Badb (badbcatha) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-10-09 13:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | badb, patrick |
Who: Badb [Narrative, open to Patrick]
Where: Central Park, The Pond
When: October 8, night
Rating/Warnings: None
There it was. A complete transformation. How could something so seemingly gentle and kind be anything but? Pale skin, red hair, a sweet smile. Certainly this was nothing more than an innocent woman.
Assumptions are terrible things. Especially when they are wrong.
A demon? Not quite. A witch. A fury. Something to be feared and avoided. An omen of death.
She laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed. This would be a treat. Vengeance for her sister, Macha, if only a small bit. But it would satisfy some small part of her soul.
The change had taken place in her shop, just after closing. The Fall air felt welcoming on her face as she left the little book store. She carried a small bag in one hand and walked so delicately that she seemed to glide. It was difficult to tell for sure as she wore a white dress that dragged behind her as she went along. The pleasant smile that rested on her lips could only mean that she was happy, certainly.
Oh yes, she was happy. Though not about love or friendship or any other nonsense. Badb would seek a small part of her revenge. That is what made her happy.
As she walked she whispered is name, a whisper that carried through the air until it would reach his ear. A whisper meant only for him.
As she seemed to glide along the sidewalk she was vaguely aware of those around her. Only the street signs held her attention. She was looking for Saint Patrick.
Saint. BAH! That man is nothing but a damned fool.
"Patrick," she whispered, over and over. Certainly this would draw him to where she was going. And then she was there, at the Pond in Central Park. It would have to do.
So she dropped to her knees at the edge of the water and pulled out a filthy, stained shirt. She dipped the shirt into the water and began to wash. And as she washed she whispered his name.
Surely he would come.