But he can't help the way his eyes light up at the mention of delving into an old memory of her instruction under that strange entity. So, not only is she willing to let him walk about in her mind, but she's offering up the years of her life in which he's the most interested in learning about?
You'll spoil him, Amelia.]
As simple as you like. We don't have to go through... years and years of memories. You can just focus on one if that's easier.
[The frustrating thing about being taught by the Witch King was that it was either too simple or overly complicated. Amelia sits there quietly, combing through her memories to see which one sticks out to her the most at the moment. Then she nods.]
I have one. Oh, but before we start...
[She looks up at her ceiling and beckons one of her windchimes to unhinge itself and float down next to her head.]
I'll have this little guy ring when I want it to end. We shouldn't spend a whole evening on it.
[Ah, her ever versatile and trusted windchimes. It's not surprising she'd find a way to utilize them, though he's not quite sure he expected a glorified alarm clock.]
Sure. That should work just fine.
Although... make sure you're comfortable before we begin. It's going to leave us both in a trance-like state during the process, and there's no getting around that part.
[But he'll go sit next to Amelia, taking up the cushion beside her.]
[But maybe it might be easier to just close her eyes regardless. She readjusts the pillow so that it makes her lower back comfortable and tucks some of her hair behind her ear.]
... Oh and of course, this.
[She reaches over to where the side table is and grabs the tissue box. It's held out to Henry expectantly.]
[Henry's voice is oddly soothing and Emerald Witch finds herself willing to let down all her defenses. Her mind untangles itself and she combs through one of the many memories she has of those lonely, dark, and dangerous years with the Witch King...
In the deepest part of her heart, she wonders what would have been different, if there was a visitor like Henry Creel in her younger years...]
⏪⏪⏪
[She lived in a world of white.
Or rather, that's what's outside the window. This is a mansion in the middle of nowhere. The flurry of pure white snow flies and swirls outside and obscures the view but everything inside is kept pristine, dry, and warm. The interior of the dwelling is a mixture of non-modern styles, Gothic, Victorian, some hints of Art Deco. One of the unifying features within was the tree trunks and branches that are embedded throughout the walls or snaking around pillars and light fixtures. And then there were the bookshelves that lined the walls of so many of the rooms that one would mistake each area as its own library instead of a place to live in.
And so this was the world she lived in. Snow, a magical mansion, and books.
In one of these alcoves, a girl who appears to be sixteen years of age can be found. The girl is dressed in a white silk blouse and a long dark skirt. Her red hair is tied up into a loose braid. Large glasses sit on the bridge of her nose, slightly lopsided and she sits on the sofa, staring outside the window with a blank expression and a book open on her lap.
At the sound of someone approaching, her voice cuts through the silence and is sharp, biting, and most of all, tired.]
[In he goes into her memory, slipping in like a shadow. And when he opens his eyes, he's met with a fantastical sight. This mansion is like something out of an old, gothic tale; imagery strengthened by the vines coiling here and there across the bookshelves, clotting up all empty spaces.
He treads forward, gazing about with curiosity. The windows are just a blinding sheen of white and snow. But when he finds someone here--Amelia, much younger, her voice surprisingly biting--his focus directs itself solely on her and just her.
Henry pretends at being unassuming, like he's used to. He clasps his hands behind his back and cinches his brows.]
Kill you? No, of course not. I'm just a visitor. Why would you say that?
[A younger Amelia whips her head around and stares at Henry with her green eyes full of distrust and caution. But because he is just a visitor in this memory, someone who blends and becomes part of its fabric her guard drops and she sighs heavily, while laying across the couch.]
Because that's what he did for a period of time. Yes, let's pull a random individual from somewhere and tell them to defeat his special apprentice to gain their freedom. Or he'd create something from whole cloth and it'd stalk me throughout this place and—
[Amelia stops when she realizes she's just ranting. The book on her legs is moved to cover her face and she just lays there like a melodramatic teenager.]
[Ah, the advantage of his powers. To simply be accepted as a presence that should be here, even if the reality is truly the opposite. Henry doesn't move any closer just yet.]
Oh. You mean your mentor. He sounds like... a difficult kind of teacher.
[To say the least. Methods of "teaching" that might as well be playing a game.]
No, don't worry. I'm not here for anything like that. I just wanted to take a look around; you don't mind the company, do you?
[Her harsh voice has softened. Green eyes look over from the top of the book at Henry and the look in her eyes is complicated. Hopeful, but hopeless. Relieved, but in pain.]
... If you want. [She sits up to make room for him and she buries her face in her knees, sighing tiredly once again. The closed book is used to gesture at the empty spot next to her.]
You can sit for a bit. Or you can go wherever and look around.
[Her next words are muffled as she wraps her arms around her legs and buries her face even more deeply.]
[He pauses, taking in those words. Young Amelia, at least in this memory, seems so... defeated. Tired. The spark of her stubbornness is still there, but it feels muted.
Finally, he moves to sit next to her.]
I'll sit. I'd rather talk to you than wander around for now.
[His eyes sweep across her once more.]
If it's any consolation... I don't want to leave. But even if I do, can't you come with me?
[That makes her look up again. Amelia purses her lips as if trying to decide how to answer Henry's question.]
... I tried already. But I don't know where I am. I thought maybe it was Antarctica or one of the Poles, maybe even Russia. You know, because of all the snow.
[She looks outside again.]
Even so, I tried. What's a little snow to a witch, right?
[There's a weak chuckle and a shake of her head.]
Maybe it just means I'm not good enough. I can't even escape effectively with all the magic I've learned so far. You'd get to leave unscathed though.
[He follows her gaze out the window, too — to that obliterating white of the snow. Strangely, he is reminded of the white walls of the lab, and the similarity strikes him in an odd way.]
I’m sorry. I’ve been trapped before, too. For decades. I know how angry it can make a person feel.
[How it changes someone.]
So is that another test? “Get strong enough until you can leave?”
[Her features soften upon hearing Henry's words. At his question, she shakes her head.]
No. In his words, I'm staying here to learn, "until further notice."
[Whimsical. Vague. Frustrating. It sounds just like the man Henry encountered in her first memory he witnessed.]
... There's a lot to learn, you know? Here. Look.
[The book she was reading is opened up again. Its contents consist of runes, similar to what the present Amelia utilizes in everyday life but it is incredibly dense and hard to penetrate in meaning except for the occasional even more foreign diagram as she flips through the pages.]
I'm only starting to begin to understand what some of these mean. So... It helps pass the time. I might practice some of it today.
[Well, the reply matches the demeanor of the man he “met” in her prior memory. So, her mentor was practically her Warden, to keep her imprisoned until she grew powerful enough to satisfy his whimsy.
Again, he thinks of the lab. Of Papa. A little too close for comfort, though he’s sure Papa would never have willingly let him leave.
He looks down at the book with so many runic writings, lifting his brow.]
For someone like me, that’s like looking at a different language. I don’t understand any of it.
[In the actual past, Amelia had no one to watch her and talk to while she practiced the arcane arts. Even though Henry is a visitor folded into this memory where his presence shouldn't cause a disturbance, there's a peculiar reaction from memory-Amelia when he offers to keep her company.
Her cheeks turn pink and she glances to the side. The lack of a smile and the way her brows furrow together could be mistaken as displeasure but her reply indicates otherwise.]
If... If you want unless you have something better to do with your time. It's not like it's going to be anything interesting.
[He says, both simply and truthfully. The way Amelia turns away from him, her complexion tinging with pink, exudes nothing but self-awareness. Company is a rare thing for her, isn’t it? And yet… so, so wanted, he would guess.
The next question slips out without him thinking.]
[His question makes her suddenly bring the book up to her face and hiding it from view.]
I've got too much to study to worry about such things.
[Is it embarrassment that prevents her from answering truthfully? Pride? She had just implied that while there have been others who passed through this dwelling they all left eventually. Maybe she was protecting herself from hoping too much.]
Do you want to see me practice or not?
[Somehow this younger version is much grumpier than her future counterpart. And that one would already be considered cantankerous.]
[Memory-Amelia sniffs and puts down her book again. Wordlessly, she pushes herself off of the sofa and begins to practice magic in front of Henry.
Her text is set upon a wooden stand and kept open for her reference. Her studying involves copying the runes she has memorized and making sure no stroke is out of place or misspelled. Soon the air is filled with blocks of the alien language of one type of magic. Though she's tracing the air quickly, it's nothing like her future self who casts magic flippantly and with the ease of a seasoned expert.
Amelia speaks to Henry (the actual past her would speak aloud to no one), just bouncing her thoughts and what she's learned off of him as he watches.]
Magic as I've come to understand it is being able to rewrite what's in front of you or write in something into existence.
Normal humans and even espers don't have the inherent energy that allows them to create rituals or processes that witches have developed since the early days when the Witch King made them.
[The finished and shimmering blocks of runes hover idly in the air and she starts organizing them into categories only she would understand.]
You know what's strange? When I asked the Witch King if our world needed magic, he said, that no, it actually didn't. He brought it into the world through witches and from there, he just wanted to watch it flourish and see how it intertwined with humanity.
[Amelia frowns at one block of runes, swearing under her breath at an error.]
Shit. I have to redo this one. Anyway, it's like adding new toys to a sandbox and seeing if the children will make something of it.
[He watches her with keen eyes and growing fascination. No, this is very different from how the Amelia he knows casts, with such ease that she makes it look as natural as breathing. This is a student who proceeds with the precise, careful consideration of someone who's still learning, who doesn't want to make any unnecessary mistakes.
It's interesting to see this, and to know he can compare the difference between the past and present. What a difference it is.
Though, funnily enough, Henry listens as though he, too, is a rapt student of magic.]
It makes sense. I come from another world altogether, you know, and there isn't any magic there. Maybe no world really needs magic.
[But what does he know?]
So did the Witch King really just... make witches?
[While she struggles with her correction of the rune, she replies to Henry, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.]
Yes, I'm rather certain... [Her finger pauses over one rune and she chastises herself again.]
Dammit, this one isn't chaining... Um, sorry about that. But I'm not too sure what that actually means. Are they extensions of himself? I've only started to get the impression that even other witches don't really want to be around him and so it's less reverence and more like fear. Maybe a mixture of both? Or have they spent so much time around humans they started to perceive him differently?
Sorry, I'm still theorizing at this point. I haven't gotten to talk to many other witches since I've started to stay here.
Also, watch out for your feet. I'm going to test one of these.
[One of the completed blocks of runes glimmers and directs it to her feet. The wooden floor starts to sprout grass and dots of white and yellow flowers and it spreads around the room. Though the blades look healthy and green, it's rather sparse and there are still patches of the wooden floor peeking through.
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sunfloras2023-04-20 07:42 pm
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Now that they're in agreement Amelia moves to the living room, motioning for Henry to do the same.]
You've been curious about what my instruction under the Witch King was like so I'm willing to share a memory from there.
[She takes a seat on one end of the large sofa.]
Almost forty years... There's a lot you could wade through but let's keep it simple.
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But he can't help the way his eyes light up at the mention of delving into an old memory of her instruction under that strange entity. So, not only is she willing to let him walk about in her mind, but she's offering up the years of her life in which he's the most interested in learning about?
You'll spoil him, Amelia.]
As simple as you like. We don't have to go through... years and years of memories. You can just focus on one if that's easier.
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I have one. Oh, but before we start...
[She looks up at her ceiling and beckons one of her windchimes to unhinge itself and float down next to her head.]
I'll have this little guy ring when I want it to end. We shouldn't spend a whole evening on it.
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Sure. That should work just fine.
Although... make sure you're comfortable before we begin. It's going to leave us both in a trance-like state during the process, and there's no getting around that part.
[But he'll go sit next to Amelia, taking up the cushion beside her.]
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[But maybe it might be easier to just close her eyes regardless. She readjusts the pillow so that it makes her lower back comfortable and tucks some of her hair behind her ear.]
... Oh and of course, this.
[She reaches over to where the side table is and grabs the tissue box. It's held out to Henry expectantly.]
We can't forget about the nosebleeding.
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For after. I’m not going to sit here with a tissue stuffed up my nostril, you know.
[tho that would be hilarious]
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[She is... Very grandma...
Amelia settles back into her original position. Her windchime murmurs as it hovers beside her and her eyes close.]
I'll see you there, Henry.
[Memory-Amelia will anyway.]
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[If fastidious Henry Creel is okay with his own nosebleeds, then there’s no need to worry.
But he says nothing else. Gives her a moment to settle and get ready.]
Relax… and just let me in.
[And he closes his eyes… And slips into her memory.]
no subject
In the deepest part of her heart, she wonders what would have been different, if there was a visitor like Henry Creel in her younger years...]
[She lived in a world of white.
Or rather, that's what's outside the window. This is a mansion in the middle of nowhere. The flurry of pure white snow flies and swirls outside and obscures the view but everything inside is kept pristine, dry, and warm. The interior of the dwelling is a mixture of non-modern styles, Gothic, Victorian, some hints of Art Deco. One of the unifying features within was the tree trunks and branches that are embedded throughout the walls or snaking around pillars and light fixtures. And then there were the bookshelves that lined the walls of so many of the rooms that one would mistake each area as its own library instead of a place to live in.
And so this was the world she lived in. Snow, a magical mansion, and books.
In one of these alcoves, a girl who appears to be sixteen years of age can be found. The girl is dressed in a white silk blouse and a long dark skirt. Her red hair is tied up into a loose braid. Large glasses sit on the bridge of her nose, slightly lopsided and she sits on the sofa, staring outside the window with a blank expression and a book open on her lap.
At the sound of someone approaching, her voice cuts through the silence and is sharp, biting, and most of all, tired.]
Are you here to kill me?
no subject
He treads forward, gazing about with curiosity. The windows are just a blinding sheen of white and snow. But when he finds someone here--Amelia, much younger, her voice surprisingly biting--his focus directs itself solely on her and just her.
Henry pretends at being unassuming, like he's used to. He clasps his hands behind his back and cinches his brows.]
Kill you? No, of course not. I'm just a visitor. Why would you say that?
no subject
Because that's what he did for a period of time. Yes, let's pull a random individual from somewhere and tell them to defeat his special apprentice to gain their freedom. Or he'd create something from whole cloth and it'd stalk me throughout this place and—
[Amelia stops when she realizes she's just ranting. The book on her legs is moved to cover her face and she just lays there like a melodramatic teenager.]
Ugh. Why am I even talking?
no subject
Oh. You mean your mentor. He sounds like... a difficult kind of teacher.
[To say the least. Methods of "teaching" that might as well be playing a game.]
No, don't worry. I'm not here for anything like that. I just wanted to take a look around; you don't mind the company, do you?
no subject
No.
[Her harsh voice has softened. Green eyes look over from the top of the book at Henry and the look in her eyes is complicated. Hopeful, but hopeless. Relieved, but in pain.]
... If you want. [She sits up to make room for him and she buries her face in her knees, sighing tiredly once again. The closed book is used to gesture at the empty spot next to her.]
You can sit for a bit. Or you can go wherever and look around.
[Her next words are muffled as she wraps her arms around her legs and buries her face even more deeply.]
You'll just leave like everyone else.
no subject
Finally, he moves to sit next to her.]
I'll sit. I'd rather talk to you than wander around for now.
[His eyes sweep across her once more.]
If it's any consolation... I don't want to leave. But even if I do, can't you come with me?
no subject
... I tried already. But I don't know where I am. I thought maybe it was Antarctica or one of the Poles, maybe even Russia. You know, because of all the snow.
[She looks outside again.]
Even so, I tried. What's a little snow to a witch, right?
[There's a weak chuckle and a shake of her head.]
Maybe it just means I'm not good enough. I can't even escape effectively with all the magic I've learned so far. You'd get to leave unscathed though.
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I’m sorry. I’ve been trapped before, too. For decades. I know how angry it can make a person feel.
[How it changes someone.]
So is that another test? “Get strong enough until you can leave?”
no subject
No. In his words, I'm staying here to learn, "until further notice."
[Whimsical. Vague. Frustrating. It sounds just like the man Henry encountered in her first memory he witnessed.]
... There's a lot to learn, you know? Here. Look.
[The book she was reading is opened up again. Its contents consist of runes, similar to what the present Amelia utilizes in everyday life but it is incredibly dense and hard to penetrate in meaning except for the occasional even more foreign diagram as she flips through the pages.]
I'm only starting to begin to understand what some of these mean. So... It helps pass the time. I might practice some of it today.
no subject
Again, he thinks of the lab. Of Papa. A little too close for comfort, though he’s sure Papa would never have willingly let him leave.
He looks down at the book with so many runic writings, lifting his brow.]
For someone like me, that’s like looking at a different language. I don’t understand any of it.
[But he offers he an encouraging grin.]
I’ll watch you practice, though. If you want.
no subject
Her cheeks turn pink and she glances to the side. The lack of a smile and the way her brows furrow together could be mistaken as displeasure but her reply indicates otherwise.]
If... If you want unless you have something better to do with your time. It's not like it's going to be anything interesting.
no subject
[He says, both simply and truthfully. The way Amelia turns away from him, her complexion tinging with pink, exudes nothing but self-awareness. Company is a rare thing for her, isn’t it? And yet… so, so wanted, he would guess.
The next question slips out without him thinking.]
Are you lonely here?
no subject
I've got too much to study to worry about such things.
[Is it embarrassment that prevents her from answering truthfully? Pride? She had just implied that while there have been others who passed through this dwelling they all left eventually. Maybe she was protecting herself from hoping too much.]
Do you want to see me practice or not?
[Somehow this younger version is much grumpier than her future counterpart. And that one would already be considered cantankerous.]
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Even if it would be like pulling teeth for Henry to ever admit that he, too, was lonely.]Okay, okay. Sorry. [An apologetic look, raising his hands.] I didn't mean to imply anything that was untrue. Yes, show me your magic.
no subject
Her text is set upon a wooden stand and kept open for her reference. Her studying involves copying the runes she has memorized and making sure no stroke is out of place or misspelled. Soon the air is filled with blocks of the alien language of one type of magic. Though she's tracing the air quickly, it's nothing like her future self who casts magic flippantly and with the ease of a seasoned expert.
Amelia speaks to Henry (the actual past her would speak aloud to no one), just bouncing her thoughts and what she's learned off of him as he watches.]
Magic as I've come to understand it is being able to rewrite what's in front of you or write in something into existence.
Normal humans and even espers don't have the inherent energy that allows them to create rituals or processes that witches have developed since the early days when the Witch King made them.
[The finished and shimmering blocks of runes hover idly in the air and she starts organizing them into categories only she would understand.]
You know what's strange? When I asked the Witch King if our world needed magic, he said, that no, it actually didn't. He brought it into the world through witches and from there, he just wanted to watch it flourish and see how it intertwined with humanity.
[Amelia frowns at one block of runes, swearing under her breath at an error.]
Shit. I have to redo this one. Anyway, it's like adding new toys to a sandbox and seeing if the children will make something of it.
no subject
It's interesting to see this, and to know he can compare the difference between the past and present. What a difference it is.
Though, funnily enough, Henry listens as though he, too, is a rapt student of magic.]
It makes sense. I come from another world altogether, you know, and there isn't any magic there. Maybe no world really needs magic.
[But what does he know?]
So did the Witch King really just... make witches?
no subject
Yes, I'm rather certain... [Her finger pauses over one rune and she chastises herself again.]
Dammit, this one isn't chaining... Um, sorry about that. But I'm not too sure what that actually means. Are they extensions of himself? I've only started to get the impression that even other witches don't really want to be around him and so it's less reverence and more like fear. Maybe a mixture of both? Or have they spent so much time around humans they started to perceive him differently?
Sorry, I'm still theorizing at this point. I haven't gotten to talk to many other witches since I've started to stay here.
Also, watch out for your feet. I'm going to test one of these.
[One of the completed blocks of runes glimmers and directs it to her feet. The wooden floor starts to sprout grass and dots of white and yellow flowers and it spreads around the room. Though the blades look healthy and green, it's rather sparse and there are still patches of the wooden floor peeking through.
The girl frowns.]
Not good enough.
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cw: body horror
good LORD cw; mention of child abuse
cw; body horror cont.
just probably some weird body horror for the next few tags
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