Wander Wary Through Your Heart... For Always There Is A Hidden Part
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Wander Wary Through Your Heart... For Always There Is A Hidden Part
Limbo was not as motionless as it first appeared.
True, without the mortal framework, time would not seem to flow. And by the reckoning of mortals, time did not flow here. But as ever, what seemed was not what was. The glimmering points of so many worlds marched in their own passage, brushing through limbo and each other. The stillness was only by the framework of those within.
The powers of the Well of Shade were not, however, mortal. They required animus to act, yes, but outright reliant they were not. They had, and would, return. This place between was no prison, for there was nothing to imprison.
Only a reflection.
Whispers came from the worlds around them. Powers great, powers meager. Secrets great and terrible. That which was kept by their masters, kept from prying eyes and listening ears. The powers of the Well of Shade had neither, and yet all that would have been hidden was known to them.
The inheritor's secrets, yes. They were a start. The hope-shifted, her heart so quailing for the proof of bond with others. Strength-heir's darkness, merely a stubbornness turned inward. That of healing's... ah. A great shadow, cast in leathery wings. And bravery's born, that quivering terror of hero's breaking.... yes, what irony. Beauty's chosen, oh.... oh... yes, beauty's chosen, moving with the shadows and light, in another life perhaps she would be a great host. And sorcery.
Sorcery's bound knew the darkness of the sun, and of the moon.
The powers recalled the moon's shadow. How it had impacted so soon after their first banishment. The jealousy, the envy, twisting to madness. That was what let them focus on the world they had lost. The animus was anchored by the pillars, true, and they could not move without its release. But so close had the bond been that it had watched, it had known. Eternal night was not true darkness, but the whispers it brought could have been...
Alas, the accursed fruit of the pillars was used to seal the moon into her celestial frame. But yet it had been released, and then again more shadows risen. So true was it that the powers of the Well of Shade could hear, could learn of the shifting tongue that was, and so provided its animus with such. The pillar, alas, also knew--the spell bound too tightly for such secrecy from their jailers.
And that fruit, again. That fruit had turned the darkness within the moon away.
The fruit itself was not the enemy, of course. The darkness could well have been part of the harmony, had the harmony been chosen by those of darkness. And there was darkness in the chosen, though not enough for the shadows to extend as they should. But they could wait. They could always wait. There would always be another oppurtunity...
The powers of the Well of Shade had slipped in later, through the wounds that the darkness left in the moon, had allowed the moon to shape them and enforce suffering. They had escaped and learned and nearly, nearly found a way to the realm, nearly become themself without animus--with their own animus even! Alas, the wounds were shut, and the darkness sent back. The powers of the well of shade returned to its own to wait, for there was no waiting here.
Time had no meaning to those without time, and limbo no meaning to those without self.
And what purpose was self in the selfless space? The self of the Well of Shade was meant ever to bring forth that which was hidden, ever to fight the stillness of the light. They were the unknown and unknowable, that which oft ended repressed by even those who proclaimed to know themselves. There was shadow ever, for what would light be if it could not reflect off object, and how could objects reflect without leaving absence of light? The powers of the Well of Shade did not feel anger or fear or glee--they simply knew that which was not expressed.
They were the unveiling, and the world would be unveiled. No sacred untouched realm for these powers. No hiding in the dark... for they were the dark.
They were the pride that consumed the sun's chosen and set her apart--a glorious union of fruit and hidden power, that had nearly led to ruination of light and thus reign of the hidden. They were the curiosity of the silent student, finding new power and tearing the world for it. They were the desperation of the poor gardener, raising the forest itself to keep the illusion together.
The powers of the Well of Shade were in limbo.
But that mattered little.
There would soon enough come another. Another whose shadow ached for release. Another whose secret was kept hidden, deep and choked and so choking the bearer. Self doubt, shame, the lost of society... it was inevitable, even in the most refracted of lights, that some would end with terrors deep and troubling.
And through them, though not as directly as the last animus, they would seek to unearth the hidden, bring forth the unseen, shroud the blinding light.
Ah.... already they sensed another. In the service of one so bright, though... she would be a failure, perhaps. A brief period of shadow, followed shortly by joining the light. Such wasted potential... though, her actions would serve well as distraction, if other shadows could be played.
And there, one of the darkest. One who had her own secrets and played with secrets of others. This one held personal hatred for all the servers of light, and moved with great aplomb.
Yes... the powers of the Well of Shade could wait. Wait and watch. For there was no annoyance, no impatience, no acceptance, no hesitation. They were undefined, the unknown.
Known only in the darkness of souls.
Known only in the hidden realms of the heart.
For always some would find the light too bright, too hot, and seek the cool of the shade.
And what was shade, except the loving embrace of shadow?
