Who: Arachne & Morgana What: A deal is made or ‘how Arachne got her groove back’. (Backstory!) Where: Summerwood (Northern forest). When:Once upon a time January, 6510. Night. Warnings: None. Status: In progress.
The night was hot as any other in Summerwood but most unfortunately, the steamy night air was also oppressively full of damp and humidity-- enough so that, along with all of her other troubles, Arachne Katsaros had a head full of thick curls frizzing up in an unmanageable mess to worry about. It had, in fact, gotten so bad during the day that she had actually resorted to tugging all of it she could into a single braid, then coiling that braid into a pile on top of her head before taking her nap during the sun’s peak in the afternoon. Yet when she had woken up hours later with the usual dizziness and some loose sweaty curls sticking to the nape of her neck, the knots and snarls created from fitful sleep on the ground had just made the matter infinitely worse. Arachne suspected that she now looked properly like the wild, half-starved, vagabond she actually was, though she had no proper mirror or honest company to verify the suspicion for her. It wasn’t just her hair either. The chiton she wore-- which had once been a well-made linen of the most pristine white shade-- was now caked with stains. Every last trace of dirt, mud, dust, sweat, and grass that ever touched the chiton remained to be seen. Not that it was likely that anyone would actually see her in this state, of course. For one thing, it was far too dark out to be seen in any great detail-- only slivers of moonlight made it through the trees. For another, she had been entirely on her own for roughly three months now (though she had honestly lost track of the exact number of days) and she had rather lost all hope of ever setting eyes on another human being again.
To her credit, Arachne had started out alright three months ago. She kept calm upon being turned out of her home-- or, well, perhaps not calm precisely. Her entire being had been filled with rage (which she viewed as a fair and righteous rage, all things considered) but she hadn’t cried. She hadn’t given in to fear or panic those few months ago when she first started out for the woods alone. No, clever little Arachne had formulated a seemingly viable plan to improve her circumstances: when she hadn’t been sleeping or gathering food for herself from local vegetation, she had taken to weaving wicker goods to offer in trade to any passers-by, in hopes of gaining enough to purchase supplies in Amida’s market and thus re-launch her career as the most sought after stitch witch in the Northern region of Summerwood. The only trouble was, there hadn’t once been any passers-by in the entire three months she’d been living in the forest-- if ‘living’ was the right word for what she was doing, eking out such a miserable existence. Of course, anybody else might have headed for the bustling fishing village of Amida anyways just for the opportunity to beg after going that long without human interaction or any hope of it but Arachne couldn’t bring herself to do it, even now-- especially not now. She knew people who sometimes visited Amida and if they saw her as she was now, looking like this...
Well, her pride couldn’t bear to think of it. No, she’d much rather bide her time here in the woods alone, weaving yet another wicker basket from twigs and twine-- even in the dark. She had woven so many wicker goods by now her fingers could find their way without seeing and even if there was no profit in the exercise, it at least staved off the madness that threatened with every breath of the hot, heavy air around her.