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| E x i s t e n c e |
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| E x i s t e n c e |
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The Qadir felt like she was walking on air the majority of her life; from the days of floating across shifting sands to her days now, sweeping across cobble roads. No matter how heavy her feet fell, or how she stomped, there was this ease within her that told her the moment she needed to escape and be the air, she could. Of course, the feelings were more than just an internal lightness- which Azra ironically lacked with her habit of grudges and negativity. Though it general went unnoticed, the Qadir was a shadowy little thing- blending into the darkness around her as she picked the dark corners to travel around; nevertheless, they did not shift or change around her. Perhaps she was just one of them.
These things she tended to ignore, paying no attention to the long shadows that others casted when she did not. Nor did she acknowledge the habit of being as silent as could be when she usually walked, picking corners and edges to pad across rather than crunch snow, leaves, or branches underfoot. All of this was ignored until the day after she was attacked for the void cast that caused her shadow to be absent.
A Witchblood dragged the shadows from her fingertips with crackling green lightning, and, when she had awoken in the Keep courtyard, a metal band was braced around her throat. Clear, empty metal, save for the black line that sliced across it. Azra never did ask about it despite noting it later that day, after she had panicked and clawed up her throat. After she had begged at the feet of her capturer to remove it. As it went though, the band remained for now; and so the day after her violent collar came with even less shadows and more surprises.
To the shock of many, the shifty Qadir had managed friends in high places- and one such friend was one she held dearly unlike many. The graceful and kind Lady Genevieve, who spared moments for Azra even with her rather strange past. So, after arguing with men of all statuses over the collaring, the mageling decided to hunt down her friend; finding her not long after she set out as she was exactly the place Azra looked.
These things she tended to ignore, paying no attention to the long shadows that others casted when she did not. Nor did she acknowledge the habit of being as silent as could be when she usually walked, picking corners and edges to pad across rather than crunch snow, leaves, or branches underfoot. All of this was ignored until the day after she was attacked for the void cast that caused her shadow to be absent.
A Witchblood dragged the shadows from her fingertips with crackling green lightning, and, when she had awoken in the Keep courtyard, a metal band was braced around her throat. Clear, empty metal, save for the black line that sliced across it. Azra never did ask about it despite noting it later that day, after she had panicked and clawed up her throat. After she had begged at the feet of her capturer to remove it. As it went though, the band remained for now; and so the day after her violent collar came with even less shadows and more surprises.
To the shock of many, the shifty Qadir had managed friends in high places- and one such friend was one she held dearly unlike many. The graceful and kind Lady Genevieve, who spared moments for Azra even with her rather strange past. So, after arguing with men of all statuses over the collaring, the mageling decided to hunt down her friend; finding her not long after she set out as she was exactly the place Azra looked.
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The Cathedral had not echoed Azra's soft footsteps when she entered, the wearing leather of her boots scruffing lightly into the carpet across the stone floor. When the woman had spotted a figure bowed down, sat atop of a pew, she had hesitated to continue forth. There was no ability to save her if it was an unfriendly figure, only the long- and natural- shadows casting along the floor of the holy place. Slowly, though, she relaxed and decided that if it were an enemy, she could outrun them from sheer will. So she continued forwards.
It was only pure luck that the praying figure on the pew was the woman that Azra searched for. Genevieve had her head bowed in prayer when the heretic had arrived besides the pew behind her. Soft murmurs of the Spirit escaped the Howlester, which Azra briefly listened to- finding a strange comfort in, though it did not stop her from carefully intruding and interrupting.
"- Lady Genevieve?" The sudden voice softly asked, the dark-skinned woman waiting an answer rather than jumping into conversation as she often did. The noblewoman rose her head cautiously at first before she turned herself half about to examine the intruder. Nevertheless, a smile graced her lips towards Azra and she beckoned her forwards with a hand.
"Missus Azra. Please, sit." As it was not her place to argue against the invitation, the mage soon enough was placed besides the Howlester, her hands clasped as if considering prayer but not quite sure.
A long silence, interrupted by quiet chatter and Azra's nervous energy stretched over the Cathedral- blending into its towering, silent sureness. Eventually, though, she interrupt the quiet discussion with Genevieve.
"It almost feels impolite for me to be here," she shared, gazing over the columns that lined the cathedral interior.
"Anyone is welcomed here, it's a public place," Genevieve comforted, sending a friendly smile her way.
"Yes, but…" and so Azra told her- told her about her collaring and the magic that she held. She told Genevieve about being collared in childhood and wishing to escape things now. Each word only passed between the two, the powerful tranquility of the cathedral nearly muffling Azra's words all together. By the time her story had concluded, and Genevieve's curiosity had been fed for the moment, another solemn quiet covered the Qadir.
"It's funny, sometimes… sometimes I wonder if there's even any way to prove I exist." The statement was made as Azra waved her hand back towards the lack of shadow behind her, no cast in the holy dim following her hand across the floor. Not even a curl of hair was shadowed, though perhaps that was just due to the fact it was already sin black in color. And so Genevieve took the turn to tell her.
Tell her how there was always a realness to the invisible, that Azra did not have to be seen to exist. Like the Spirit? It was a question that Azra was quick to ask. The Howlester nodded and continued onwards. Yes.
"But also like love and anger," she continued, sounding far too wise for Azra to believe. It was right, she knew, you cannot see love nor anger, or any other emotion- it is simply there, guiding your hand.
Azra did not stay long in the cathedral after she was told such things, she rose with a new grace rather than just anger and silence at her feet. She thanked her friend for advice… for listening and not being angry. Azra wished the Spirit to bless Genevieve.
And when she left, her footsteps echoed through the cathedral- she did not hide in the dark for once. It wouldn't last, she would need to again eventually; but a moment … a moment of being heard and not only seen was something… she had longed for.
It was only pure luck that the praying figure on the pew was the woman that Azra searched for. Genevieve had her head bowed in prayer when the heretic had arrived besides the pew behind her. Soft murmurs of the Spirit escaped the Howlester, which Azra briefly listened to- finding a strange comfort in, though it did not stop her from carefully intruding and interrupting.
"- Lady Genevieve?" The sudden voice softly asked, the dark-skinned woman waiting an answer rather than jumping into conversation as she often did. The noblewoman rose her head cautiously at first before she turned herself half about to examine the intruder. Nevertheless, a smile graced her lips towards Azra and she beckoned her forwards with a hand.
"Missus Azra. Please, sit." As it was not her place to argue against the invitation, the mage soon enough was placed besides the Howlester, her hands clasped as if considering prayer but not quite sure.
A long silence, interrupted by quiet chatter and Azra's nervous energy stretched over the Cathedral- blending into its towering, silent sureness. Eventually, though, she interrupt the quiet discussion with Genevieve.
"It almost feels impolite for me to be here," she shared, gazing over the columns that lined the cathedral interior.
"Anyone is welcomed here, it's a public place," Genevieve comforted, sending a friendly smile her way.
"Yes, but…" and so Azra told her- told her about her collaring and the magic that she held. She told Genevieve about being collared in childhood and wishing to escape things now. Each word only passed between the two, the powerful tranquility of the cathedral nearly muffling Azra's words all together. By the time her story had concluded, and Genevieve's curiosity had been fed for the moment, another solemn quiet covered the Qadir.
"It's funny, sometimes… sometimes I wonder if there's even any way to prove I exist." The statement was made as Azra waved her hand back towards the lack of shadow behind her, no cast in the holy dim following her hand across the floor. Not even a curl of hair was shadowed, though perhaps that was just due to the fact it was already sin black in color. And so Genevieve took the turn to tell her.
Tell her how there was always a realness to the invisible, that Azra did not have to be seen to exist. Like the Spirit? It was a question that Azra was quick to ask. The Howlester nodded and continued onwards. Yes.
"But also like love and anger," she continued, sounding far too wise for Azra to believe. It was right, she knew, you cannot see love nor anger, or any other emotion- it is simply there, guiding your hand.
Azra did not stay long in the cathedral after she was told such things, she rose with a new grace rather than just anger and silence at her feet. She thanked her friend for advice… for listening and not being angry. Azra wished the Spirit to bless Genevieve.
And when she left, her footsteps echoed through the cathedral- she did not hide in the dark for once. It wouldn't last, she would need to again eventually; but a moment … a moment of being heard and not only seen was something… she had longed for.
