Katya's broken body lies across Olga's lap, her bloodied face turned up to the sky, and Olga swears.
She's through, but she's not done yet. The fierce grip she has on Katya's spirit becomes all that is holding her ruined flesh together. She will not let this one fall, not today, not on her watch.
There's a memory, from so many lifetimes ago, it might have happened to another person entirely, but it's still there, still fresh when the moment calls for it. A spell so ancient, it pre-dates the division between Light and Dark. A spell that some might call Dark in her time, but she knows better. Life feeds life every day, here and everywhere. It's only fair that it feed the massive influx of energy that Katya requires just to have a fighting chance of survival.
The words stream up from her memory, a ribbon of fire that coils up from her lips, swirling around them, digging deep into the turf of the meadow, digging into the very soil around them. A dark patch forms in the grass around them, spreading like an ink stain, rapidly growing dark as Olga chants, her fingers weaving the fire into and around Katya's form. The saplings a few yards away from them crackle and curl as if in some invisible flame, giving up their life to the Grand Sorceress and her incantation.
She chants and weaves and fights with all her arcane knowledge and skill. And silently, in the back of her mind, Olga prays.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2010-11-30 05:48 am (UTC)She's through, but she's not done yet. The fierce grip she has on Katya's spirit becomes all that is holding her ruined flesh together. She will not let this one fall, not today, not on her watch.
There's a memory, from so many lifetimes ago, it might have happened to another person entirely, but it's still there, still fresh when the moment calls for it. A spell so ancient, it pre-dates the division between Light and Dark. A spell that some might call Dark in her time, but she knows better. Life feeds life every day, here and everywhere. It's only fair that it feed the massive influx of energy that Katya requires just to have a fighting chance of survival.
The words stream up from her memory, a ribbon of fire that coils up from her lips, swirling around them, digging deep into the turf of the meadow, digging into the very soil around them. A dark patch forms in the grass around them, spreading like an ink stain, rapidly growing dark as Olga chants, her fingers weaving the fire into and around Katya's form. The saplings a few yards away from them crackle and curl as if in some invisible flame, giving up their life to the Grand Sorceress and her incantation.
She chants and weaves and fights with all her arcane knowledge and skill. And silently, in the back of her mind, Olga prays.