Daughters of Creation

Chapter Twelve: Aeonian

"Eternal; everlasting"
—Aeonian

October 15

Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Emerson found herself navigating dense foliage and sidestepping random pots and incense holders as she moved deeper through Rosalyn's room. It was like a jungle in there: vine like plants hung from the ceiling, creeping over the walls as thick, broad leafed plants covered the ground and lined the walls on shelves, and trees with paddle like shapes sprung toward the ceiling out of the mass of the other plant life. She bit back a few choice words that leapt to the front of her tongue as one of the vine like plants nearly tripped her.

"Lys, tell your plants to let me pass!" Emerson growled, stopping herself from shaking her leg to dislodge the plant.

"Eam traditurum."

The plant released Emerson like a scolded child, coiling itself back toward what she assumed was the direction of the wall—she couldn't be sure considering her vision was obscured by every forsaken form of plant life on the planet—at the quiet but firm command of Rosalyn's voice. Miffed, she ran a hand through her hair and continued on her path toward where she knew Rosalyn's bed and desk to be. Ebony's low growl of greeting vibrated through Emerson as she parted one last leaf and tumbled into the little clearing large enough for Rosalyn's bed, large oak desk, and piles upon piles of different books and novels scattered in no particular organized way—at least not to Emerson's eye.

Bright green eyes stared back at her through the circular black rims of Rosalyn's glasses, enhanced by the pale pallor of her drawn face. Whatever spell Rosalyn had done to rid herself of the murderer's enchantment, or curse, had taken more out of her than Emerson had initially thought. Her conversation with Emrie Michele had been brief but she'd learned that the earth had answered Rosalyn's desires, surging to tangle itself with the green witch and mix with her magic, but Emerson hadn't found that too strange considering Rosalyn channeled the earth's magic almost as if it was her own.

From Rosalyn's criss-crossed position by the foot of her bed, Ebony sprawled out behind her like a large pillow, Emerson could see the stark glare of the mark permanently etched into Rosalyn's right hand. Now black, no longer its angry red, it looked like whatever had been contained in the mark had fled when Rosalyn had purged the darkness from her body, leaving the mark its cold black color.

"Any word from Vela?"

Emerson propped a hip against Rosalyn's bed. Shaking her head she said, "No."

Relief swept over Rosalyn's face. "Good, then that means she hasn't run into any trouble."

She nodded, chewing the inside of her lip as she debated how to best approach the topic she wanted to discuss with Rosalyn. She quirked a brow and Emerson knew she wasn't as discreet as she thought. Rosalyn nodded to a spot in front of her, absentmindedly stroking Ebony's head. Emerson pushed away from the bedside and lowered herself to the offered spot, careful not to knock over any burning incense. Unsure what to say she occupied herself by playing with the ends of her flannel.

Emerson cleared her throat, "Lys—"

"I haven't been able to fall asleep, but I've been going through all my books—even some I've taken from Hari's collection—and I think I've found the mark. I think I've found what the sigil means."

Well, it was toward the conversation she wanted to have, so Emerson allowed her curiosity to get the better of her. "What did you find?"

As if she had spent the entire night rereading what she had found, which she probably had, Rosalyn stilled her hand and said, "From what I've found it's an ancient sigil, or mark, called Ouroboros. It's of a serpent or dragon in the process of swallowing its tail, creating the end image of a circle. Said to represent eternity, the beginning and ending are one in the same, and be a symbol of life through death."