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[personal profile] form_mage
theme: wonder cannot be understood from the inside
characters: main four
note: the word "myrrhan," in this world, is used to refer to something mystical and awe-inspiring.

he is a doll--a body of bound wires and glass and clay, with block hands and joints still stiff from being tucked up in the attic for two hundred years--and in the mornings, when the sun rises, he blinks his eyes and stretches his legs and walks about the house, calling for the others.

aivlen doesn't answer, because aivlen has wings, wings he loves to use, and he's sleeping on the roof again, dreams full of clouds and stardust.

vey doesn't turn, because vey's got the wind in her ears and in her lungs, and on the tips of her fingers, wind she can spin and pull and read like words on a page, and she's reading now: stories from the village in the valley, howling dogs and the laughter of children.

he moves through the halls, a child-size doll who, days ago, was only a pile of limbs and cobwebs, feet that did not walk, a mouth that did not smile. he calls their names.

and brya, the last of them, does not answer, because he's too busy watching the doll: the doll that holds a dead boy's soul, the doll that had been cold and dry beneath brya's hands and then, at last, had taken a breath.

and you wonder, brya thinks, enthralled, why i called you myrrhanius.


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September 2010

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