Orb: 13th of Rebirth's Decline

[brosif]

Ghosts cling to the entryway and nothing ever remains unmarked. Unmade or undone, bone pressing on flesh. Fresh blueberries in autumn, with two moons hanging overhead in the afternoon sun. The scent of it stained her gums.

[Sif’s face is not in view. She speaks quietly, her words not intended for consumption. Her necklace has been tossed to the ground, and the only thing visible is her boots. They are caked in mud and underbrush. Her feet move about restlessly, motions as random and disconnected as her speech.]

We ever attempt substitution, until the original is opaque. Wax paper in a thunderstorm, dried out the next morning.

[ooc: Sif has Snow's visions! If you want her to read your character, give some details here.]

Comments

[demonsintheoven]

[[There is a rather pained look on Snow's face]]

They went in you, didn't they...?

[[her voice is quiet and somewhat more composed than normal]]

[brosif]

In and out, over and under.

[She laughs, and it is desperate.]

Like a wave.

[demonsintheoven]

I didn't mean for that to happen...

[brosif]

[Lightly, almost like a song:] They didn't mean for you to happen. And yet.

[demonsintheoven]

No one means for me to happen...

[[She's quiet a moment]]

How can I take it back, so you are freed....?

[shorterinperson]

Sif? Are you alright?

[brosif]

Alanna.

[Her feet still.]

I think I've killed a raven.

[shorterinperson]

[ She frowns. ]

Is that a problem?

[brosif]

For the raven, certainly.

[shorterinperson]

What do you care about a raven?

[thoreal]

Sif? I have been searching for you. What happened? What is this?

[brosif]

[Thor's voice reaches Sif, even in this state. A beacon, as it always has been.

But his voice brings other things, too. Images she is fully immersed in, and does not understand. Granite, turned to dust. Creatures carved out of scale and sinew, that she has only ever read about.

She stills.]

Sentiment.

[thoreal]

[The word means more to him than it does to her, but he does not make the connection, yet.] What--? Sif, where are you? I will come to you.

[brosif]

[Sif does not have anything close to Snow's experience with these images. The first two days, she stumbled about the kingdom, unable to discern vision from reality. It is still a challenge, and the low tone of Thor's voice is as much a hindrance as a help.

He is a fixed point: holding her here, present. He is a fixed point, giving the images something to focus on. She does not see the woods around her, but a city she has no name for. A cage falling from the sky, and the god inside it.]

Thor!

[It is a plea and a question.]

[thoreal]

I need more than that, my friend. Where are you?

[halfwitch]

You sound like the crazy lady.

[brosif]

Perhaps I am.

[halfwitch]

You didn't act like you were before.

[brosif]

We are none of us as we were before.

[halfwitch]

[Long stare]

What?

[ladysarmour]

My lady? Lady Sif?

[brosif]

[A sharp intake of breath. Then, for a long while, Sif is silent. When she speaks, it sounds like breaking.]

You have no lips, young one.

[ladysarmour]

I have them, here. [ A touch of her fingers to her lips, and her brow draws tight in concern. ] Are you well?

Potentail spoilers! Look away!

[brosif]

[There is much in Sansa's future, and little of it well. Sif has no need of Sight to know that. But in the girl's voice, she sees two women on worn stone. One with hair of red.

They quarrel. The woman with the hair of red falls.

There is much in Sansa's future, and little of it well. Sif reaches out a hand towards the air, uselessly.

The girl is gone.]

You are the ghost that clings. For this, I am sorry.

/looks at

[ladysarmour]

[ 'The ghost that clings?' If Sansa is a ghost, it is of Lady, Father, Mother, Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon. The ghost of the Starks, the ghost of summer. ]

You're frightening me. [ Her tone, a quiet plea. ] Please.