Post by Géraldine Grangier on Mar 5, 2007 5:13:46 GMT -5
It was short of midnight, and he was finally asleep. Sitting on the edge of his cot, I caressed his brow with my gaze, listening to the soft sound of his sleep.
I was late, horribly, incredibly late. But I have vowed to follow my heart whenever possible, and if that involved arriving late to the Palace Fete, then that was the way it was going to be. I do not abandon Loved Ones in their time of need.
The little one had finally found peace. His sobbing had been interrupted by the soothing slumber of the innocent, and I thanked Eisheth for that.
Whenever I sit by a child's cot, soothing their nightmares, I think of my mother. Her soft complexion, her loving arms, her soothing embrace, and how her face would lighten up with life when she smiled. How her eyes lit up the fire of love when she looked at my father or at me. I try to convey to them what she was in my demeanor. I try to be to them what she was to me.
Love. It is such a beautiful, fleeting thing, love. Impredictable, uplifting, motivating, divine, by so many ways. My parents were D'Angelines, and they lived their lives as such. "Love as thou willt" - that is how they lived. Loving each other passionately, with unflinching loyalty. Raising me in a dream of pure affection, trust and dedication. I could not think of any better parents than those I had the chance of having.
Some of my memories are fleeting, like ghosts in the pale moonlight, transparent and indefinite. Others are sharp as ice, clear, precise, accurate. Some events of my life, I remember as though they'd happened yesterday.
I remember Marsilikos. I remember the pungent smell of the fish market, as I walked to the peer, my tiny hand in my mum's. We were greeting my dad. His ship arrived on time, and the smell of the sea is in my mind as I think of it, salty and powerful, brought to me by the soft waves hitting the sunny shores.
I remember when my father disembarked. My mother ran to him, letting my hand go, dropping her basket on the filthy boards of the port. She ran to him and he opened his arms, embracing her, lifting her, melting her against him for what seemed like infinity. Nothing else mattered to them but their love, and it was beautiful to behold. My father would notice me, his baby, his little princess as he called me, and teary-eyed, he would lift me up to the sky, laughing and kissing my cheek and craddling me in his arms. He made me giggle with his rusty beard.
I remember clearly the day we left for the city of Elua. It was the first time I saw my mother cry. It was strange, to me, that water would come out of her eyes. Mum never cried. She told me "It's only for a little time, my darling".
How we got to the City itself, I don't know. But I remember sitting in this foreign shop, and the golden popeline, the silver silk, the strong, intricately designed brocarts, blue, red, green. I remember the shimmering colors of the outfits my mum would work on, hours on end, as I sat by her, preparing her needles and thread.
Dad wasn't there, but we weren't unhappy. We thought we would go home soon, or at least, I did, and that made the burden light to carry. But I also recall the coughing, and how my mother got weaker. How she would sit and ask me to bring to her what she needed. How walking became a torture to her.
Then, one day, she fell asleep and never woke up. The Lady took me here, to Heliotrope House, and I am grateful that she did, though at the time, all I could think of was my father, and how he would come for me.
He never did. Sometimes I wonder what happened to him. Is he dead or alive? Did he ever come back to Marsilikos? Did he know where we were? Does he even know I am still alive?
Sometimes I think to myself that I should go to Marsilikos, and find out where he is. But I am a servant of Naamah, and I have embraced that calling. I am attached to this house, my family. I am attached to the work I do here, to the children I tend to, to the patrons I give myself to, to my fellow adepts, to Valeraine.
They all are my family, now. When the time comes, though, I would want to have what my mother had. To love a man, to bear his children. To bring a new life into this world, to give and receive that which is the most precious gift.
Maybe one day, when my marque is finished, I will travel back to Marsilikos and find out what I can. Perhaps then, I will go back to Eisande, to the place of my origins, and come full circle.
It was getting cold, and I shuddered back to reality. I was a little bit short of midnight, and I needed to go. I made my way to my quarters quickly and threw on my favorite dress. The beautiful burgundy gown was one of the dresses I liked to wear at official functions. It was simple and unassuming, but appropriate.
As I put my hair up in a light bun, some locks freed themselves and tickled my cheek. It didn't matter. For tonight's purpose, it would be sufficient. I was very late and would likely not pair up tonight.
I was merely making an appearance at the Longest Night.
I was late, horribly, incredibly late. But I have vowed to follow my heart whenever possible, and if that involved arriving late to the Palace Fete, then that was the way it was going to be. I do not abandon Loved Ones in their time of need.
The little one had finally found peace. His sobbing had been interrupted by the soothing slumber of the innocent, and I thanked Eisheth for that.
Whenever I sit by a child's cot, soothing their nightmares, I think of my mother. Her soft complexion, her loving arms, her soothing embrace, and how her face would lighten up with life when she smiled. How her eyes lit up the fire of love when she looked at my father or at me. I try to convey to them what she was in my demeanor. I try to be to them what she was to me.
Love. It is such a beautiful, fleeting thing, love. Impredictable, uplifting, motivating, divine, by so many ways. My parents were D'Angelines, and they lived their lives as such. "Love as thou willt" - that is how they lived. Loving each other passionately, with unflinching loyalty. Raising me in a dream of pure affection, trust and dedication. I could not think of any better parents than those I had the chance of having.
Some of my memories are fleeting, like ghosts in the pale moonlight, transparent and indefinite. Others are sharp as ice, clear, precise, accurate. Some events of my life, I remember as though they'd happened yesterday.
I remember Marsilikos. I remember the pungent smell of the fish market, as I walked to the peer, my tiny hand in my mum's. We were greeting my dad. His ship arrived on time, and the smell of the sea is in my mind as I think of it, salty and powerful, brought to me by the soft waves hitting the sunny shores.
I remember when my father disembarked. My mother ran to him, letting my hand go, dropping her basket on the filthy boards of the port. She ran to him and he opened his arms, embracing her, lifting her, melting her against him for what seemed like infinity. Nothing else mattered to them but their love, and it was beautiful to behold. My father would notice me, his baby, his little princess as he called me, and teary-eyed, he would lift me up to the sky, laughing and kissing my cheek and craddling me in his arms. He made me giggle with his rusty beard.
I remember clearly the day we left for the city of Elua. It was the first time I saw my mother cry. It was strange, to me, that water would come out of her eyes. Mum never cried. She told me "It's only for a little time, my darling".
How we got to the City itself, I don't know. But I remember sitting in this foreign shop, and the golden popeline, the silver silk, the strong, intricately designed brocarts, blue, red, green. I remember the shimmering colors of the outfits my mum would work on, hours on end, as I sat by her, preparing her needles and thread.
Dad wasn't there, but we weren't unhappy. We thought we would go home soon, or at least, I did, and that made the burden light to carry. But I also recall the coughing, and how my mother got weaker. How she would sit and ask me to bring to her what she needed. How walking became a torture to her.
Then, one day, she fell asleep and never woke up. The Lady took me here, to Heliotrope House, and I am grateful that she did, though at the time, all I could think of was my father, and how he would come for me.
He never did. Sometimes I wonder what happened to him. Is he dead or alive? Did he ever come back to Marsilikos? Did he know where we were? Does he even know I am still alive?
Sometimes I think to myself that I should go to Marsilikos, and find out where he is. But I am a servant of Naamah, and I have embraced that calling. I am attached to this house, my family. I am attached to the work I do here, to the children I tend to, to the patrons I give myself to, to my fellow adepts, to Valeraine.
They all are my family, now. When the time comes, though, I would want to have what my mother had. To love a man, to bear his children. To bring a new life into this world, to give and receive that which is the most precious gift.
Maybe one day, when my marque is finished, I will travel back to Marsilikos and find out what I can. Perhaps then, I will go back to Eisande, to the place of my origins, and come full circle.
It was getting cold, and I shuddered back to reality. I was a little bit short of midnight, and I needed to go. I made my way to my quarters quickly and threw on my favorite dress. The beautiful burgundy gown was one of the dresses I liked to wear at official functions. It was simple and unassuming, but appropriate.
As I put my hair up in a light bun, some locks freed themselves and tickled my cheek. It didn't matter. For tonight's purpose, it would be sufficient. I was very late and would likely not pair up tonight.
I was merely making an appearance at the Longest Night.