Sera Isoletta
Member
- Messages
- 15
Something had changed over Midwinter in the past few years. Isoletta did not know what or how, but it had. Midwinter was richer, stronger, the sun brighter in the morn and the dark less oppressive. Even within the independent community of the Nameless House, it was something unknown to any of the Elves who dwelt there.
The Lady moves, said the whispers, although none knew from whence such whispers came, or who claimed it first, but they spread, and anticipation spread through the community. Alas, nothing dramatic or visible occurred. And Isoletta waited, feeling that something deep within her soul stirred. The moons came and went and days turned into months into seasons into years.
Still no sign of the Lady's motion, until over a year had passed and the spring equinox approached. Unlike the Midwinter festival, the Equinox vigil was not one of festivities and great celebrations, but of quiet and somber reflection.
It was on this day that day and night were equally divided. The Lady of Light triumphed over the forces of Night at Midwinter to ensure that life could prevail through its natural cycle of the seasons, of aging, of both birth and death. But in the Equinox, the power of the Lady was balanced directly with the power of the Night-Prince, just as each individual stood always balanced between the service of the Light and the well-being of the world's inhabitants, and the Night, those who sought power for their own sake and enjoyed using it against those weaker than themselves.
One choice out of the thousands in each day was all it took to throw one's self from the blessings of the Lady to the favor of the Prince, and if pursued, one would find themselves in service of the Night-Prince and worshipping, ultimately, themselves.
isoletta considered this as she knelt by the fire in the great hall of the Nameless House. Its warmth licked at her, but her mind was deeply withdrawn and her eyes distant as she considered her actions since that last midwinter. None stuck out to her as either good or ill, but somewhere in between as she balanced between them all.
Night had long since fallen and it was in the deep watches of the night. The young and the old had already retired, leaving only the devoted and those most prone to self-reflection to keep the vigil. The few guests who had come for the vigil were around her as well. Scholars, curious travelers, a few of the scattered faithful. Yet the air tingled where it touched her skin and her eyes opened wide.
The fire had burned low; only the glimmer of coals cast the faintest light along the length of the hall. All was still and silent as if the very earth had come to a halt. Isoletta stirred as the hairs on the back of her neck stood and she turned to look around the length and breadth of the hall.
"By the Lady!" The words, although whispered, were enough to echo through the silent hall. She had turned back to the fire and there, hovering above the coals, was an image she had long imagined.
A simple chalice, faintly see-through, but of normal size, carved of pearl and ringed in silver, with intricate traceries of vines intermingling with ocean waves across its surface. It could be nothing else but the chalice, in which the Lady gathered her tears for a thousand nights, pouring them out upon the desolate land one stride-length at a time to restore the farmland upon which her people depended.
Gasps of breath surrounded her as others took note of what was happening. Isoletta stretched out a hand, unaware of what she did, to try and touch it, but her hand stopped just shy of the vision. Slightly, she could sense others crowding in around the fireplace, eyes shining in awe as the shimmering vision moved past them to the center of the hall, shining in the dark, until it hovered high above them in the center of the hall.
