#anwir gwynedd

[mossnrocksnbogwater]

art dump of characters from Legacy (novel. i am working on it.) this is Cedwyn (guy with brown hair) Awen (has red hair, usually wearing the yellow dress) and Cedwyn's brother Anwir.

[justnerdy15]

Flash Fiction Friday/daily snippet 11.18.23

wip: Daisy Chains wc: 647 prompt: @flashfictionfridayofficial sands of time

It becomes a part of her routine — visiting Isolde in her private chambers. Mara thinks that she should be offended, bristle at the fact that Isolde treats her like a child would a doll, but it’s one of the few places where she isn’t watched, where she can simply just be.

No guard. No Wyn. No Anwir.

Besides, it’s not like she has anything better to do.

The queen’s chamber is shockingly bright compared to the rest of the estate, well illuminated with various oil lamps, and decorated with lighter fabrics than the rich velvets and heavy furs that adorn Mara’s own rooms. Even the air feels lighter, lacking the heavy perfume that clings to the air, and she can breathe without feeling like she’s choking on a bouquet of flowers.

“It’s a shame,” Isolde says, combing through another section of Mara’s damp hair, “That your hair is so short. You should really grow it out.”

Mara makes a noncommittal noise, closing her eyes, and focuses on the soft drag of the wooden teeth as it glides through her hair, detangling it with a level of gentle care that Mara hasn’t felt in years. She doesn’t bother to mention that her hair is the longest it’s been since she was a child.

“People keep trying to touch it,” Mara says, eyes still closed. “Wyn nearly bit someone’s head off earlier.”

Isolde hums, moving on to the next section, “The color is uncommon among the Fae. And, frankly, it’s the only thing worth noticing about you. Human-ness aside, of course.”

Mara’s eyes open and she catches Isolde’s gaze in the mirror. “Of course,” she says dryly, arching an eyebrow at her.

Isolde breaks contact, eyes dropping down to Mara’s deep coppery red curls, pushing a large chunk of hair over her shoulder. “It almost reminds me of my daughter’s hair. Hers was a bit fairer than yours.”

Mara frowns. “Daughter?” she asks, straightening up. “I thought Wyn was your only child?”

“Our only child. Anwir and I,” Isolde replies, she glances at Mara through the mirror. “Before I was stolen — when I was human,” she amends, lips pursing briefly. “I had a daughter. Elin.”

“Oh,” Mara says, looking down at her lap. She fiddles with her hands, gathering the courage to ask, and looks up once more. “So, who were you?” she asks, “Before this?”

“A mother,” she says simply, “a wife.”

Isolde breathes in sharply, still gently combing Mara’s hair, but something is different, colder now, if the small clench of her jaw means anything. “I lived in a small village outside of Gwynedd. It was not. . . easy. I remember being content. But there was fighting. War. Invaders. I had Elin, though. I think I loved her very much.”

Isolde finishes combing the last bit of hair and deposits the wooden comb onto the table before picking up a small vial of oil. She takes the dropper out and lets a few drops of oil into Mara’s hair before running her fingers through.

“You think?”

“I remember her name. Her hair. Her small stature. The way she felt in my arms,” Isolde sighs, finger combing Mara’s hair. “But not her voice or her eyes or her words. Not her birth or her age. Nor what happened to her. I just know I had her.”

Mara looks up to meet strange golden eyes. “Time works in odd ways here, girl,” Isolde says. “My transformation certainly hasn’t helped, but for a memory so long, some things I remember as if they happened yesterday and others already lost to the sands of time like they never happened.”

Mara’s stomach clenches uncomfortably at the thought. Days are already blurring together for her, but she can’t have been here for very long. Right?

“How long have you been here?” Mara asks.

A small quirk of her lips. “I don’t like to think about that,” Isolde replies. “It frightens me.”