-tober prompt list by @oc-growth-and-development can be found here)