Men say we all bleed, the same red blood,
yet learned ways would deny it is such,
what foolish notions fill our heads,
stories fit for children sent to bed,
something glimmers there within,
a gift of starlight, so wearying,
a promise gilded and forsook,
ever humbling the sanguin hook,
O’ tis mostly, that same crimson thread,
if one ignores an illness best to dread,
O’ what gifts to bring us to such loss,
all we are given, doth come at cost.
– A Cursed Gift, 112 E.R.
The Silver Thread
There were a great many gathered in the orrery chamber. Locals and pirates, Red Women and those in contrary white. All, called by a song that touched air and heart with an alluring, joyous melancholy. Some, were cautious to enter. Three siblings, and the company that followed more than most.
Sund was already below. He stood outside a ring of Singers, at the edge of the lowest tier, just below the two steps back up a dais. He glared at Laset. She bore this little if any mind, and circled Orwell in a beam of sunlight, stood before Rihonae’s throne. It did not seem the right time of day, for the angle of the beam shone down upon him, and yet to look around, it seemed it might be.Continue reading “Chapter VI:13”