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Interesting Conversationalist
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 Posted: Tue Nov 15, 2011 7:44 pm
Journal ~~~
It is in this leather-bound journal which I write the passings of the days, commonplace or not, of the life of the witch foreknown as Fae. Within these pages lie the secrets only of which I may lay eyes on, for the sole purpose so that I may never forget.
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Posted: Fri Nov 18, 2011 3:49 am
Tenth of November, eleventh day of frost
As my first entry, I should mention that things are not as they always have been.
There is a peculiar feeling in the air. It's a curious sensation, the clarify of foresight -- I'm not quite sure I appreciate it for what it is. I have always had a particular gift for Seeing, but the Sight is a fickle thing, never always clear in meaning nor promising what you see is future truth. Still, there is something in the air, and although I do not know what, I am certain this is a moment of rare clairvoyance. Something is happening, something I cannot place my finger on, but I can feel it. It creeps along my skin, like the chill of the first frost in autumn, not quite chilling to the bone but none the less stealing the warmth from you, coaxing a shiver.
I am certain it has something to do with that bottle...~*~*~ Fae lifted her pen from the parchment, exhaling slowly as she slid a strand of ebony hair behind one ear and straightened a little where she sat at her work-desk. In front of her, piles of books and other extraneous materials littered her work space, a controlled chaos of spare ink, assorted jewelry and dark ribbons, each sorted by some unknown system into a cryptic pattern against the wood. Within the spacious room on the first floor of her shop, the desk did not seem out of place -- rows of book cases lined the walls, piled high with an assortment of leather-bound writings, haphazardly slid into place. The table near the other end, too, was an assortment of various things, this time mostly of multicolored bottles, spanning onto the waist-high wall which separated the room from the section of the kitchen. There against the window at the front of her shop, she viewed the day as if through a looking glass; from the east, the mid-morning sun shown brightly through the panes of glass, casting fingertips of brilliant sunlight onto the tan and cream parchment to spill over the rosewood desk, illuminating the room. The sounds of the town, too, could be heard from where she sat, people meandering through the streets lined with shops, the smells of bread from the bakery and sounds of idle chatter wafting through the streets, unable to extend through the thick stone walls. Still, the scene was picturesque, lending itself to the imagination of the rest of the senses.
Letting her eyes lift from the parchment, the witch settled her pen down against the dark wood, tilting her head a little to the side to gaze out the window for a moment, expression muted and thoughtful. It was as any other day -- already, three customers had come and gone, two idly eyeing the selection of charms and potions available before selecting each a spell to suit their needs, the other picking up an enchanted ring he had ordered the day before. Outside, there seemed nothing unusual or suspicious, nothing that would raise immediate alarm, or to set it apart from any other morning. Still, Fae felt an uneasiness in the air, the sensation of something lingering at the edge of her mind prevalent despite the peace of the morning, coaxing her to look up, not for the first time that day. It was the sort of sensation you felt when you felt watched, like there was a pair of eyes staring at you from the dark, but when you turned around, no one was there. But there was no one in her shop -- the runes by the door ensured it, carved deep into the wooden frame -- and in the end each time she looked up she was forced to return to her work, pacified by logic but still not quite satisfied.
As with the times before, Fae finally let her eyes drift back from the window to the spell in front of her, looking it over for a moment before returning to her work. This time, she did not reach for the pen -- the runes had been completed, the circle of cryptic sketches precise and clean, dark ink staining the paper already dried from the air and sun. Instead, the witch folded the paper in her hands, reaching for an envelope by the side of her desk before slipping it within before sealing it, placing it back on the desk. Lifting her hands, she placed them on the envelope, shifting a little in the seat to sit up straighter before closing her eyes, relaxing completely as she exhaled slowly. The air in the room grew still, as if in anticipation, before a crackle of tension collected around her body, the folds of her black dress lifting as if gravity had shifted. A gentle hum vibrated, and within a few seconds a gentle gold glow appeared just beneath her fingertips, tendrils of magic swirling in patterns much like the ones on the parchment on the desk. They lingered for a moment, growing brighter, until it seemed that the light from the room paled to that of the design on the desk, before it finally began to fade once more. The thrum of vibration disappeared, and there was silence once more in the room. Fae slid open her eyes after taking another, slightly deeper breath, exhaling it in a gentle sight and lifting the envelope. It looked no different than it had a moment before, completely unmarred by ink or otherwise -- even the feel of magic was gone. It would only return upon opening, the light she had summoned providing a local farmer the appropriate weather for his crops.
She was about to set it aside when her fingers lingered beneath it, as if unwilling to put it down. Fae sat there a few moments, staring at the envelope with a slightly bewildered look, eyebrows furrowing before she finally stood, going to the door.~*~*~ I don't know what possessed me to go out that day. Normally, I do not personally deliver orders, certainly not menial weather spells. Should the customer desire, they sometimes recruit another to act as a delivery service, often a child who may be spared at the time, but often they return to pick up the item themselves, with the exception being if the order is of great significance, or if my services are required in addition to the object. The spell was common and simple, something I should not have thought about a moment further, and yet I found myself standing anyway, picking up my cloak and going to the door, unbidden.~*~*~ The streets became more busy as Fae continued through the streets, walking with the same, unhurried steps that most the other inhabitants of the town took, with the exception of their occasional stops to peek into shop windows. Despite the lighter, more vibrant apparel the townsfolk generally wore, the witch did not seem to stand out as would have likely been suspected, knee-length black dress blending in quite well with the range of shades and tones. Every so often, someone would smile and offer her a greeting as they passed, and she nodded in reply, only the smallest of conservative smiles curling the corners of her lips. Still, there was an ease with which she walked, far more relaxed than she had been in her own shop -- the pressure in the air had vanished, the uneasiness seemingly blown away by the wind, almost as if pacified that she had left the building.
She had nearly approached the town square when the air suddenly shifted again. Stopping mid-motion, snapping to attention with a sudden clarity, the witch tensed a little as she froze, her eyes slowly sliding like a radar over the surrounding area. A few people looked up as they passed by, giving her a bewildered look, but for the most part they merely moved around her, going on their way without a fuss. And then, suddenly, there was a voice over the chatter of the crowd.
"THIEF!"
Spinning with liquid elegance, Fae turned to watch a cloaked figure speed in her direction, hood pulled heavily over their face to hide. In their hand, a dark, spherical object had been tucked protectively against their chest, fingers curled tightly around it as they ran. Without thinking, the dark-haired witch extended her own like lightning, spreading her fingers, palm up, in a beckoning gesture, her eyes focused intently on the object. Unbidden, it suddenly slipped from the thief's grasp, flying quickly through the air until connecting with her palm. Startled, the figure paused for half a second, taken by surprise, but the sounds of shouts were closing in, the word 'thief' beginning to echo off of all the walls. Taking just a second longer to look back at the bottle Fae now held in one hand, the figure then ducked into a nearby alley, before disappearing completely out of sight. By the time she got the mouth of the alleyway, the mysterious figure was gone.
Staring into the shadowed alley for a few breaths longer, she finally lowered her eyes to the object in her hand, finding herself cupping a smooth, black bottle.
The commotion settled soon after the figure disappeared, but the owner of the bottle never appeared to claim the stolen item. Perhaps the theft had merely been speculation from the crowd.~*~*~ The feeling is not quite forboding, and yet there is a curiousness to it that causes me to stop on occasion to stare at it. Sometimes the light will catch it from where I did not place it on the window sill, gold glistening like the reflection of light eye of an animal in the evening. Other times it's merely a stronger sensation of being watched, enough that it will make a guest shiver and mention the approaching winter, regardless of whether there is a fire in the stone place. Always I give it a quizzical look, pondering over it for half a moment before realizing the nonsense in contemplating a bottle and return to my work.
I am sure there is something quite interesting about that bottle.
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Interesting Conversationalist
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