Post by Brenna Gordon on Jul 5, 2016 20:30:24 GMT -5
Brenna,
You have no Earthly idea... no clue, my darling little one, on how it pleased me to feel you reaching for your power for the first time since you were a child. To feel that bond between you and the magic that is the Gordon birthright come singing to life after so long, why, it brought forth in me a fecund and gleaming joy that is only rivaled by the memory of what I felt when you came into the world. When the tides of your blood are right and the next of our kind takes shape in your womb, I imagine you too will become intoxicated with that singular sensation of being a creator, of being the sole reason that a miracle comes into the world. I know that the lesser mortals share a similar sensation, but I suppose I cannot begrudge it of them since they lack the vision that I--that we possess. Let them think that their little lives mean something more than they actually do. If it keeps them docile... mmn.
Oh, and in case such is not clearly evident? Even if you vex me with your every denial of what you are, even if I do not approve of the lack of artistry that is your chosen field of work... I do still think you to be a miracle, my miracle that I have blessed the world with.
After all, why else would you be reigning with an iron fist as royalty so early in your career?
Is breá liom tú, mo banríon beag.
~M
Try as she might, Brenna cannot tear her eyes away from the sheet of paper in her hands.
The dingy hotel room along some highway or another in some town is something that she's not in, not mentally. She isn't paying any mind to the carpet that's older than she is, or the questionable stains upon the worn-thin blanket trying to pass itself off as a duvet. The musty smell does not exist to her-- she doesn't even notice the cockroach skittering its way over the toe of her boot. All the more she knows at the moment is the siren song of Moira's voice, the way it crests and dips like the waves she claimed that they both came from. Even though she hasn't shared a room with her mother in almost a decade, she can still hear it in perfect clarity-- right down to the faint Irish accent that she occasionally has to push away from her own words. That's not even counting how every letter is written as if it is a revelation, the script so elegant and flowing in its lightness thanks to how she holds the pen so gently and how little she lifts the pen between words... a weak sigh leaves her lips as she rubs at her forehead, her eyes closing the only thing to offer up a respite from the memories of the most important-- and destructive-- person in her life that are washing over her. It's not until she has put the paper aside that she dares to open her eyes anew.
...and all at once, what she has inadvertently done in her attempt to escape her mother's clutches hits her like a ton of bricks.
"Shit," she mutters as she looks over at the large suitcase and duffel bag sitting on the floor next to the door. All the more that she had taken when she fled her newest place was what she could carry and, while she had managed to snag most of her treasures? Most of the furniture had been left behind... though that is nothing compared to what she knows is going to happen when the first of the month. She wasn't able to focus enough to write a note for her landlord before she left, and how can she call him when her phone had been all but destroyed when she dropped it during her frenzied attempt to gather what she couldn't live without? That isn't a question she can answer, or come remotely close to even trying to wrap her mind around. Then again, all things considered-- the fact that she's found a cheap hotel for the night is a minor miracle all on its own. Slumping forward, a trembling breath tumbles free of Brenna's lips as she tries to force her mind out of the currents of the past so that she can at least try to figure out her next move. Going further inland is the obvious solution, she knows-- but that is also what Moira would expect, so that's out. For a moment, she considers heeding the call of her blood and returning to a coastline of some sort... but the cold sweat that threatens to break out at the mere thought of the sound of crashing waves has her discarding that idea without much more consideration. Just what does that leave her, then?
Nowhere.
Forcing herself to her feet, a low groan leaves her lips as blood flow returns to her lower extremities. Just how long had she been sitting there, anyway? She can't remember, though the position of the slivers of light from the vertical blinds suggests that least a handful of hours has passed. Leaving that letter behind her, Brenna allows her feet to carry her over to the parking lot view that the window offers. Perhaps the answer will come if she doesn't think about it, if she just lets her subconscious chew things over. Yes, yes... she should take it easy, think things through and over. Focus on her match as Kelli's partner. The answer will come when she has everything pieced together.
It's not until well after the sun goes down that she realizes that her subconscious is part of the problem.
You have no Earthly idea... no clue, my darling little one, on how it pleased me to feel you reaching for your power for the first time since you were a child. To feel that bond between you and the magic that is the Gordon birthright come singing to life after so long, why, it brought forth in me a fecund and gleaming joy that is only rivaled by the memory of what I felt when you came into the world. When the tides of your blood are right and the next of our kind takes shape in your womb, I imagine you too will become intoxicated with that singular sensation of being a creator, of being the sole reason that a miracle comes into the world. I know that the lesser mortals share a similar sensation, but I suppose I cannot begrudge it of them since they lack the vision that I--that we possess. Let them think that their little lives mean something more than they actually do. If it keeps them docile... mmn.
Oh, and in case such is not clearly evident? Even if you vex me with your every denial of what you are, even if I do not approve of the lack of artistry that is your chosen field of work... I do still think you to be a miracle, my miracle that I have blessed the world with.
After all, why else would you be reigning with an iron fist as royalty so early in your career?
Is breá liom tú, mo banríon beag.
~M
Try as she might, Brenna cannot tear her eyes away from the sheet of paper in her hands.
The dingy hotel room along some highway or another in some town is something that she's not in, not mentally. She isn't paying any mind to the carpet that's older than she is, or the questionable stains upon the worn-thin blanket trying to pass itself off as a duvet. The musty smell does not exist to her-- she doesn't even notice the cockroach skittering its way over the toe of her boot. All the more she knows at the moment is the siren song of Moira's voice, the way it crests and dips like the waves she claimed that they both came from. Even though she hasn't shared a room with her mother in almost a decade, she can still hear it in perfect clarity-- right down to the faint Irish accent that she occasionally has to push away from her own words. That's not even counting how every letter is written as if it is a revelation, the script so elegant and flowing in its lightness thanks to how she holds the pen so gently and how little she lifts the pen between words... a weak sigh leaves her lips as she rubs at her forehead, her eyes closing the only thing to offer up a respite from the memories of the most important-- and destructive-- person in her life that are washing over her. It's not until she has put the paper aside that she dares to open her eyes anew.
...and all at once, what she has inadvertently done in her attempt to escape her mother's clutches hits her like a ton of bricks.
"Shit," she mutters as she looks over at the large suitcase and duffel bag sitting on the floor next to the door. All the more that she had taken when she fled her newest place was what she could carry and, while she had managed to snag most of her treasures? Most of the furniture had been left behind... though that is nothing compared to what she knows is going to happen when the first of the month. She wasn't able to focus enough to write a note for her landlord before she left, and how can she call him when her phone had been all but destroyed when she dropped it during her frenzied attempt to gather what she couldn't live without? That isn't a question she can answer, or come remotely close to even trying to wrap her mind around. Then again, all things considered-- the fact that she's found a cheap hotel for the night is a minor miracle all on its own. Slumping forward, a trembling breath tumbles free of Brenna's lips as she tries to force her mind out of the currents of the past so that she can at least try to figure out her next move. Going further inland is the obvious solution, she knows-- but that is also what Moira would expect, so that's out. For a moment, she considers heeding the call of her blood and returning to a coastline of some sort... but the cold sweat that threatens to break out at the mere thought of the sound of crashing waves has her discarding that idea without much more consideration. Just what does that leave her, then?
Nowhere.
Forcing herself to her feet, a low groan leaves her lips as blood flow returns to her lower extremities. Just how long had she been sitting there, anyway? She can't remember, though the position of the slivers of light from the vertical blinds suggests that least a handful of hours has passed. Leaving that letter behind her, Brenna allows her feet to carry her over to the parking lot view that the window offers. Perhaps the answer will come if she doesn't think about it, if she just lets her subconscious chew things over. Yes, yes... she should take it easy, think things through and over. Focus on her match as Kelli's partner. The answer will come when she has everything pieced together.
It's not until well after the sun goes down that she realizes that her subconscious is part of the problem.
