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008. LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG
( —if you love someone, you should accept everything and everyone that the person loves. )
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To Myra, regret was like moral excess.
When something arduous to eliminate clung to you as you begin something against your better judgement; she didn't recognise it until she did something obverse herself, the excess now seemingly impracticable to remove like an ingrained blemish on her conscious.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, she almost didn't even recognize herself—the usual brown of hair starting to fray out; her once prominent tattoos concealed by the thick cotton of the dress the villagers had provided for her; her eyes lost the burning ochre that the had. Yes, some said the change was good but this wasn't her.
There was no dazzle of the common gold for the Ichor to identify her as, the spirits ebbing and flowing out of her not as naturally as usual. She ran a palm down the side of her neck, seeing an intricately carved pattern of portent marked into her neck and shoulder blades.
Descrying, she thought to herself. Maybe practising the Sight could connect her back to the Ichor once again.
Taking the idea to action, she yanked a pin out of her hair—something the women used to hold their hair back, she knew not why—seating herself on the wooden floor on her knees. Using the sharper tip, she scratched the symbol of the all-seeing Eye and blew the residue away.
"Please let this work," she mumbled to whoever was listening.
Her palm flattened over the symbol, calling out a slow enchantment under her breath and allowing the symbol on the floor to illuminate. Once it did, she felt the chillness of the waters drawing her in like the ocean's tide. Her eyes shut on her own accord—perceiving, listening, inhaling and, for the first time, feeling.
