Analeigh Franklin (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} shadowedgirl) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} darkcarnivale,@ 2012-01-26 11:25:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
WHEN: Late Night, Backlot
WHERE: Outside an empty tent
WHAT: Narrative. Leigh decides to practice her shadow manipulation.
RATING: Moderate for Language
She was drawn to it, the piece of dun colored tent back-lit by a soft yellow light. It reminded her of parchment, old paper, and she wanted to create. For once, the darkness was at bay. Maybe it was foolish to play with it so, but she wanted to try. To fine tune her abilities to where she could create shapes and minute details. She could already create black birds, which where her favorite, so she walked over and plunked down in the dirt, staring at the tent.
It took a few moments, but a shape drew upwards and formed itself. It was a woman in an elaborate dress. She walked the woman around and she moved as if she were real, behind the curtain. Dismissing it after a few moments, she created another woman and then dismissed that.
She tried so many. Birds. Wolves. People talking, dancing. By the time she was nearly finished, her eyes were getting tired. Finally, staring up at the canvas, lightly blowing from an errant breeze, she summoned forth a large shape. The body of a man, the head of a bull. The legend of the minotaur, not like the one she knew. It moved as she stared, wiling it to, but then, its head turned towards her. She lifted her chin, watching it, surprised when it moved forward and she hadn't willed it to. Not consciously.
The shadows pulled free from the canvas. She wasn't doing that. The shape grew larger, looming over her, stalking towards her, and her heart started racing. Her concentration was shot. She was too tired. And the shadows...
Raking her hand out, she let out a soft noise of fright as her fingers and will scattered the shadows. The shape's head lifted, mouth opening in rage as it tore apart, and she wheeled backwards, falling on her ass. She stared up at the suddenly blank canvas, still fluttering slightly in the breeze. What the fuck was that?
She didn't have to ask. She knew the answer. Fear. She had to learn how to control these shadows before they controlled her. It wasn't just light she was bending. There was some sort of empathy attached to all of this as well. She sat for a long moment, raking her fingers back through her hair before she covered her face with her palms. The note was still in her back pocket, unsolved, and she lifted her chin to stare at the moon. Suddenly, she regretted killing the only other shadowmancer she'd known.