28th of Cylus, 719
It was cold. It was dark. The people of the city were worried, it was written on each of their foreign, human faces. There had been whispers of people disappearing, curious but not something she truly cared about, what the land dwellers did was their own concern. But, she knew better than to waste an opportunity. Times like these were perfect for her, desperation, the need to something they could control but wouldn’t because Cirrina would not allow it. In the bones, in her words, she was one in control.
And misery loved company, the tense atmosphere was one she enjoyed. It prickled the hair on her arms, a sensation that never got old, made people twitchy and nervous even when she nothing more than a benign human. A part of her could almost feel sorry for them, prayer to deities that wouldn’t listen and didn’t care but mostly she was disgusted by their blind, obedient, deplorable faith.
Idly she leaned back in her chair, tumbling the bones between her fingers, enjoyed the smooth edges as they reminded her of when they had flesh. Right before she sucked them clean. In the bright light of the library they gleamed against her skin but most of the legged ones paid no notice yet. They were still far too busy with the dark like it would wretch them from their homes and spirit them away. Granted, they were not wrong considering it had done just that. A slow smile curved her lips, one she did not bother to mute as none truly paid attention to her yet. Listening to the murmurs she knew she’d have no better moment than now, and hadn’t Marin told her to talk to people in the city? He’d never said how. Specifications were important.
Smile sharpening into a smirk Cirrina let her eyes fall shut, tuning out the noise instead of in for once. A simple act that calmed her own over eagerness into something less dangerous, far more manageable so she could focus truly on the notes around her, not the useless words that spilled from their lips.
As always, it was like hearing her own private symphony, pulling it up from within her then spreading it to tap against the nearby notes to hear their songs as well. When she opened her eyes it was not the pointless drivel she heard, but the disarray of harmonica notes all around her. Now she just had to pick one. A slow process to prod at each person around her, to sift through the sounds to find the crisp, sweet note of loss that she was looking for or the note of bland, flat, out of tune desperation. But she would find one, or they would come to her, entranced or disturbed by the bones in her hands.
And then, she would ruin them more with simple words. Plucking apart their music until the notes were silenced.
And misery loved company, the tense atmosphere was one she enjoyed. It prickled the hair on her arms, a sensation that never got old, made people twitchy and nervous even when she nothing more than a benign human. A part of her could almost feel sorry for them, prayer to deities that wouldn’t listen and didn’t care but mostly she was disgusted by their blind, obedient, deplorable faith.
Idly she leaned back in her chair, tumbling the bones between her fingers, enjoyed the smooth edges as they reminded her of when they had flesh. Right before she sucked them clean. In the bright light of the library they gleamed against her skin but most of the legged ones paid no notice yet. They were still far too busy with the dark like it would wretch them from their homes and spirit them away. Granted, they were not wrong considering it had done just that. A slow smile curved her lips, one she did not bother to mute as none truly paid attention to her yet. Listening to the murmurs she knew she’d have no better moment than now, and hadn’t Marin told her to talk to people in the city? He’d never said how. Specifications were important.
Smile sharpening into a smirk Cirrina let her eyes fall shut, tuning out the noise instead of in for once. A simple act that calmed her own over eagerness into something less dangerous, far more manageable so she could focus truly on the notes around her, not the useless words that spilled from their lips.
As always, it was like hearing her own private symphony, pulling it up from within her then spreading it to tap against the nearby notes to hear their songs as well. When she opened her eyes it was not the pointless drivel she heard, but the disarray of harmonica notes all around her. Now she just had to pick one. A slow process to prod at each person around her, to sift through the sounds to find the crisp, sweet note of loss that she was looking for or the note of bland, flat, out of tune desperation. But she would find one, or they would come to her, entranced or disturbed by the bones in her hands.
And then, she would ruin them more with simple words. Plucking apart their music until the notes were silenced.