A Shadow of Many Names

A Letter to Cadence Greystone (04/18/14)

Dear Cadence,

It has been some time since we last spoke and I was wondering if you were able to give my offer any additional thought. I wish to stress again that none of us would find you a burden if you stayed with us and, in fact, would welcome your company. 

I really do worry that I frightened you away with my suggestions, but given your current situation I do not see many options available to me to suggest. I only want to try and help you where I can, Cadence, to the best of my abilities.

I hope this letter otherwise finds you well and I hope we can have some time to chat again in the not too distant future.

Your friend,
Natharai Ebonrook

Reblog - Posted 1 hour ago with 5 notes
He has always hated mirrors.

No matter how much he tried to ignore the face staring back at him, no matter how much he attempted to convince himself that it was indeed him, it always felt like a lie. Of all the names, of all the lives, he constructed, all it did in the end was further blur the lines of just who he was anymore. Identity, no matter how much the warlock craved it, no matter how close he found himself to finding it, seemed to elude him constantly.

Sometimes in the early morning, within the privacy of his bedroom, Natharai would toss a towel over the topmost portion of the freestanding mirror and position it so it would block the view of his face. There he would stand for countless minutes, shirtless and in his skins, and simply concentrate on the rise and fall of his chest. He would breathe in deep and watch his muscles contract and relax as the machinery of his body went about its natural programming.

Breathe in, breathe out… Breathe in, breathe out…

No matter how much dissonance of the self would be created from seeing his face, the sight of his body was a comfort. This part of him, at least, felt like it was his – right down to the beating of his heart and the sensation of air rushing into his lungs. As strange as it was to say, the sight of it made him feel real and not just some made-up character. Though that alone was a troubling thought…

How much time had he spent running? This all seemed so be going on for so long and he could feel finally feel the ache in his bones and the heaviness of his footsteps. The fear he felt for so many years had been numbed by exhaustion.

Yet the more he poured over his carefully-laid out schedules and encrypted notes, it started to become clear that even though he had been clinging to this timetable for all these years, as if it were his own holy gospel, that none of it mattered in the end. The night he was infected by the Curse altered his plans irrevocably and the warlock found himself running out of time.

The gnawing hunger he felt nearly constantly had steadily grown in strength over the years, the Wolf howling for more, and Natharai knew that the day on when he could sate it no longer was slowly approaching. He had to find the courage to make his next movements, and soon, lest he know oblivion completely.

He has always hated mirrors.

No matter how much he tried to ignore the face staring back at him, no matter how much he attempted to convince himself that it was indeed him, it always felt like a lie. Of all the names, of all the lives, he constructed, all it did in the end was further blur the lines of just who he was anymore. Identity, no matter how much the warlock craved it, no matter how close he found himself to finding it, seemed to elude him constantly.

Sometimes in the early morning, within the privacy of his bedroom, Natharai would toss a towel over the topmost portion of the freestanding mirror and position it so it would block the view of his face. There he would stand for countless minutes, shirtless and in his skins, and simply concentrate on the rise and fall of his chest. He would breathe in deep and watch his muscles contract and relax as the machinery of his body went about its natural programming.

Breathe in, breathe out… Breathe in, breathe out…

No matter how much dissonance of the self would be created from seeing his face, the sight of his body was a comfort. This part of him, at least, felt like it was his – right down to the beating of his heart and the sensation of air rushing into his lungs. As strange as it was to say, the sight of it made him feel real and not just some made-up character. Though that alone was a troubling thought…

How much time had he spent running? This all seemed so be going on for so long and he could feel finally feel the ache in his bones and the heaviness of his footsteps. The fear he felt for so many years had been numbed by exhaustion.

Yet the more he poured over his carefully-laid out schedules and encrypted notes, it started to become clear that even though he had been clinging to this timetable for all these years, as if it were his own holy gospel, that none of it mattered in the end. The night he was infected by the Curse altered his plans irrevocably and the warlock found himself running out of time.

The gnawing hunger he felt nearly constantly had steadily grown in strength over the years, the Wolf howling for more, and Natharai knew that the day on when he could sate it no longer was slowly approaching. He had to find the courage to make his next movements, and soon, lest he know oblivion completely.

(Source: lisquid)

magicalnaturetour:

✿ Chouette ✿ (by ✿ nicolas_gent ✿) :)

magicalnaturetour:

✿ Chouette ✿ (by ✿ nicolas_gent ✿) :)

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tagged as → #Valtiel
originalsbyitalia:

Witch’s Book of Incantations, potions, crystals and etc.
#WitchesofEastEnd #Lifetime TV show prop.  TV series is based on the book by #MelissaDeLaCruz.

originalsbyitalia:

Witch’s Book of Incantations, potions, crystals and etc.

#WitchesofEastEnd #Lifetime TV show prop.  TV series is based on the book by #MelissaDeLaCruz.

Reblog - Posted 2 days ago - via / Source with 1,011 notes
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In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.

(Source: lowkeloki)

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tagged as → #the storyteller

(Source: booksandtea)

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Like a magpie, I am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales, dead languages, weird folk beliefs, fascinating religions, and more."
— Laini Taylor, Lips Touch: Three Times  (via mirroir)

(Source: moriartysdance)

Reblog - Posted 3 days ago - via / Source with 2,090 notes