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An old woman with white hair to her waist breathes her last in a clear meadow. Laying still in the tall dewy grass. This one's life had been long and full. She had had children, and grandchildren. She had tales to tell, and songs to sing. However, when her blue eyes finally closed and her chest ceased to rise, the world paused. As if in respect to the old one. To commemorate the life of such a being. Slowly, the mass exodus of the meadow creatures can be noted, moving in solemn grace as they make clear the meadow. For they never wondered why a being as she would lie here, they do know intrinsically to wander far from here. For the next step to the process would be a brilliant display of magic and flame.
It takes nearly a week. The creatures have ceased to wander near the meadow, the grass almost as if preparing, dies around the once lifelike crone who had lumbered far to this spot to pass on to the next realm. She lays still, skin weathered and paper thin. Hair limp and dull. Nothing dared disturb the body lest it burn up in the chaos of birth. Rot seems to pay respect to the old one, and has not touched the body of such as one. As it is with most creatures, they would have been given back to the earth, body feeding the ground and insects breathing new energy into the field. However, that was not so in this case.
It is night, the moon had risen high, round and shining for all the world to behold. The wind strong and unyielding, died down and hushed to a whisper. The absence of living things has been missed, and there is not one to witness the event preparing to unfold. Beautiful and coy like the red petals of a rose bud, timidly opening to perfume the world there appears a spark. Just in the chest in the crone. It beats as it burns, a fiery heart throbbing to life again. As it had for Millennia upon Millennia before. The flames pulse. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. The same rhythm as life had given her. The body burns up around the heart as it beats its' thrumming tempo, beating faster and faster as it spun a web of magic. The pile of ash grows until nothing of the old crone remains. The heart sits in the middle of the grey cinders, beating and glowing brightly. The ashes burst into a mighty flash of flame, engulfing the surrounding area. Burning grass, dirt, and barely sprung plants and bushes. The moon bears witness as the flames rise impossibly high. The meadow is on fire, flames licking at all remaining life. Slowly, the flames calm and from the ash a pale hand bursts forth scrambling onto the ground, finding purchase and pulling. Another hand emerges and a red haired head follows, ash clinging to the delicate strands as they float gently in the mire of heat.
Soon a woman appears pulling with pure rage, grabbing handholds in the blackened earth to wrest the remaining length of her body out of the pile of ash. She is fair skinned and delicate, a grimace marring gentle and near perfect features. As magic tended to be chaotically perfect, so too was the new arrival. The maiden sat in the ashes of her former incarnation and caught her breath, chest heaving deeply, auburn hair gently curled around her body as if to curtain her modesty from the waiting world. A fine sheen of sweat had covered the maid, and so did the ash as it settled. The flames died down, the glowing ember in her chest slowing as the bright beating heart calmed in the chest of the female.
Bright blue eyes mirroring the old crones' took stock of the new world around her. The meadow was no more, instead a black charred space in a clearing took its place. The woman pulled her hair behind her shoulder and stood unsteadily. Her small feet sank in the ash, and she could feel the metallic pinch of something. Digging in the ash she pulled a necklace up from the dead cinders. A gold delicate necklace, with a ruby set in the center. The woman fixed the piece around her throat and it lay neatly above her sternum. The ruby glowed for but a moment then the glow dissipated. The woman sighed as she caught sight of the moon high above her. She smiled, arms raised to praise the only mother she would ever know. The moon gleamed brilliantly as if to answer back. The maid turned and looked upon the rest of the world beyond her black meadow. Surely there was adventure to be had? The woman called to life a simple white shift, and it settled around her body as if made by the finest and most cultured of craftsman. Albeit it was simple, it was finely made.
It takes nearly a week. The creatures have ceased to wander near the meadow, the grass almost as if preparing, dies around the once lifelike crone who had lumbered far to this spot to pass on to the next realm. She lays still, skin weathered and paper thin. Hair limp and dull. Nothing dared disturb the body lest it burn up in the chaos of birth. Rot seems to pay respect to the old one, and has not touched the body of such as one. As it is with most creatures, they would have been given back to the earth, body feeding the ground and insects breathing new energy into the field. However, that was not so in this case.
It is night, the moon had risen high, round and shining for all the world to behold. The wind strong and unyielding, died down and hushed to a whisper. The absence of living things has been missed, and there is not one to witness the event preparing to unfold. Beautiful and coy like the red petals of a rose bud, timidly opening to perfume the world there appears a spark. Just in the chest in the crone. It beats as it burns, a fiery heart throbbing to life again. As it had for Millennia upon Millennia before. The flames pulse. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. The same rhythm as life had given her. The body burns up around the heart as it beats its' thrumming tempo, beating faster and faster as it spun a web of magic. The pile of ash grows until nothing of the old crone remains. The heart sits in the middle of the grey cinders, beating and glowing brightly. The ashes burst into a mighty flash of flame, engulfing the surrounding area. Burning grass, dirt, and barely sprung plants and bushes. The moon bears witness as the flames rise impossibly high. The meadow is on fire, flames licking at all remaining life. Slowly, the flames calm and from the ash a pale hand bursts forth scrambling onto the ground, finding purchase and pulling. Another hand emerges and a red haired head follows, ash clinging to the delicate strands as they float gently in the mire of heat.
Soon a woman appears pulling with pure rage, grabbing handholds in the blackened earth to wrest the remaining length of her body out of the pile of ash. She is fair skinned and delicate, a grimace marring gentle and near perfect features. As magic tended to be chaotically perfect, so too was the new arrival. The maiden sat in the ashes of her former incarnation and caught her breath, chest heaving deeply, auburn hair gently curled around her body as if to curtain her modesty from the waiting world. A fine sheen of sweat had covered the maid, and so did the ash as it settled. The flames died down, the glowing ember in her chest slowing as the bright beating heart calmed in the chest of the female.
Bright blue eyes mirroring the old crones' took stock of the new world around her. The meadow was no more, instead a black charred space in a clearing took its place. The woman pulled her hair behind her shoulder and stood unsteadily. Her small feet sank in the ash, and she could feel the metallic pinch of something. Digging in the ash she pulled a necklace up from the dead cinders. A gold delicate necklace, with a ruby set in the center. The woman fixed the piece around her throat and it lay neatly above her sternum. The ruby glowed for but a moment then the glow dissipated. The woman sighed as she caught sight of the moon high above her. She smiled, arms raised to praise the only mother she would ever know. The moon gleamed brilliantly as if to answer back. The maid turned and looked upon the rest of the world beyond her black meadow. Surely there was adventure to be had? The woman called to life a simple white shift, and it settled around her body as if made by the finest and most cultured of craftsman. Albeit it was simple, it was finely made.