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

[brosif]

[Sif smiles, sadly. Yes -- she is back. Whether the spell's time has worn thin or Thor has, as always, acted as a beacon she could not say. She suspects it may be a combination of the two.

Moreover, she wonders if the visions that came earlier -- the way that time flooded, spilled down her throat and blacked out her eyes in nostalgia -- was a sort of protection. A guard against those finale images, which rang clearer than nearly anything else. Better to be lost in memories of campfire than of comrades of Thor’s that she has never met. Better to remember when Loki used a knife to cut her hair, and not when he...

She reaches out, fingers ghosting lightly over the space too close to Thor's abdomen. A space where Loki plunged (is plunging, will plunge) a knife.]

Is it good? I see you, Thor. All that we did not wish me to know.