Syntra
Baba Yaga
Vesna wasn't worried.
See, she never was. There was nothing to worry about, after all-- no terrors hid within the lily white snowflakes, and no nightmares, either. The flowers were sleeping in the frozen ground, just waiting, waiting for their chance to bloom! Calling it death, she knew, would have been awfully reductive. Disrespectful of true endings. (...death. The word tasted bitter on her tongue, like an extract from wormwood, like the blood pouring down her hands. Like something intimately familiar, akin to the memory of a long-lost love. Why, though? She was a goddess. Among the long, long list of the things Vesna didn't need to be afraid of, mortality surely occupied the first place! Deathless she was, yes, eternal, and... well, maybe that was the problem, in a way. An eternal blossom could never wilt, but could it ever truly bloom? Could it defy the tragedy of endings, via celebrating a new beginning? The colors always shone the brightest when their fire was about to go out... ah, the blood. The blood, the blood, the blood, red like alpenglow, like the edge of accusation pressed against her alabaster throat, and--)
"You killed me. Murdered me. Wrapped your pretty little hands around my neck, and took and took and took, until nothing was left of me. I hope it was worth it."
She wasn't worried, though! Blood was life, and that was why it dripped, dripped, dripped from her hands, each drop a curse, each drop a blessing. The duality of the nature, which both gave and took. Utterly normal. Everything about this is. Slightly hysterical laughter bubbled past her lips, and Vesna took her head in her hands. (It hurt. Something from within was pounding, as her mind was a door and a visitor tried to force their way in, and, ah, she couldn't let them inside! Not like this, with her thoughts so, so messy. Shards, broken images, echoes of forgotten pain-- Vesna couldn't throw it all at another's feet, oh no. She had to... she had to smile...)
("Smile is worth more than a thousand words. So, do it! Do it, wench! Aren't you happy?" ...she wasn't, Vesna knew. Still, spring was the bringer of hope, so smile she did, with all her might. Somehow, the resulting grimace resembled an open wound.)
"Lady Vesna," one of the maidens bowed, so deeply she couldn't see her face. (...they had no faces, the goddess was aware of that. Staring too long at her radiance took it away, just like looking into the sun blinded mortals' eyes. Still, they liked to serve her...? At least she thought so. The difference between what she did and didn't think could be hair-thin sometimes, Vesna had come to realize.)
"Lady Vesna, it is time. You ought to drink from the grail, to pour strength into your veins." Ah. Ah, of course! Happily, Vesna clapped and spun around, watching the skirts swish around her ankles. (Light her footsteps were, and whenever her feet touched the ground? Fresh flowers unfurled there, red and bloom, locked in an embrace. "Dance," they'd told her, so dance she did. After all, Vesna did have a habit of doing what they told her. Except, should she really drink? Every year, she'd drunk, drunk, drunk, and the fragments of her memories shattered further. No longer a mosaic, the goddess thought. Broken down atoms, with abandoned electrons and dead neutrons, yes, protons that have been cracked open. ...how did she know the words? Did she, or would she? Timelines stretched strangely when you were a goddess, going back to the past and far to the future at the same time. It resembled a broth, in that, once you put meat into the pot, you could no longer separate all the ingredients. Its essence just... leaked into the water, you know? It had changed, and along with it, Vesna had as well.)
("Drink, Vesna. It is a potion that will spare you pain.")
("Don't, Vesna. It is a potion that will give you pain.")
Ugh! Why did these instructions have to be like a ball of yarn, hopelessly tangled into one another? Vesna just wanted to make everyone happy, and that was hard to do with all the conflicting information. Why couldn't things be nice? But they are nice, she reminded herself. Winter is about to end, and ice shall release all from its stronghold. Why wasn't she happy about this, then? Why did the grail, accepted from the maiden's hand, felt like a razor against her naked skin? They struggled so hard to prepare this drink for me. I couldn't possibly dream of...
Led by some mad instinct, Vesna nonetheless poured the liquid onto the soil beneath her feet, and watched the flowers shrivel and die. What on earth...? (Surely, they wouldn't ever hurt her? She was Vesna, the lady of spring, the bringer of beginnings. Without her, there was nothing.)
"T-thank you," the goddess said, startled.
The faceless maiden, obviously not having seen any of that, merely nodded. "I suppose you are ready for the ritual, then?"
The... ritual? What?
***
The stars shone like diamonds in the sky, and a song was begging to be born on her throat. Vesna wanted to laugh, wanted to dance, wanted to do everything that made her her, but, at the same time? The cold hand of dread was holding her by her throat, preventing her from speaking a single word. It's because I know not what will happen, she said to herself. (Except, see, some part of her did know. That may have been the main reason why the fear in her heart grew, like a spider feeding itself on juicy, juicy flies.)
She walked forward, each step measured. There were people, so many of them-- her followers, the goddess knew, clad in colorful, colorful robes. (They formed a protective circle around her, for which she was thankful. Or could it be a cage of flesh instead? Depended on the perspective, Vesna supposed.)
They walked in silence that was worse than death, worse than coma. Even all the birds of the world had gone to sleep, it seemed, for she could hear each blade of grass rustle beneath her bare feet. (Somehow, each sound was a condemnation to her ears. 'Traitor! Murderer! Oathbreaker!')
The snow was white and unspoiled, like a scenery painted by an old master's hand. Despite that, though? The pond, which shone like the brightest of jewels in the meadow, wasn't frozen. Wind wasn't blowing, either, but the waves on its surface were battling each other nonetheless, locked in an endless conflict. On and on and on, the whirlpool spun, and...
...and that was when she noticed her. Her. Kneeling near the pond she was, a pitiful figure held down by numerous hands. "Lady Vesna has come to end your existence again, wretch," a man spat out. "Your legacy will not last. You cannot claim this land, no matter how much you try!" ...oh. Morana? The queen of winter was called Morana, Vesna knew, even if she'd never met her. Never, never, never! (Except that the word 'again' implied something else. Her fractured memories did, too. Now the goddess understood what the potion did, and what she had done under its influence, and... By the gods.) Still, like a marionette under an enemy's spell, Vesna walked forward.
She knelt down as well, caressing the other woman's hair, and, once her faithful ones stepped aside? Slash! A swarm of petals summoned out of nowhere cut Morana's chains, releasing her from their cursed hold. "I am so very sorry," Vesna said, tears glistening in her eyes. "I never meant to hurt you. I... I just had to."
See, she never was. There was nothing to worry about, after all-- no terrors hid within the lily white snowflakes, and no nightmares, either. The flowers were sleeping in the frozen ground, just waiting, waiting for their chance to bloom! Calling it death, she knew, would have been awfully reductive. Disrespectful of true endings. (...death. The word tasted bitter on her tongue, like an extract from wormwood, like the blood pouring down her hands. Like something intimately familiar, akin to the memory of a long-lost love. Why, though? She was a goddess. Among the long, long list of the things Vesna didn't need to be afraid of, mortality surely occupied the first place! Deathless she was, yes, eternal, and... well, maybe that was the problem, in a way. An eternal blossom could never wilt, but could it ever truly bloom? Could it defy the tragedy of endings, via celebrating a new beginning? The colors always shone the brightest when their fire was about to go out... ah, the blood. The blood, the blood, the blood, red like alpenglow, like the edge of accusation pressed against her alabaster throat, and--)
"You killed me. Murdered me. Wrapped your pretty little hands around my neck, and took and took and took, until nothing was left of me. I hope it was worth it."
She wasn't worried, though! Blood was life, and that was why it dripped, dripped, dripped from her hands, each drop a curse, each drop a blessing. The duality of the nature, which both gave and took. Utterly normal. Everything about this is. Slightly hysterical laughter bubbled past her lips, and Vesna took her head in her hands. (It hurt. Something from within was pounding, as her mind was a door and a visitor tried to force their way in, and, ah, she couldn't let them inside! Not like this, with her thoughts so, so messy. Shards, broken images, echoes of forgotten pain-- Vesna couldn't throw it all at another's feet, oh no. She had to... she had to smile...)
("Smile is worth more than a thousand words. So, do it! Do it, wench! Aren't you happy?" ...she wasn't, Vesna knew. Still, spring was the bringer of hope, so smile she did, with all her might. Somehow, the resulting grimace resembled an open wound.)
"Lady Vesna," one of the maidens bowed, so deeply she couldn't see her face. (...they had no faces, the goddess was aware of that. Staring too long at her radiance took it away, just like looking into the sun blinded mortals' eyes. Still, they liked to serve her...? At least she thought so. The difference between what she did and didn't think could be hair-thin sometimes, Vesna had come to realize.)
"Lady Vesna, it is time. You ought to drink from the grail, to pour strength into your veins." Ah. Ah, of course! Happily, Vesna clapped and spun around, watching the skirts swish around her ankles. (Light her footsteps were, and whenever her feet touched the ground? Fresh flowers unfurled there, red and bloom, locked in an embrace. "Dance," they'd told her, so dance she did. After all, Vesna did have a habit of doing what they told her. Except, should she really drink? Every year, she'd drunk, drunk, drunk, and the fragments of her memories shattered further. No longer a mosaic, the goddess thought. Broken down atoms, with abandoned electrons and dead neutrons, yes, protons that have been cracked open. ...how did she know the words? Did she, or would she? Timelines stretched strangely when you were a goddess, going back to the past and far to the future at the same time. It resembled a broth, in that, once you put meat into the pot, you could no longer separate all the ingredients. Its essence just... leaked into the water, you know? It had changed, and along with it, Vesna had as well.)
("Drink, Vesna. It is a potion that will spare you pain.")
("Don't, Vesna. It is a potion that will give you pain.")
Ugh! Why did these instructions have to be like a ball of yarn, hopelessly tangled into one another? Vesna just wanted to make everyone happy, and that was hard to do with all the conflicting information. Why couldn't things be nice? But they are nice, she reminded herself. Winter is about to end, and ice shall release all from its stronghold. Why wasn't she happy about this, then? Why did the grail, accepted from the maiden's hand, felt like a razor against her naked skin? They struggled so hard to prepare this drink for me. I couldn't possibly dream of...
Led by some mad instinct, Vesna nonetheless poured the liquid onto the soil beneath her feet, and watched the flowers shrivel and die. What on earth...? (Surely, they wouldn't ever hurt her? She was Vesna, the lady of spring, the bringer of beginnings. Without her, there was nothing.)
"T-thank you," the goddess said, startled.
The faceless maiden, obviously not having seen any of that, merely nodded. "I suppose you are ready for the ritual, then?"
The... ritual? What?
***
The stars shone like diamonds in the sky, and a song was begging to be born on her throat. Vesna wanted to laugh, wanted to dance, wanted to do everything that made her her, but, at the same time? The cold hand of dread was holding her by her throat, preventing her from speaking a single word. It's because I know not what will happen, she said to herself. (Except, see, some part of her did know. That may have been the main reason why the fear in her heart grew, like a spider feeding itself on juicy, juicy flies.)
She walked forward, each step measured. There were people, so many of them-- her followers, the goddess knew, clad in colorful, colorful robes. (They formed a protective circle around her, for which she was thankful. Or could it be a cage of flesh instead? Depended on the perspective, Vesna supposed.)
They walked in silence that was worse than death, worse than coma. Even all the birds of the world had gone to sleep, it seemed, for she could hear each blade of grass rustle beneath her bare feet. (Somehow, each sound was a condemnation to her ears. 'Traitor! Murderer! Oathbreaker!')
The snow was white and unspoiled, like a scenery painted by an old master's hand. Despite that, though? The pond, which shone like the brightest of jewels in the meadow, wasn't frozen. Wind wasn't blowing, either, but the waves on its surface were battling each other nonetheless, locked in an endless conflict. On and on and on, the whirlpool spun, and...
...and that was when she noticed her. Her. Kneeling near the pond she was, a pitiful figure held down by numerous hands. "Lady Vesna has come to end your existence again, wretch," a man spat out. "Your legacy will not last. You cannot claim this land, no matter how much you try!" ...oh. Morana? The queen of winter was called Morana, Vesna knew, even if she'd never met her. Never, never, never! (Except that the word 'again' implied something else. Her fractured memories did, too. Now the goddess understood what the potion did, and what she had done under its influence, and... By the gods.) Still, like a marionette under an enemy's spell, Vesna walked forward.
She knelt down as well, caressing the other woman's hair, and, once her faithful ones stepped aside? Slash! A swarm of petals summoned out of nowhere cut Morana's chains, releasing her from their cursed hold. "I am so very sorry," Vesna said, tears glistening in her eyes. "I never meant to hurt you. I... I just had to."