07-17-2018, 01:17 AM
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Imperia is not like them. There is no mystical bond linking her to another. She can not sense information that does not belong to her own mind. She is different. Outside. Separate. Alone. No, not alone. Not really. While there is no intimate link between minds, Imperia knows the Maker is with her. Most people will chalk it up to superstitious hogwash, but how can they explain how she has happened upon people in need before they even begin calling for help time and time again? Imperia believes it is the work of her goddess, other might belief it is dumb luck, but there is no denying her unique ability to arrive before she is even needed. It begins with a tug. Not a physical one, but metaphysical. As if someone tied a tiny, invisible string around her chest and pulls, pulls, pulls ever so slightly. Just enough to rouse the slumbering woman from her dreams. Thick curls the color of a raven's wing drape over pillow and down the edge of the bed, entangling themselves around slender limbs of freckled ivory. Luminescent eyes of silver moonlight concealed beneath long lashes flutter once, twice, before the bleariness of sleep disappears and the comfortable clutter of her cottage is revealed in the darkness.
Her dreams are nothing more than a faint memory, but Peri awoke with the vague impression that she needs to be somewhere. Where or why is a mystery to her, but her body seems to move of its own accord. Lithe legs untangle themselves from silken sheets as the slender young woman rights herself on the side of the bed, pausing a moment or two in order to collect her wild curls and secure them into a sloppy braid which still brushes her hips when she stands. Marguerite used to tell her all the time that she should cut it, that keeping it long puts her in greater danger should anyone try to attack her, but Peri never did. Despite her mother's protests, she knows that Marguerite enjoyed braiding her hair into elaborate styles, especially when her mom grew too weak to leave the house. The night air is cool against her naked skin, and the woman is quick to pull on a vintage-style nightgown before venturing out into the darkness. She walks and walks, following the unusual instinct further and further into the night. Briefly, she realizes that she has forgotten shoes, but that matters not when she finds herself distracted by screaming. And then the earth shakes.
Rocks tremble and quake, the ground itself seeming to quake with fear as the powerful vibrations threaten to send Imperia sprawling onto the grass. Miraculously enough, she maintains her footing. Peri thinks she should be more scared than she is, but she is filled with a sense of confidence which does not belong to her. A lone figure moves up ahead. Bastille. Why does she know that? How does she know? It is far too dark for the naked eye to discern features from this far away. But not all things makes sense when guided by a goddess. Imperia has simply learned to accept it and move on, especially because the situations in which the Maker takes an active role tend to be time-sensitive. Her pace quickens, stride opening to cover fresh obstacles in the earth with an uncanny grace. She spots hazel not long after, crying amidst considerable destruction to the surrounding area. Bast hovers nearby, obviously unsure of how to console the girl. But not Peri.
With arms outstretched, the young woman moves to engulf Hazel in a comforting embrace, stroking the other's hair as if she were the elder sibling comforting the youngest after a troubling nightmare. "Shh..." she coos. Imperia is oblivious to the events which led up to this moment. All she knows is that a friend is crying and that Peri is in a position to lend comfort. She chooses not to mention the shattered earth and instead directs her gaze up to Bast, giving him a look that makes it clear she disapproves of how he just hovers. "Give her a hug, you fool," her expression seems to say.
Her dreams are nothing more than a faint memory, but Peri awoke with the vague impression that she needs to be somewhere. Where or why is a mystery to her, but her body seems to move of its own accord. Lithe legs untangle themselves from silken sheets as the slender young woman rights herself on the side of the bed, pausing a moment or two in order to collect her wild curls and secure them into a sloppy braid which still brushes her hips when she stands. Marguerite used to tell her all the time that she should cut it, that keeping it long puts her in greater danger should anyone try to attack her, but Peri never did. Despite her mother's protests, she knows that Marguerite enjoyed braiding her hair into elaborate styles, especially when her mom grew too weak to leave the house. The night air is cool against her naked skin, and the woman is quick to pull on a vintage-style nightgown before venturing out into the darkness. She walks and walks, following the unusual instinct further and further into the night. Briefly, she realizes that she has forgotten shoes, but that matters not when she finds herself distracted by screaming. And then the earth shakes.
Rocks tremble and quake, the ground itself seeming to quake with fear as the powerful vibrations threaten to send Imperia sprawling onto the grass. Miraculously enough, she maintains her footing. Peri thinks she should be more scared than she is, but she is filled with a sense of confidence which does not belong to her. A lone figure moves up ahead. Bastille. Why does she know that? How does she know? It is far too dark for the naked eye to discern features from this far away. But not all things makes sense when guided by a goddess. Imperia has simply learned to accept it and move on, especially because the situations in which the Maker takes an active role tend to be time-sensitive. Her pace quickens, stride opening to cover fresh obstacles in the earth with an uncanny grace. She spots hazel not long after, crying amidst considerable destruction to the surrounding area. Bast hovers nearby, obviously unsure of how to console the girl. But not Peri.
With arms outstretched, the young woman moves to engulf Hazel in a comforting embrace, stroking the other's hair as if she were the elder sibling comforting the youngest after a troubling nightmare. "Shh..." she coos. Imperia is oblivious to the events which led up to this moment. All she knows is that a friend is crying and that Peri is in a position to lend comfort. She chooses not to mention the shattered earth and instead directs her gaze up to Bast, giving him a look that makes it clear she disapproves of how he just hovers. "Give her a hug, you fool," her expression seems to say.