They would have nothing but that painful brightness and see the worlds and all of creation tilt like an overburdened scale until all crashed to the ground and turned to ash upon the black fire that burned there. They didn’t care about the darkness so necessary to keeping their light. They spoke of the Balance, but cared nothing for it. Didn’t they understand? They spoke of the Balance unceasingly, used its name as both a blessing and a curse, letting it fall from their mouths as stones spill mindlessly down the side of a mountain, but true balance was not what they wanted. In another era, Ayae would have railed against these foolish little creatures, hating them, asking how it was possible not to know how much they were needed. They knew that they only prolonged what would come. They would keep them forever, it seemed to them now, or as close to what forever meant to them anymore.
Dreamfall chapters yaga skin#
Less wise, less fearsome, less solid, but infinitely more tired, more decayed, and her flesh sagged evermore on her bones, as though her own skin would drag her down into nothingness.īut they had their garden of souls at least, the bodiless blue vapors of a dozen snuffed candles hovering above the swamp waters as long as the Sisters wished to keep them. And Gh’aa, ancient and imposing, great proud horns on her aged brow, became both more and less. Ayae, furious and fierce and always strong, could not find the spark enough to be angry at this light that wasted them, and her fire shrank as the place in-between grew colder. Even nightmares had failed them when they began to feature other monsters who pushed them so far back into their own darkness they disappeared.īaeb didn’t understand how it had happened, what she had done wrong, and the sharpness of her eternal youth dulled, a blunted knife that still tried fruitlessly to cut. It was given over now to loved ones when they left home, to the safety of children as they played outside, to ailing dogs as they aged, and it made the Sisters sick that they should fall so low that even dogs were being given more than they.
Fear existed still, swam in every forest, down every street, and in an endless circle around every heart. Who was that awful, bright soul that wished them so diminished? She had cut them off. Banished by one, insignificant burst of light in all the weak flickering of humankind.
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Gone in the fire where she had seared so many bones, and their mouths and tongues and throats were arid and cracked in its absence.Īnd what did they have left then, now that the wizard had been taken, too? Where was that fear, so fragrant and flavorful, that coursed through their ancient veins in a thousand terrible rivers? Gone. The one they called the Gribbler had delivered them that wine in a long-necked bottle made with her own vicious nature. It was the aromatic air they breathed, the blood that ran beneath their twilight skin, what they drank like a heady black wine until they were intoxicated by it.
But there was still fear, always fear, and to hide it from the Sisters was impossible. Or perhaps the wild, thrashing instinct to survive.
No nonsense word in the worlds could change the cruel sharpness of the witch’s teeth, nor still that wicked, hissing tongue, and everything was equal beneath her gluttonous stare. They knew, however, with a contemptuous satisfaction, that it did not succeed. Perhaps it was an attempt to make her less frightening. It was a such a silly name, the Sisters thought, but the little live things loved their silliness. She had not always been called the Gribbler.
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