Robin Blackwood (emanate) wrote in faeparties, @ 2017-12-28 14:35:00 |
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Robin could not sleep. No matter how she wished it her eyes would not close and her body would not concede to the call. As of late all she could do was wander, wander and take in the sights that were offered to her eyes whether it be myriads of crystalline colors breaking upon the ice, the taste of the richest food or the loll and lilt of bodies twining in dance and pleasure. Each sight was a dazzling display of decadence dreamt up by dreamers. Still, it was not enough. So, she chose to explore the places she had yet to. The palace called her sparkling, writhing in celestial light and stolen breath. The instant she stepped inside imagination took flight in the form of her inner fancies and her clothes shimmered from simplicity into the extravagant; the skirt tumbled in silvers and pale blues as if spun from the light that encased the castle. Sky and snow flowers gathered over her breasts, dipping to her stomach, glinting eyes in the dark. Robin spun once, despite bare feet she was not cold. The tattered scarf between her fingers bent and whipped like a moth's wings between her fingers and warmed her from the tips of fingers to the pads of her toes. When she finally stopped her firekissed hair tumbled down, cascading rivers of red to her waist, curling and unfurling as it pleased. She had to stifle a high pitched giggle that was threatening to bubble up from her throat. No, no. She steadied her breath. She had dreamed of this gown, something like it, when she was a child and her grandmother told her how the Folk could spin fabric from light by plucking it from the sky to weave otherwordly decadence into existence with a mere stroke of their hand. Or perhaps it wasn't her dream at all, maybe it was the palace, maybe it was just the beauty and mystery of magic. She sighed--and the stilled, hearing a voice echoing in the distance, not speaking. Singing. Music called to her like the tide with the ocean, an irresistible pull, and despite the darkness consuming the hallways she moved forward. Each step a light flickered to life on the walls, guiding her path. Yet Robin felt a twinge of frustration, the angelic call did not seem to grow any closer. The sensible part of her wondered if it was a trap, if she'd be pulled into the shadows and swallowed whole, yet each light that burst into life with a snap reminded her of the treaty ... and curiosity, perhaps even passion, is what guided her. She shivered, then halted, her mouth opening for wonder when the hall came to an end only to open like a cavern alight under the moon. The sepulcher ceiling writhed into what looked like infinity, endlessly climbing into the midnight blue among silver laced clouds and calm. Each room echoed the voice she chased. Room upon room upon room. Was this the gallery the other girls had spoken of? The heavy, indolent melody caressed over her skin and urged her to move forard, and so she slipped under the archway of a door dim with golden light. Pastoral paintings caught her the intrigue of her gaze, yet--they were wrong. They moved, undulating with life, or was it enchantment. Robin's intrigue piqued and she stepped toward a grandoise canvas that nearly encapsulated the room from ceiling to floor; rolling hills, a river, and someone ... a distant form, reaching out for her from the writhing oils of water that ensared them in a silent call admist the haunting melody that drown Robin's ears. Robin's hand hovered, but she did not touch even as the smell of water overtook her senses. "How...?" |