[February 14] For the Dedicated, the Dutiful Tags: February 14 2012 February 2012 Lorelei Hunt Valentines 2012 Read 68 times / 0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic. [February 14] For the Dedicated, the Dutiful on January 22, 2020, 11:10:57 PM In the cover of dusk, a hooded figure creeps across the cemetery, trampling graves and grass as she nears a blackened, withered tree.The tree is a broken wrist reaching into the sky with crooked and skeletal fingers. Every day, the setting sun burns behind the tree in memory of the new year. Every night, the sky scatters apologetic stars upon the few remaining, twisted branches.The hooded figure keeps her gaze ahead as she walks. She scatters violet sparks from her wand. The sparks fall harmlessly, seeking but finding no sign of magic traps.She reaches the tree, and turns her back on it. She looms instead over the humble gravestone several feet away. The coffin buried in the ground is empty, the grave but a marker. A symbol.The red sun sinks further down as she stands, her head bent, her hands clenched at her sides.A raven croaks in the distance. The witch's shoulders twitch, and she gives a shake of her head, reaching into her cloak. She draws out a round, pitted object as pale as her hand emerging from her sleeve.She holds it up to the fading daylight.A human skull.The witch flicks her wand at the dirt. She kneels, nestling the skull into the small pit at the base of the gravestone. A name is engraved on the stone: Iona McBoidShe reaches into her cloak again, pulling out bunches of white flowers. Carefully, she plants the asphodel flowers around the skull, shaping a heart where there should be none.She stands, tilting her head. If one looks extremely closely, they may notice that the skull is a touch too large and a touch too yellowed to belong to the deceased Iona McBoid. The flowers are in full bloom, cradling and obscuring her gift.She waves her wand over the skull and flowers, and for just a moment, the gift flickers, now hidden from muggle eyes.The witch steps back, admiring her offering. She turns and nearly walks into the blackened tree.Her hands fly up in surprise. For a long time, almost as long as before, she looks up at the looming tree. Flakes of scorched bark drift around her.Without a twitch, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a vial of dark, viscous liquid. She spills the contents of the vial down the trunk and onto the roots. The bark sizzles.The witch smiles. She turns, twirling between cursed tree and flowered grave, while the bubbling potion seeps into the blackened bark.When she leaves, her hood flaps off her head, and she tilts her face to the cold sky and stars, letting her red curls stream behind her. Skip to next post
[February 14] For the Dedicated, the Dutiful on January 22, 2020, 11:10:57 PM In the cover of dusk, a hooded figure creeps across the cemetery, trampling graves and grass as she nears a blackened, withered tree.The tree is a broken wrist reaching into the sky with crooked and skeletal fingers. Every day, the setting sun burns behind the tree in memory of the new year. Every night, the sky scatters apologetic stars upon the few remaining, twisted branches.The hooded figure keeps her gaze ahead as she walks. She scatters violet sparks from her wand. The sparks fall harmlessly, seeking but finding no sign of magic traps.She reaches the tree, and turns her back on it. She looms instead over the humble gravestone several feet away. The coffin buried in the ground is empty, the grave but a marker. A symbol.The red sun sinks further down as she stands, her head bent, her hands clenched at her sides.A raven croaks in the distance. The witch's shoulders twitch, and she gives a shake of her head, reaching into her cloak. She draws out a round, pitted object as pale as her hand emerging from her sleeve.She holds it up to the fading daylight.A human skull.The witch flicks her wand at the dirt. She kneels, nestling the skull into the small pit at the base of the gravestone. A name is engraved on the stone: Iona McBoidShe reaches into her cloak again, pulling out bunches of white flowers. Carefully, she plants the asphodel flowers around the skull, shaping a heart where there should be none.She stands, tilting her head. If one looks extremely closely, they may notice that the skull is a touch too large and a touch too yellowed to belong to the deceased Iona McBoid. The flowers are in full bloom, cradling and obscuring her gift.She waves her wand over the skull and flowers, and for just a moment, the gift flickers, now hidden from muggle eyes.The witch steps back, admiring her offering. She turns and nearly walks into the blackened tree.Her hands fly up in surprise. For a long time, almost as long as before, she looks up at the looming tree. Flakes of scorched bark drift around her.Without a twitch, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a vial of dark, viscous liquid. She spills the contents of the vial down the trunk and onto the roots. The bark sizzles.The witch smiles. She turns, twirling between cursed tree and flowered grave, while the bubbling potion seeps into the blackened bark.When she leaves, her hood flaps off her head, and she tilts her face to the cold sky and stars, letting her red curls stream behind her. Skip to next post
[February 14] For the Dedicated, the Dutiful