Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear? Who: Marzanna & Chernobog What: A shared dream remarking on past histories. Where: Outside of an unnamed village in Poland, near the Masuria Lakeland area. When: One was young and one was old, and there was still much to be told.
Why and what art thou dreaming here? Sure thou art come O'er far-off seas, A wonder to these garden trees! Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress, Strange, above all, thy length of tress, And this all solemn silentness!
He had difficulties moving through sun’s hours.
Forced to jump from shadow to shadow, pulling the shadows of trees toward him so that he might move swiftly, became rather draining. Sometimes he would return to his kingdom beneath the earth bored and desiring to be amongst the mortals for longer. The darker hours, when the sky was absent of its glowing ruler, were his domain. It was why painful, drawn out deaths seemed most common during the day - it wasn’t as easy for him to retrieve their souls. But after nightfall, as was often the case, people would drift to his world in his arms as they slept, held tightly in his embrace. Darkness was his plaything and his instrument; shadows provided the comfort the dying needed to slip away.
Night time was when he moved like smoke over the frozen landscape and peered into the windows of the mortal’s homes. He was so lonely; the souls only provided so much companionship before needing to rest. Regardless, he found himself craving the attention of the living. With tendril-shaped fingers, Chernobog clutched at the windowsill of a small home. The fire inside was blazing and cast shadows about the room. The light fell and flickered over the shape of a small child (A baby, he had to remind himself; there were so many words to remember) with soft black curls and large, light eyes. The black god smiled - then seemed to dissolve as he left the window and reformed in the darkest corner of the room, directly on the side of the fireplace where the light could not reach.
She seemed alone, her caretaker gone into another room while the infant amused herself with a small doll. As soon as he entered the room, those large, eyes (Green, he realized, trying to remember the name of the color) instantly moved to him. Never before had mortals noticed him, not unless they were en route to their eternal rest, ready for him to remove them from this lingering coil that wrapped about their physical selves. For a moment, the god watched the child and the child watched the god; she held her doll, which was made to look like her with long black hair and pale skin, tightly to her small chest, her chubby fingers wrapped around her toy. Each was considering, and possibly waiting for the other to move first.
“Gah,” she burbled, the noise sudden and sparking like the crackling of the fire nearby. A smile curved her little mouth; whoever the stranger was, surely he could mean no harm. Nothing in her life thus far had taught her to dislike those she did not know - everyone had been kind and doting on the small, pretty child. Marzanna waved the doll, waved her arms, her eyes never leaving the god’s miasmas form.
Chernobog found himself moving his shaded cheeks to form a smile in response to the baby. He moved forward a foot, tentatively, and paused to look about the home. He was sure the mortals would not see him but this child had surprised him. What if the older mortals could see him as well? Still, her smiling face and large green eyes captured his attention the way a dying soul could. But she wasn’t dying, no, and Chernobog could sense she had so much more life in her. He wouldn’t take her, he didn’t steal souls needlessly but take them only when their time had ended, but he wanted to be near the small child who seemed to happy.
Drifting forward from the shadows and creeping along the floor, Chernobog laid close to the darkness that the changing firelight attempted to chase away. The shadows gathered to him, causing the room to darken as he stepped forward and moved closer to the child. He paused a short foot away from her, lowering his face to her level, leaning over and into the crib, peering into her pretty eyes. They were the color of spring grasses as the sun settled on them, a color Chernobog could never quite reach because all he touched was cloaked in shadow.
He reached for the child; small, slow movements with his tendril fingers to ever so lightly stroke her plump, blushing cheek. He was only capable of carrying the weight of souls, all other substances were too heavy for his light form; but he was proficient in grasping and the art of touch. He could feel. The baby’s cheek was soft and smooth, warm to his cold touch, and his ghostly smile grew.
One of her little fists freed itself from the iron-strong grip on her doll to reach out for a finger, a familiar game she was used to playing with other adults who came into her still-small world. But she was surprised to find, mid-laugh, that her hand passed right through the stranger’s hand. Her eyes went wide, and for a moment it seemed that she would cry; her lips trembled, either from confusion or fear, for she tried again and again to take hold of the man’s hand with no results.
“Buh-gah, gooo, gah!” Marzanna muttered her dislike of these events, her lips continuing to shake as she teetered near tears. The cold on her face was not something she enjoyed: she was used to warm hands, being wrapped in thick blankets that kept the chill out and the warmth in her tiny body. Her face began to curl into an expression of unhappiness, breath being drawn up into her lungs for a loud wail that would hopefully bring her mother running to take away this disliked thing.
Chernobog recognized that facial expression. He had seen it often on the mortals who saw their loved one’s death: sadness and fright. The scrunching of the tiny baby’s face was a sure sign that wetness coming from the eyes was to follow. Tears, Chernobog reminded himself. And typically, when there were tears there was also noise. “Hush, little darling,” Chernobog spoke quietly, his words floating along the air to the baby before him. He took his hand away from her smooth cheek and crouched, becoming a small shadow on the floor with glowing eyes still directed at the child. “No need to shed your tears.”
The voice startled her, for where the...hands, if one could call them that, were cold, the voice was strangely warm and enveloping. It was sweet and soft, held a strange sort of charm that swayed the infant away from her desire to cry for help. Marzanna hicupped for a moment, suddenly unsure about what she was to do - her smiles were gone for the moment, as her wide eyes considered this thing with a new sight. Carefully, she rolled over onto her side, pushing herself up so that she could look out through the bars of her crib to watch what the stranger had become on the floor.
The fact that his size had changed so readily perplexed the small human, and her doll lay forgotten for the moment as her tiny fingers curled around the crib’s prison-like bars. Her head canted to the side a little, stray locks of black falling across her face as she waited to see what he would do next. Her nose might have sniffled a little, her eyes a little red rimmed, but for the time being she was calm.
Chernobog mirrored her movements, tipping his head to the same side as she, and began to pull himself together even more tightly than before. It took some effort, as if to take in a deep breath as he pulled close, but soon enough he had made himself into an even darker shadow and much smaller than before. The shadow of what would be the child’s little doll which she had left behind. He raised what would be the dolls shadowed arm and waved to the child, urging her to be happy and not to cry even still.
So often he had seen mortals cry, but this child was more lively than he had ever experienced. With her eyes the color of sun-touched spring grass and her soft, warm cheek. She seemed fascinated by him, not frightened or sad at his presence (at least, not anymore) and Chernobog wasn’t familiar with mortals not reacting negatively towards him. He was lonely, so lonely, but he found companionship in this tiny human.
The ghost of a smile moved over her features, surprise coloring her face at the sight of her doll. She glanced back, her head wobbling a little unsteadily on her neck, to see if her toy was still with her in the crib, then back to the shadowplay on the floor. Then she smiled more widely, pleased by the sight. Carefully, she reached out a hand, trying to grab at what she considered hers.
Seeing the child reaching for him made Chernobog almost feel...warm. He smiled further and released himself, sending his wisping figure forward towards the tiny cage-like structure for the child. He sat in front of the crib and, after a moment of gathering himself again, he took the form of a cat. If there were any particular animals he enjoyed, it would be cats and owls. They enjoyed the shadows and seemed unafraid of him. They had always been his nighttime companions and forming the shadow of a cat was incredibly easy to do.
The shadow’s would-be paws were together, its fake tail wrapped around its feet, but Chernobog’s glowing eyes still shown in even this form. “Does this make you happy, little one?” he asked from his shadowed figure. Her eyes followed his shifting form, her little mouth dropping open when he amassed in the familiar pet’s shape. The same little mouth curved into a smile, and her small hands clapped in delight of his ability. More jabbering followed, though what exactly she was trying to convey was a mystery to everyone but her own mind. Marzanna leaned through the bars again, trying to reach the shadowy figure, for the simple want of touching the familiar animal because she knew it would be soft. They also made that lovely purring noise that she liked, in the few times that her mother had allowed Marzanna to play with the animal.
Chernobog’s smile remained; he felt thrilled to have created such a reaction from this tiny child. There were no tears, no frightened looks, just happiness. Chernobog moved forward again, arching his shadowed neck so that the child could grasp him -- or at the very least, try -- but his attention was captured by a noise further inside the little home. He paused, swiveling his face towards the noise, and listened to see if the adults were returning. He wasn’t quite ready to leave the child, he liked her, his tiny playmate and he preferred to sit with her and find entertainment in one another.
One small, chubby hand was reaching out, only to find the shadowy substance untouchable to her when the noise rang out. It was conversation, a man and a woman, moving around in the home. Marzanna’s parents, most likely, and the small girl looked in the direction of where the sound was coming. The voices remained hushed, thinking the baby was asleep, and stayed in the area that they were without coming any nearer to the child’s room.
“Mama, mama,” the little girl muttered, sliding up from her crouched position to stare at the door as though she could summon her wanted parent with just a thought. But when no one appeared, she glanced down at the black, shadowy cat sitting on her floor. A small hand reached down again, then she squatted down once more to stretch out and touch whatever it was the animal was made of.
“Hgu goo bah,” she complained, growing frustrated that the animal was there but there was nothing she could do to play with it.
Chernobog took more cautious steps forward until he climbed up into the child’s crib. He sat beside the infant, making himself small and still in the form of a cat, he wanted her to touch him but knew that she could never quite grasp him. It was the same with himself- no matter how hard he would try, he wouldn’t be able to really touch the child. The feel of her skin he could achieve and under that he could hold her soul, gently, but he could never touch like mortals did. “I’ll have to go if your mother comes in here,” Chernobog whispered to the baby, not entirely sure if she understood such talk.
Little Marzanna could understand tone at best, and a few words here or there, mother being one of them; instead, though, despite his warning, she reached out eagerly to try and settle her hands into what she expected to be fur, instead only finding more intangible shadow. For a moment she contented herself with this, passing her chubby little hands through the strange substance, before turning her eyes to the creature’s glowing ones with some fascination. She muttered to herself, in the way that small children do, though her words held a curiosity, her brain attempting to comprehend what sat before her.
“Agoo, bah bah,” she solemnly applied, her hands making a cup to hold what she assumed to be the creature’s face, strands of black hair falling over her own features. Chernobog nuzzled into her little expectant hands. It wasn’t the same touch that Chernobog was sure she was used to but he prickled into her soft skin, sinking into the creases and pores.
His glowing eyes blinked once and he made a cat’s smile. “I must be cold to your touch,” he murmured. He realized the child couldn’t reply to him but he still attempted to speak to her as if she were able. “Your kind do not seem happy to be cold. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, child. I am rather lonely, and you are so accepting.” He moved closer to her, settling down on his shadow-paws and staring up at her tiny face. Marzanna’s small head canted to the side, as though seriously studying the creature that was sitting before her. Black hair slid along her skin, and she had to remove her hands from him to push the lot of it back out of her face.
Her eyes scrunched closed during the process, and upon opening she grinned at the fact that the creature was still present. Used to games of peek-a-boo and hide-and-seek had taught her young mind that things could come and go easily, that there was always a surprise to be had even in the simple act of closing one’s eyes. But the cat was still there, and her hands reached out for more of that odd sensation.
Soft footsteps began to head in the direction of Marzanna’s room, but the child was so distracted by the shadow that she gave no sign of recognition. Chernobog turned to look at the entrance to the room then turned his bright eyes back to the girl. “Little darling, I should take my leave,” he whispered as he pushed his form against her hands. “I will see you again, that I can promise. And one day I will give you a proper embrace.”
Reaching out, he touched her warm round cheek again for only a moment as the footsteps drew near, then he pulled away and sent his form through the window. He gathered on the other side of the slab of glass and looked in at the child. Had he been capable, he would have knocked gently and waved goodbye.
Her little head swiveled, watching the shadow leave. The incomprehension of why it was going cross her face, and she stood up in her crib, her face instantly scrunching in dislike. Her mouth trembled, and she began to cry as her mother entered the room. The woman believed her daughter just woken from a bad dream, and moved to hush her child, pulling the baby into her arms. Marzanna threw her fist furiously toward the window, trying to make her parent understand, but her mother simply hushed her, taking the child back with her into the other room, thinking she only needed to be fed in order to calm her tears.