Post by Anthony on Nov 10, 2022 14:47:11 GMT
[Content Warnings - Graphic detail, Grief, Death, Manipulation and Torment]
The woman in blue is walking.
There is a light drizzle today, enough to warrant keeping her hood up but not so much as risk being drenched by going out. Thankfully it is still unseasonably warm outside. Not warm, warm but there’s no biting chill to the wind today as it blows through the winding streets, picking up the scents of a bustling city waking up for the day.
The morning is spent Tracing the route once again. No markers have been placed yet, just walking the lines, subtly imprinting intent within the very stones of the roads and pathways. Patience is a virtue… it would be a shame to have things found sooner than she’d like after all. Better to keep walking the route for now, to watch the city’s movements, its people's meandering lives and see how they might interfere with the design. For his particular section of the Glyph she had decided to include the slight deviation to check out the local market stalls. Only as a means to gather information, she tells herself. The truth, however, she knows is probably more aligned to trying to stave off boredom but it does still afford some useful kernels now and again. Nonetheless, she always makes sure to buy something; a loaf of bread, some kind of supplies or another. Familiarity would ease suspicion and if she appeared to be living the normal life like everyone else, all the better.
This diversion, of course, meant getting to know some of the characters in the city, the lesser known faces who keep things running one way or another. She’d heard enough about the council and their ‘adventurers’. Always wrapped up in one festival, invasion or world ending problem or another. Certainly a valuable resource but too hamfisted for her current idea. No, it was the people in the background she needed for this; the civilians, not the rulers and protectors. People she could use to sew her schemes into the weave of the city without anyone noticing. People like Daryll Flint.
Daryll is not the most successful antiques merchant in the city, if you could really call him one to begin with. The fact he did not actually have a store as such, instead displaying his findings on a tattered cloth draped over the back of his hand cart under a makeshift awning could tell you as much. No, Daryll was - as his dear departed mother would say - a peddler in trash. Rags and Bones, the detritus of life. Collected, polished and resold on to people with more money than sense or those with less money and possibly less sense. Still, occasionally someone would discard something of actual value, and Daryll had a knack for finding himself in the right place at the right time to reclaim these lost treasures of the civilised world. It was, however, his innocuous place in the delicate balance of the city that was really valuable to her right now, not the array of bric-a-brac he calls antiques.
“Are ya sure? If they really do what yer sayin they do, this seems... Well, too cheap? Me da’ always said “if’n it’s too good to be true it prolly tain’t””
“Taint?” The man’s accent was thick but she couldn’t help but pick out that particular little gem
“Aye. Prolly tain’t true”.
“Ah”, She scoffs and flashes a demure smile at the balding man, “Trust me, it does exactly what I said and I won’t accept a copper more! You have a business to run here, I can’t have you pricing yourself out now”
“Well… ok but, still not zactly sure why ya given to me. Ya could sells em yaself”
“Yes but I, quite frankly, don’t have the time for that. Besides, they are easy to make… and it’s nice to think they could help someone one day. Maybe even one of those dashing adventurer’s who might need a little help on their next outing. Would be a shame if something happened to them”
“Hmmm…” He screws his nose up, a sign that this man is deep in thought and inspection as he turns to the smooth black stone over in his hands, running his finger along the delicate carving of the letter P. on its face. “Ok…. And ya sure it’s safe?”
“Safe as houses. It’s just a good luck charm!” The woman responds innocently, glancing around at the rest of the oddities Daryll has on display.
“Alright, 5 Silver-a-piece… is, uh, there anytin I can interest ya for? While ya here, I mean”
“Unfortunately not but you have, as always, been most hel-” She stops mid sentence, eyeing a small journal hidden among some tattered books to one side of his display, “Well well well… this one is interesting” she says, lifting the book with an air of reverence and care. “How did you come by this little treasure?”
Daryll smiles nervously but goes for his pitch. “Iss a nice book fo sure. Perfec for the lady if’n she wants to keep a diary, like. Was tossed out wiv some ova stuff when the lady who owned it kicked it. Nasty stuff.”
She gives the man a brief piercing look, seeming to search his face for something before settling back into her soft smile, “Just a nice blank book then?”
Daryll, not the most perceptive of the city's stall owners, seemed to have missed her assessment of him. He merely nods his head in a mock example of an expert opinion, “Iss not lined o’course but I reckon ya has a good hand and won’t need it” He beams seeing her still smiling, his expert attempt at flattery clearly pulled off to perfection in his mind.
“Just an empty book…” she says quietly, gently flicking through the pages, her eyes dancing over the familiar details within. The parade of names and gruesome details beneath each entry, short yet detailed accounts of agonising, often violent deaths. She skims the pages, reminiscing over the macabre stories within, finally reaching the second to last addition of the book: Paige Hoarthwhistle.
He really thinks it is just an empty book. The fact he can’t read has probably saved this idiot's life. Still, I could certainly make use of this again now it’s shown up…
Daryll’s voice snaps her from her thoughts abruptly
“If tha’s too much tho I can go as low as 6 Copper, but only for yoo, mind. It really is a fine piece” The inflection on the end of his sales pitch rakes itself over her hearing like a bag of bricks on glass.
“I’m sorry, you mentioned some nasty stuff? How did the previous owner die, do you know?”
He takes on a conspiratorial tone “Oh miss, was terrible. I seen em taking her out d’house. Was like she boiled ‘erself it was. Very messy stuff. Not sure how she managed to get the water so hot, mind. Georgie reckons she was murdered like but don’t look like no one dint like her”
She feigns a gasp and soft “noooo” as if surprised by this revelation. She looks back to the entry under Paige’s name and, sure enough, there is a detailed telling of a creeping cold she can not shake. Desperate to warm her numbing skin, she heats a tub of water to sit in but it does nothing to warm her freezing bones as she shudders with cold, desperately trying to warm her body - unaware that the water itself continues to heat and boil around her.
A grim and messy end. Cooked in your own bathwater…
“When did this happen?” she asks, feigning as much concern as she could. Probably too much if she was honest but this was why it was nice talking to Daryll. He seemed to be unaware of when she was feigning emotions.
“Oh, Jus’ last week miss,”
Of course it was. Unseasonably warm weather and yet the woman is unable to warm herself and boils alive. This is certainly the real thing.
“Dreadful…” She turns the page to look at the last entry but it doesn’t appear to have fully formed yet. Faded letters seem to shift and change under her gaze, not quite legible save for a few letters of the first name. Connor maybe? Conrad? It doesn’t matter, it will find its next owner soon enough. “But you are right Daryll, it certainly is a lovely book”
Daryll picks up from his sombre tone, “s’that mean you’d like it?”
“No, I don’t think so. Such a special piece really deserves the right owner. And, I think, the right bookmark, don’t you agree?” From a pocket she produces a small strip of leather, dyed blue and embossed with black “P.” She neatly slips it into the book on the last entry before snapping the book shut and handing it back to Daryll, “I’m sure whoever is meant to have it will find it soon enough. But as for now… I must be off! Do be good now Daryll” She smiles that small smile again sending a flush of blood through Daryll’s cheeks as he fumbles a goodbye before she turns and walks purposefully across the square towards the large flower stall.
The drizzle continues on into the afternoon as the woman, now disguised in black, walks the pathways of the cemetery. The sounds of raindrops hitting the puddles in the path, the leaves in the trees and the hard stone of the grave markers creating a delicate symphony of sound. It does seem to have driven most mourners off, as well as the occasional picnic lunch that appears here leaving her utterly alone.
Blissful
This walk wasn’t part of the bigger plan. It was just nice to walk the grounds. One of the few quiet places in the city where she could think and slow things down a little. Reassess and organise her thoughts or, more often than that, to just switch off and enjoy something simple. Self care was just as important this long into unlife as it was when she was actually in this life.
She rounds the corner and sees the little crossroads in the path. The mound of soil and the bodies she had dragged from their rest were all replaced months ago now but it still amused her how certain they were about the whole thing. Bodies back in the ground, paying their respects. Undoing the evil things she had done here… They didn’t even think to look in any of the other graves... And now the steady stream of mourners come in, stand by their loved ones and reminisce of the old days, perhaps shed a tear or three. A reliable source of emotion to help sustain her. A few more little gems like this one around the place and she could sit quite happily for a couple decades, unless someone does something drastic of course.
She notes that she is not as alone as she first thought, the crossroads are not her own today. A young man is standing by one of the desecrated and now restored graves, a quiet and furious rage emanating off him that only comes from a supreme sense of loss and the simple refusal to accept one's own powerless nature to stop it.
This is how villains are made. Someone should really talk to him about this…
He must have been here for some time because he looks soaked to the core as he stares at the headstone, now slightly lopsided due to ground movement. He looks like he hasn’t been doing well for a while, his tunic hanging off him, skin pale, bags under his eyes. Grief does strange things to the body.
She walks up and stops at the grave two down from his and stands for a long few moments in silence looking at the grave marker: ‘In loving memory of Jennifer Lowry, Beloved Daughter and Sister’. The name of course means nothing to her. She hadn’t even bothered to look at the time she unearthed them. The man doesn’t move the entire time but she feigns a choked back tear once or twice to be sure she’s selling the grieving sister act. Remembering the flowers she bought, she lays them down reverentially on the grave before letting out a deep and pained sigh.
They really were nice flowers, shame to waste them here but oh well…
“Was uh… (sniff) sorry!” she lets oh the short sharp chuckle of someone doing something supremely awkward. “I, uh… I always get a little emotional when I come to see Jenny”
The man looks up, the concentration dropping and a deep sadness flooding his expression, “hmmm. Doesn’t feel fair does it?”
“No. It never does…”
He clenches his fists once or twice, apparently coming to terms with something in his mind, “Was…. uh, Jenny… Were you close?”
She hesitates just a second, long enough to seem like she is holding herself back from tears. Thankfully the rain has already provided the waterworks for the charade
“She was my sister… and… you?” as she nods to grave he is standing in front
“Aye… well, no. No, not really. Was my brother but we never really… got on.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
The sound of rain swamps the two for another long moment
“For what it’s worth, I’m sure he knew you loved him still. Jenny and I used to argue all the time. She never did like how independent I was. Said I was going against ‘the family tradition’… but we were always there for each other when it mattered.”
“Yeah… I know. I-” he lets out a long and pained sigh like he is finally coming to terms with something he has been internally struggling with, his breath carrying the weight of the world on it.
“You…?”
Go on… let it out
“I… I was never happy with how we left things but… I could always tell myself that he knew. Jus’ deep down y’know? I’d come out here and visit him and tell myself that somehow he’d know. I should’ve visited him when he was sick… maybe we could’ve made up or something. I think really we’d only have argued still… But then. Then… whatever the fuck that thing was decided to go and…” He seems on the verge of tears now
Yessss
“Oh… the woman who… yes, I know”
“She had the audacity to dig him up. Wasn’t enough he was dead. Now I have to live knowing she… disgraced his memory by digging him up.”
This is just too easy.
“I- I just fucking hate it, y’know?” His eyes are red raw now as the tears flood and merge with the rain water. “I feel so… useless. I don’t know who came and stopped her but I heard they… it’s just…. At least they could put him back to rest” The last word punctuated by a sob the man clearly is desperately trying to hold back.
The woman in black lets out a long slow sigh, “I know. I hated to think what she would have done to Jenny if they hadn’t come… I’m just grateful they could put her back to rest”
“Aye”
“I mean, especially given the mess that was supposed to be here. It’s a marvel they got everyone back into the right space”
She lets out a sigh and inwardly relishes the distinct halt of heavy breathing from the man as realisation clearly starts to rear its ugly head.
There we go
“The… right space?”
“Well, there wasn’t anything to identify them from what I heard. I’m not sure how they did it but… I’m just glad to know I can still find Jenny here. In her grave. It’s awful to think if it were someone else I was visiting and couldn’t find her again.”
The man is silent. Somehow paler than before as he blankly stares at the grave before him. She doesn’t even need her magic to know what he’s thinking at this point
Delicious
“Well, I should probably go before I’m soaked through! It was nice to meet you… I’m sure Jenny is in good company with your brother”
She smiles and turns, leaving the man in his stupor and amplified grief. As she walks away she can’t help but think what a fun diversion for the afternoon this had been.
***
The drizzle seems to have fully moved into the now drenched city, unrelenting in its soft assault with no sign of easing off. Most things here seem to have tidied up quite nicely since the whole affair with the dragons, all considered. The little cafe, her favourite place to sit, had survived relatively unscathed, thankfully, and the owner was still blissfully unaware of their lack of input in the decision to remain open late today. There he stood, dutifully waiting by the counter long after closing in case the sole guest in the place required anything else. It would be sweet if it wasn’t manipulative.
She sits just outside the door, under a large umbrella at a small iron wrought table with a hot tea in front of her. The sound of rain is a sweet accompaniment to her evening scheming and drawing. Something a little light and whimsical for old times sake.
The feeble ‘scholars’ in the academy would be the obvious choice of course. So wrapped up in their reading they wont even suspect one of the books being booby trapped. She finishes the final Glyph of the embedded spells on the page; First the simple trigger rune to finalise the larger glyph pattern, the second to incite the readers deepest fears, the third to gently and quietly destroy the evidence. The image of a scholar opening a book to see tentacles or spiders crawling out and over them, consuming them in their panic is delicious but the added confusion of there simply being no evidence remaining, inviting that sweet doubt from their peers and themselves. That was the true artistry here.
A quick coating of oil on the page to seal the glyphs and protect it from the rain signifies the end of the preparations. With a steady and deliberate delicacy, she tears the page from the book and whispers the words of a spell, her hands dancing over the page in intricate symbols - a well versed and easy spell even for most of the so-called mages here. The paper begins to fold itself up into the tiny shape of vaguely humanoid shape before standing on the table and looking eyelessly up at it’s creator
“Off you go now little one… into the Library. Find yourself a nice big book to tuck yourself into, get comfortable and just wait. Someone will find you soon enough” She smiles an odd sort of smile as she gives the paper person an affectionate tap on the head. They salute dutifully, unable to convey any words without a mouth, before jumping off the table and scurrying out into the rain towards the academy. It could be days, weeks… maybe even a year if it picks the wrong book but that’s fine. It’ll be found eventually.
With a satisfied sigh, she sits back into her chair and sips from her tea, the drizzling rain continues to sing its pattering song on the cobbles of the city.
This really has been such a nice day.
The woman in blue is walking.
There is a light drizzle today, enough to warrant keeping her hood up but not so much as risk being drenched by going out. Thankfully it is still unseasonably warm outside. Not warm, warm but there’s no biting chill to the wind today as it blows through the winding streets, picking up the scents of a bustling city waking up for the day.
The morning is spent Tracing the route once again. No markers have been placed yet, just walking the lines, subtly imprinting intent within the very stones of the roads and pathways. Patience is a virtue… it would be a shame to have things found sooner than she’d like after all. Better to keep walking the route for now, to watch the city’s movements, its people's meandering lives and see how they might interfere with the design. For his particular section of the Glyph she had decided to include the slight deviation to check out the local market stalls. Only as a means to gather information, she tells herself. The truth, however, she knows is probably more aligned to trying to stave off boredom but it does still afford some useful kernels now and again. Nonetheless, she always makes sure to buy something; a loaf of bread, some kind of supplies or another. Familiarity would ease suspicion and if she appeared to be living the normal life like everyone else, all the better.
This diversion, of course, meant getting to know some of the characters in the city, the lesser known faces who keep things running one way or another. She’d heard enough about the council and their ‘adventurers’. Always wrapped up in one festival, invasion or world ending problem or another. Certainly a valuable resource but too hamfisted for her current idea. No, it was the people in the background she needed for this; the civilians, not the rulers and protectors. People she could use to sew her schemes into the weave of the city without anyone noticing. People like Daryll Flint.
Daryll is not the most successful antiques merchant in the city, if you could really call him one to begin with. The fact he did not actually have a store as such, instead displaying his findings on a tattered cloth draped over the back of his hand cart under a makeshift awning could tell you as much. No, Daryll was - as his dear departed mother would say - a peddler in trash. Rags and Bones, the detritus of life. Collected, polished and resold on to people with more money than sense or those with less money and possibly less sense. Still, occasionally someone would discard something of actual value, and Daryll had a knack for finding himself in the right place at the right time to reclaim these lost treasures of the civilised world. It was, however, his innocuous place in the delicate balance of the city that was really valuable to her right now, not the array of bric-a-brac he calls antiques.
“Are ya sure? If they really do what yer sayin they do, this seems... Well, too cheap? Me da’ always said “if’n it’s too good to be true it prolly tain’t””
“Taint?” The man’s accent was thick but she couldn’t help but pick out that particular little gem
“Aye. Prolly tain’t true”.
“Ah”, She scoffs and flashes a demure smile at the balding man, “Trust me, it does exactly what I said and I won’t accept a copper more! You have a business to run here, I can’t have you pricing yourself out now”
“Well… ok but, still not zactly sure why ya given to me. Ya could sells em yaself”
“Yes but I, quite frankly, don’t have the time for that. Besides, they are easy to make… and it’s nice to think they could help someone one day. Maybe even one of those dashing adventurer’s who might need a little help on their next outing. Would be a shame if something happened to them”
“Hmmm…” He screws his nose up, a sign that this man is deep in thought and inspection as he turns to the smooth black stone over in his hands, running his finger along the delicate carving of the letter P. on its face. “Ok…. And ya sure it’s safe?”
“Safe as houses. It’s just a good luck charm!” The woman responds innocently, glancing around at the rest of the oddities Daryll has on display.
“Alright, 5 Silver-a-piece… is, uh, there anytin I can interest ya for? While ya here, I mean”
“Unfortunately not but you have, as always, been most hel-” She stops mid sentence, eyeing a small journal hidden among some tattered books to one side of his display, “Well well well… this one is interesting” she says, lifting the book with an air of reverence and care. “How did you come by this little treasure?”
Daryll smiles nervously but goes for his pitch. “Iss a nice book fo sure. Perfec for the lady if’n she wants to keep a diary, like. Was tossed out wiv some ova stuff when the lady who owned it kicked it. Nasty stuff.”
She gives the man a brief piercing look, seeming to search his face for something before settling back into her soft smile, “Just a nice blank book then?”
Daryll, not the most perceptive of the city's stall owners, seemed to have missed her assessment of him. He merely nods his head in a mock example of an expert opinion, “Iss not lined o’course but I reckon ya has a good hand and won’t need it” He beams seeing her still smiling, his expert attempt at flattery clearly pulled off to perfection in his mind.
“Just an empty book…” she says quietly, gently flicking through the pages, her eyes dancing over the familiar details within. The parade of names and gruesome details beneath each entry, short yet detailed accounts of agonising, often violent deaths. She skims the pages, reminiscing over the macabre stories within, finally reaching the second to last addition of the book: Paige Hoarthwhistle.
He really thinks it is just an empty book. The fact he can’t read has probably saved this idiot's life. Still, I could certainly make use of this again now it’s shown up…
Daryll’s voice snaps her from her thoughts abruptly
“If tha’s too much tho I can go as low as 6 Copper, but only for yoo, mind. It really is a fine piece” The inflection on the end of his sales pitch rakes itself over her hearing like a bag of bricks on glass.
“I’m sorry, you mentioned some nasty stuff? How did the previous owner die, do you know?”
He takes on a conspiratorial tone “Oh miss, was terrible. I seen em taking her out d’house. Was like she boiled ‘erself it was. Very messy stuff. Not sure how she managed to get the water so hot, mind. Georgie reckons she was murdered like but don’t look like no one dint like her”
She feigns a gasp and soft “noooo” as if surprised by this revelation. She looks back to the entry under Paige’s name and, sure enough, there is a detailed telling of a creeping cold she can not shake. Desperate to warm her numbing skin, she heats a tub of water to sit in but it does nothing to warm her freezing bones as she shudders with cold, desperately trying to warm her body - unaware that the water itself continues to heat and boil around her.
A grim and messy end. Cooked in your own bathwater…
“When did this happen?” she asks, feigning as much concern as she could. Probably too much if she was honest but this was why it was nice talking to Daryll. He seemed to be unaware of when she was feigning emotions.
“Oh, Jus’ last week miss,”
Of course it was. Unseasonably warm weather and yet the woman is unable to warm herself and boils alive. This is certainly the real thing.
“Dreadful…” She turns the page to look at the last entry but it doesn’t appear to have fully formed yet. Faded letters seem to shift and change under her gaze, not quite legible save for a few letters of the first name. Connor maybe? Conrad? It doesn’t matter, it will find its next owner soon enough. “But you are right Daryll, it certainly is a lovely book”
Daryll picks up from his sombre tone, “s’that mean you’d like it?”
“No, I don’t think so. Such a special piece really deserves the right owner. And, I think, the right bookmark, don’t you agree?” From a pocket she produces a small strip of leather, dyed blue and embossed with black “P.” She neatly slips it into the book on the last entry before snapping the book shut and handing it back to Daryll, “I’m sure whoever is meant to have it will find it soon enough. But as for now… I must be off! Do be good now Daryll” She smiles that small smile again sending a flush of blood through Daryll’s cheeks as he fumbles a goodbye before she turns and walks purposefully across the square towards the large flower stall.
The drizzle continues on into the afternoon as the woman, now disguised in black, walks the pathways of the cemetery. The sounds of raindrops hitting the puddles in the path, the leaves in the trees and the hard stone of the grave markers creating a delicate symphony of sound. It does seem to have driven most mourners off, as well as the occasional picnic lunch that appears here leaving her utterly alone.
Blissful
This walk wasn’t part of the bigger plan. It was just nice to walk the grounds. One of the few quiet places in the city where she could think and slow things down a little. Reassess and organise her thoughts or, more often than that, to just switch off and enjoy something simple. Self care was just as important this long into unlife as it was when she was actually in this life.
She rounds the corner and sees the little crossroads in the path. The mound of soil and the bodies she had dragged from their rest were all replaced months ago now but it still amused her how certain they were about the whole thing. Bodies back in the ground, paying their respects. Undoing the evil things she had done here… They didn’t even think to look in any of the other graves... And now the steady stream of mourners come in, stand by their loved ones and reminisce of the old days, perhaps shed a tear or three. A reliable source of emotion to help sustain her. A few more little gems like this one around the place and she could sit quite happily for a couple decades, unless someone does something drastic of course.
She notes that she is not as alone as she first thought, the crossroads are not her own today. A young man is standing by one of the desecrated and now restored graves, a quiet and furious rage emanating off him that only comes from a supreme sense of loss and the simple refusal to accept one's own powerless nature to stop it.
This is how villains are made. Someone should really talk to him about this…
He must have been here for some time because he looks soaked to the core as he stares at the headstone, now slightly lopsided due to ground movement. He looks like he hasn’t been doing well for a while, his tunic hanging off him, skin pale, bags under his eyes. Grief does strange things to the body.
She walks up and stops at the grave two down from his and stands for a long few moments in silence looking at the grave marker: ‘In loving memory of Jennifer Lowry, Beloved Daughter and Sister’. The name of course means nothing to her. She hadn’t even bothered to look at the time she unearthed them. The man doesn’t move the entire time but she feigns a choked back tear once or twice to be sure she’s selling the grieving sister act. Remembering the flowers she bought, she lays them down reverentially on the grave before letting out a deep and pained sigh.
They really were nice flowers, shame to waste them here but oh well…
“Was uh… (sniff) sorry!” she lets oh the short sharp chuckle of someone doing something supremely awkward. “I, uh… I always get a little emotional when I come to see Jenny”
The man looks up, the concentration dropping and a deep sadness flooding his expression, “hmmm. Doesn’t feel fair does it?”
“No. It never does…”
He clenches his fists once or twice, apparently coming to terms with something in his mind, “Was…. uh, Jenny… Were you close?”
She hesitates just a second, long enough to seem like she is holding herself back from tears. Thankfully the rain has already provided the waterworks for the charade
“She was my sister… and… you?” as she nods to grave he is standing in front
“Aye… well, no. No, not really. Was my brother but we never really… got on.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
The sound of rain swamps the two for another long moment
“For what it’s worth, I’m sure he knew you loved him still. Jenny and I used to argue all the time. She never did like how independent I was. Said I was going against ‘the family tradition’… but we were always there for each other when it mattered.”
“Yeah… I know. I-” he lets out a long and pained sigh like he is finally coming to terms with something he has been internally struggling with, his breath carrying the weight of the world on it.
“You…?”
Go on… let it out
“I… I was never happy with how we left things but… I could always tell myself that he knew. Jus’ deep down y’know? I’d come out here and visit him and tell myself that somehow he’d know. I should’ve visited him when he was sick… maybe we could’ve made up or something. I think really we’d only have argued still… But then. Then… whatever the fuck that thing was decided to go and…” He seems on the verge of tears now
Yessss
“Oh… the woman who… yes, I know”
“She had the audacity to dig him up. Wasn’t enough he was dead. Now I have to live knowing she… disgraced his memory by digging him up.”
This is just too easy.
“I- I just fucking hate it, y’know?” His eyes are red raw now as the tears flood and merge with the rain water. “I feel so… useless. I don’t know who came and stopped her but I heard they… it’s just…. At least they could put him back to rest” The last word punctuated by a sob the man clearly is desperately trying to hold back.
The woman in black lets out a long slow sigh, “I know. I hated to think what she would have done to Jenny if they hadn’t come… I’m just grateful they could put her back to rest”
“Aye”
“I mean, especially given the mess that was supposed to be here. It’s a marvel they got everyone back into the right space”
She lets out a sigh and inwardly relishes the distinct halt of heavy breathing from the man as realisation clearly starts to rear its ugly head.
There we go
“The… right space?”
“Well, there wasn’t anything to identify them from what I heard. I’m not sure how they did it but… I’m just glad to know I can still find Jenny here. In her grave. It’s awful to think if it were someone else I was visiting and couldn’t find her again.”
The man is silent. Somehow paler than before as he blankly stares at the grave before him. She doesn’t even need her magic to know what he’s thinking at this point
Delicious
“Well, I should probably go before I’m soaked through! It was nice to meet you… I’m sure Jenny is in good company with your brother”
She smiles and turns, leaving the man in his stupor and amplified grief. As she walks away she can’t help but think what a fun diversion for the afternoon this had been.
***
The drizzle seems to have fully moved into the now drenched city, unrelenting in its soft assault with no sign of easing off. Most things here seem to have tidied up quite nicely since the whole affair with the dragons, all considered. The little cafe, her favourite place to sit, had survived relatively unscathed, thankfully, and the owner was still blissfully unaware of their lack of input in the decision to remain open late today. There he stood, dutifully waiting by the counter long after closing in case the sole guest in the place required anything else. It would be sweet if it wasn’t manipulative.
She sits just outside the door, under a large umbrella at a small iron wrought table with a hot tea in front of her. The sound of rain is a sweet accompaniment to her evening scheming and drawing. Something a little light and whimsical for old times sake.
The feeble ‘scholars’ in the academy would be the obvious choice of course. So wrapped up in their reading they wont even suspect one of the books being booby trapped. She finishes the final Glyph of the embedded spells on the page; First the simple trigger rune to finalise the larger glyph pattern, the second to incite the readers deepest fears, the third to gently and quietly destroy the evidence. The image of a scholar opening a book to see tentacles or spiders crawling out and over them, consuming them in their panic is delicious but the added confusion of there simply being no evidence remaining, inviting that sweet doubt from their peers and themselves. That was the true artistry here.
A quick coating of oil on the page to seal the glyphs and protect it from the rain signifies the end of the preparations. With a steady and deliberate delicacy, she tears the page from the book and whispers the words of a spell, her hands dancing over the page in intricate symbols - a well versed and easy spell even for most of the so-called mages here. The paper begins to fold itself up into the tiny shape of vaguely humanoid shape before standing on the table and looking eyelessly up at it’s creator
“Off you go now little one… into the Library. Find yourself a nice big book to tuck yourself into, get comfortable and just wait. Someone will find you soon enough” She smiles an odd sort of smile as she gives the paper person an affectionate tap on the head. They salute dutifully, unable to convey any words without a mouth, before jumping off the table and scurrying out into the rain towards the academy. It could be days, weeks… maybe even a year if it picks the wrong book but that’s fine. It’ll be found eventually.
With a satisfied sigh, she sits back into her chair and sips from her tea, the drizzling rain continues to sing its pattering song on the cobbles of the city.
This really has been such a nice day.