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Author Topic: Prompt 1: God of the Night  (Read 106 times)

Lysander Stone

    (08/24/2019 at 05:41)
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It was a dark and stormy night. Rather, the storm of the night clouded out the argent moon high above. No starlight pierced the heavens. Illumination was summoned either by magical means or by the interminable will of Mother Storm. She breathed and the earth trembled. She spoke and the sky split.

Lysander heard her questioning cries but did not respond. The children who fell from her were louder than his voice could manage. As she blotted out the sky, so her children clouded the horizon. Almost it seemed she had made some arcane compact to shield the world from Moon's machinations. Luminous as Sun but with unbound dark intent, Moon could impose upon the earth only once in her cycle of birth and death - only when her body was most round and beautiful and powerful.

It was a night for small mammals to hide from predators. So Lysander hid, cowering far below the Godly war that waged above between Mother Storm and her undying enemy. A cave of dead trees was small protection against the rage of animals. The truest beasts could tear through the walls of the hiding place with ease. It would find prey within that could fight back for the fearshakes which rattled him.

Smaller protection still were the interlocking layers of wool and cotton which the boy hid beneath. Creatures did not fear wool and cotton. Perhaps, when the night was ended, they would lie in the fabric for warmth while they sucked the marrow from his bones.

He prayed to Mother Storm for her protection and he prayed to Moon for mercy from her power. But Gods are not Djinn; Gods do not grant wishes. Nor do they listen as men listen. Their will can never be swayed by the prayers of a boy alone.

Lysander was not alone.

In the distance of a desperate sprint, there would be a young man who offered solace - who had faced the Moon's rage in the past and come out with the same scars. The man was not broken by scars as the boy was broken. He had resolve and wisdom and would give himself to Moon a million times before allowing harm to any other.

Further, yet not far, a young woman had made Moon's rage her own but had not given her soul away. Marked by Moon's servant on the face and arm and belly, the woman responded the only way one could respond in the shadow of Moon; she had become unbound by the assumptions which had not protected any of them from harm.

They were no further than a desperate sprint. If a creeping form of joyous rage and limitless bloodhunger prowled toward Lysander's cave, he would see it and he would run to them and he would give them to Moon as he had given Aiden to Moon. And he would be safe from her terrible will until the next time she turned her gaze upon him.

Only Mother Storm protected from the full power of Moon. Lysander, who cowered beneath wool and cotton, looked without eyes in all directions and kept vigil for the sign that Moon had become unbound. The night would last only hours - and a month would pass before another night such as this.
« Last Edit: 08/27/2019 at 15:13 by Lysander Stone »
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.