Post by dee on Feb 2, 2024 17:23:59 GMT
Them. A small shadow of a figure sits at the table, any hints to who They are hidden by Their all black cloaked ensemble. The only indicator is the piercing yellow slitted eyes that peek out from the shadow of their hood as they silently contemplate Their cards.
Behind Them, two replica figures clothed in similar style, but with eyes of green, and blue. They’re sat at a quiet table, all the more quiet for the nature of Their dialogue. Gloved fingers shape a voiceless conversation between the pair,
“Not quite the ‘endless’ wealth that was intended”.
“Not quite, not even with your cheating”.
Blue eyes look down and contemplate misplaced cards, now arranged face down, flipped over, and somehow changed into others.
“Less in magnitude and more in time, it seems. And your bargain?”
They takes a moment before answering, looking to an open window, “Am I not free?”
By contrast, the response is whip-fast, “And destined?”
As if summoned, a single green-winged butterfly alights between the two, catching the gaze of both. Green eyes, the same shade, inspect it, “Time will tell. Still playing your hand close to the chest?”
Blue eyes narrow with mirth. Beyond, Their cards are laid face up, coin exchanged. The third and youngest triplet approaches, flicking out a dismissive phrase at fingertip while a single coin dances between mirrored hands.
“All but broke again”.
“Truly a miracle. Not for long I’d wager”.
Them, They, Their: The three siblings gather, fuss with buckles and black bandages covering long limbs and shuffle. Identically indistinct but for the eyes. Under a Fae ban, none can know who they are. Or were, at least. Or that they’ve traded away names, voices and faces, all but the most fundamental parts of identity, for endless wealth (Them), freedom and destiny (They), and a third thing still secret (Their). Their is the eldest, the first to the trade, and the only one who remembers the full terms of all three bargains. Since then, for years now, Them has been rotting in the gambling houses of Daring Heights. Caught in the ebb and flow of capital, while They languishes in the shadows, aching for a new life yet to appear.
But no position is so bad you can’t bargain your way to a new one.
Behind them the butterfly jitters. Wings made of green glass. Now black stone. Now angled, heavier, more like a bat.
Destiny awaits.
Behind Them, two replica figures clothed in similar style, but with eyes of green, and blue. They’re sat at a quiet table, all the more quiet for the nature of Their dialogue. Gloved fingers shape a voiceless conversation between the pair,
“Not quite the ‘endless’ wealth that was intended”.
“Not quite, not even with your cheating”.
Blue eyes look down and contemplate misplaced cards, now arranged face down, flipped over, and somehow changed into others.
“Less in magnitude and more in time, it seems. And your bargain?”
They takes a moment before answering, looking to an open window, “Am I not free?”
By contrast, the response is whip-fast, “And destined?”
As if summoned, a single green-winged butterfly alights between the two, catching the gaze of both. Green eyes, the same shade, inspect it, “Time will tell. Still playing your hand close to the chest?”
Blue eyes narrow with mirth. Beyond, Their cards are laid face up, coin exchanged. The third and youngest triplet approaches, flicking out a dismissive phrase at fingertip while a single coin dances between mirrored hands.
“All but broke again”.
“Truly a miracle. Not for long I’d wager”.
Them, They, Their: The three siblings gather, fuss with buckles and black bandages covering long limbs and shuffle. Identically indistinct but for the eyes. Under a Fae ban, none can know who they are. Or were, at least. Or that they’ve traded away names, voices and faces, all but the most fundamental parts of identity, for endless wealth (Them), freedom and destiny (They), and a third thing still secret (Their). Their is the eldest, the first to the trade, and the only one who remembers the full terms of all three bargains. Since then, for years now, Them has been rotting in the gambling houses of Daring Heights. Caught in the ebb and flow of capital, while They languishes in the shadows, aching for a new life yet to appear.
But no position is so bad you can’t bargain your way to a new one.
Behind them the butterfly jitters. Wings made of green glass. Now black stone. Now angled, heavier, more like a bat.
Destiny awaits.