Necromancy In D Minor ✔️

High Noon Motet

Octavia held the glass vial up, and it caught the light streaming through the living room window, splashing it in colours across the wall. Encased within was a single rose petal, blood red and curled on one end. So many years had passed, yet not the barest wrinkle marred it. She'd kept it as a reminder of that night, when so many of them had rained from the sky, and a reminder of her purpose and goal, too.

Like that rose petal, her resolve could and would never wilt. She would keep pushing back against the netherborne for all eternity and whatever came after it.

After returning from her hike through the woods, Octavia had pulled out all the tomes and scrolls on necromancy. Into the wee hours of the morning she pored over them, looking for any shred of information she could find on the mysterious red symbol.

And there was nothing. No mention of symbols at all. In all her years of necromancy, she'd encountered nothing like it. Necromancy was an "ever evolving art" as her old mentor would say. They discovered new techniques and rituals every other year. With that in mind, someone out there may know the origin of the strange symbol.

Octavia was pulled from her pondering by noise coming from the backyard. Noise in Hedalda? She rose from the couch and tossed on her coat and boots on before scurrying out the back door—eager to know what miracle had dashed away the soul-sucking silence.

Behind her residence, the terrain sloped down towards the trees that separated her house from the main road. The only things back there were old fencing that looked like it had once partitioned off a garden, and a stone well as a source for water.

At the belly of the incline, a group of priests stood in a neat line. In one hand, the held opened books, while the other was stretched out in front of them. Their humming chants filled the morning air as glowing text danced and weaved around their fingers. Two onlookers stood to the side—the High Priest, Sicero and a woman she'd yet to meet. The crisp red coat she wore resembled Beatrix's attire, and the sword at her hip not unlike Pilar's. Another member of the Council.

Octavia bit the inside of her cheek. It would be best if she minded her own business, as asking too many questions could raise suspicion. Or she could feign concern. The priests were the village's protectors after all, and seeing them out and about in small groups could mean something had gone awry.

She pulled her coat tighter around her and descended the incline. Halfway down, the councilwoman turned her head and frowned at Octavia. 

Sicero followed the line of her gaze, his expression friendlier. "Miss Octavia." 

Octavia returned his smile. "Good morning."

"Let me introduce you. This is Councilwoman Diann. Diann this is—"

"I know who she is," Diann said, turning back to watch the Priests, her glossy red hair swaying with the motion. "The music teacher. Kensi had much to say about her at dinner last night. Shouldn't she be at the schoolhouse, though?"

Octavia's brows shot up and she crossed her arms over her chest. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, councilwoman." She turned her attention to Sicero. "Is something the matter?"

"Routine maintenance. Nothing to concern yourself with."

Sicero narrowed his eyes at his colleague. "You don't need to be so rude, Diann." 

"Am I being rude?" She gave the High Priest a sidelong stare over her shoulder. "I just find it funny that you and Beatrix would waste time and resources on something as frivolous as a music teacher when the netherborne are constantly breathing down our necks."

"So because despair is at your doorstep, your children shouldn't be able to live fulfilling lives enriched with happiness and culture?" Octavia asked.