in tenebris est veritas.
“I am called Chaele,” she responds with an equal tone, hesitantly amiable. Her empty hands rise to clutch at her bare arms in the cool evening air, equally a gesture of warming as of idle protection, as her chin lifts to get a better look at the fresh stars in the sky. A wispy overcast glows in the bright moonlight, the moon’s full face casting an undulating reflection on the wide ocean. The twilight always seems to last forever, until it doesn’t.
“I have come to harvest pieces of purpose,” she explains, one arm parting from where they cross to lift at the strap of her bag. It jangles faintly with the sound of shells and stones and other shore-touched debris. “Each is said to have different meanings, which combine to invoke complex intentions in ritual magic. That is what I mean when I describe the power of this place.” Not its divine precedence.
Her gaze moves from her bag, apparently avoiding Hadama’s gaze now, to regard the artful entanglement of coral and sea glass at her side. Still it continues on, its music swelling and fading in the slow, rhythmic breezes of the night. “But perhaps it is absurd, to take from one sacred thing in the name of another.”
“I have come to harvest pieces of purpose,” she explains, one arm parting from where they cross to lift at the strap of her bag. It jangles faintly with the sound of shells and stones and other shore-touched debris. “Each is said to have different meanings, which combine to invoke complex intentions in ritual magic. That is what I mean when I describe the power of this place.” Not its divine precedence.
Her gaze moves from her bag, apparently avoiding Hadama’s gaze now, to regard the artful entanglement of coral and sea glass at her side. Still it continues on, its music swelling and fading in the slow, rhythmic breezes of the night. “But perhaps it is absurd, to take from one sacred thing in the name of another.”
