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05 BEACONS IN THE DARK
—BONFIRES are lit just before dusk to guide the droves of magic through the oncoming night. The sound of chirping wildlife hushes as the whooping and cheering rise up on the breeze. The violent drumbeats begin as the last speck of sun disappears on the horizon, and their pulses resonate all the way to the northern shores before fading away into the endless sky.
Every year, without fail, the rites commence on the Eve of Spring to fill the well of power for yet another year. It is a cause for joy, to usher in the new year on waves of magic. It is euphoric. Without it, ruin is sure to descend.
But upon this particular Spring Eve, there lurks a fierce sense of foreboding.
Beneath every melodic note of the lute, there exists a nervous strain in the chords.
Behind every wandering gaze, there lies a stifling restlessness.
Running rampant below the lustful skin of every being, there churns a fearful desperation.
And this tension only drives them deeper into their revelry in hopes of staving off the dread. Faeries from across Prythian, as well, traverse across the borders to share in this observance. It is a night to help them forget what looms ever closer, to help them forget that which is eating them from the inside out.
But not all who enter this land of ignorance have come for the overturning seasons.
At the toe of the northern border, concealed by the cover of tall oak trees, two such bodies appear in a flash of dark smoke.
They idle there in the shadows, wary of prying eyes and ears.
The male breathes in the crisp air, face upturned to the sky despite the canopy of leaves obstructing the stars. His eyes drift shut peacefully; pure serenity cloaks his sharp features. The female, in a similar state of amity, stares transfixed at this act of cleansing. Her violet eyes take in her companion with tender fondness, a smile floating easily onto her lips.
After a lingering moment, she looks away to offer him some privacy. Her eyes instead turn to the distance where they'd come from, smile falling away slowly when faced with the snowy mountain range in the distance. One of her hands settles upon her lower abdomen.
—TO Kazi, darkness is healing. It is untold mystery folded in a blanket of security. There is beauty in the raw midnight darkness that allows the stars to shine their brightest. Without the night sky, there is no love for the dawn. Without the moon, there is no love for the sun. The darkness holds the shadows engraved in her soul; they tempt her into the abyss with their gentle kiss.
But no matter how seductive their coaxing, she cannot give in to it, not yet.
