Hey! I wrote this for a ttrpg character of mine. Specifically a character from Leviathan: The Tempest. It’s maybe not the best, but I feel as though I should archive it. 'Twas originally written 15/02/2022.
Magali walks through her gelid home. The heating still doesn’t work. All of the blankets and laundry and pillows she leaves on the floor to help keep the place warm can only do so much. She shambles over to her small shrine. She looks at the mirror, sees her swarthy skin and crimson-streaked hair, her eyes—once hazel—now strangely dark and a few spots on her forehead resemble them. She sighs. She lights the candles, places down a bowl of water, and kneels in front of this shrine. Her great ancestress, her precognitive progenitor known as Lahamu, is like a mother and a watchful deity to her. Lahamu’s plans endlessly unfold, supposedly. Magali doesn’t want to know if that’s actually true, she’s willing to believe it as a safeguard. As a presence she needs in place of a mother off gallivanting in Austria. She retreats into memory—an almost vestigial remnant of the augury Lahamu had—with her eyes closed, still sensing the movements of roaches in the walls.
She is an infant, tears and shrieks falling on empty hearts and deaf ears.
She is an ancient god watching over a domain.
She is a criminal, about to be hanged.
She is a socialite, resplendent in luxury.
She ponders this. Such contradiction.
She looks over at a photograph of herself and another.
She is the fog and they are the moon. She creeps around their glory and sits just out of reach of their light. She hazes their terrible beauty and haunts their divinity. She stands next to the god’s throne, the vizier, the acolyte, the oracle, the prophetess.
She slinks away, moving with a subtlety almost unnatural, skin blending ever so slightly into the shadows and dun walls. She, without looking, avoids stepping on the roach that scuttles across. She can feel it’s every movement. The impulses in its muscles. She feels the wires and circuits in the walls, a constant humming in her mind. She steps to her room, and buries herself in the blankets and clothing she’s left piled on the floor.
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