To Love a Glamour

Tacita

Once upon a time, in the lofty cify known as Hallifax, Beacon of Harmony, there lived a young trill painter named Maerad Windwhisper. A shy girl, she nonetheless had a very active mind - delighting in capturing the often-overlooked beauty in the world around her. As a follower of Lady Isune, she was of course kind and gentle, but being so young and inexperienced often lacked the wisdom and empathy of her elders.

One thing that Maerad knew nothing about was love; love had eluded her all her life, and she began to wonder if she would ever feel it at all. She loved her Mama and Papa and sister dearly, of course, but it was not the same.

Then, one day, everything changed.

--

You flash Allyrianne a joyous smile.

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody smiles and says to you, "Is that a painting of a meeting with the Lady?"

The images within it blurred and ever so slightly disformed, this watercolour depicts a single figure. Of an unwieldy height, this trill holds herself with a grace that clearly does not come naturally to her - though her back is straight, her shoulders hunch ever so slightly in the manner of one seeking to retreat from focus. Her face, though not picked out in great detail by the indistinct watercolours, is alight with interest as she gazes at the room about her. A jeweller's workbench lies before her, dozens of gems piled up neatly upon it, a small hammer seemingly forgotten in her hand as something else takes her attention. Though alone in the room, she is surrounded by an incandescent series of lights in the air that almost seem joyous in their amusement. Unlike the almost monochromatic trill herself, the enigmatic glow has been depicted in all the colours of the rainbow. A beautiful warmth seems to suffuse the lights, the focus and attention paid to them lending their otherwise incidental forms a prized place as the focus of the image.

It has 253 months of usefulness left.

It weighs about 37 pounds.

It bears the distinctive mark of Shifting Current Maerad Windwhisper.

You have emoted: Maerad's eyes gleam with politely suppressed pride as she nods, adjusting her careful grip on the painting.

Almost dreamily, you say to Allyrianne, "She was - it makes me wish I could find the words."

 

Amusement and sympathy mingled in her voice, Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "I know the feeling. But you have done a good job of capturing Her joy with your paints. It is-."

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody breaks off, frowning, slightly.

You look up at Allyrianne curiously.

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "Have you met Inedra?"

Shaking her head, you say, "I have not, no."

Oddly hesitant, Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "Do you have time, now?"

You nod your head emphatically.

You begin to follow Allyrianne.

You follow Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody up to the sanctuary of Isune.

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "This is the entrance to the glade of Isune, where our Lady slumbered for many many long years."

You follow Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody north to a tranquil, fragrant glade.

Softly, Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "Here."

You have emoted: Maerad tilts her head, a slightly confused expression on her face as she glances at the sculpture.

Softly, Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "Lady Isune has suffered much. Inedra was sculpted that the Lady might receive some relief from her emotions, specifically the keenest of her anger, the deepest of her sorrow, and the most bitter of her joy." 

A flicker of light washes briefly over the sculpture's crystal eyes.

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "But such emotion is at times too much, even for Inedra, and so we can... help her, by taking some of the Lady's memories from her, for a time."

A flicker of light washes briefly over the sculpture's crystal eyes.

You whisper, "She's ever so beautiful. So lifelike, even though she's made of things that are hard, without life. But here, in her eyes -" She raises a hand up, almost as if wanting to brush her fingertips through the glittering motes that surround the sculpture. "There's something else." Frowning slightly, she looks over at you and asks, "How could mortals possibly bear the emotions of a Goddess?"

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "By seeing only a little, only briefly."

After a moment of regarding the statue quietly, Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "[A secret codeword]."

The sculpture's crystal eyes flash brightly, and emotion suddenly fills its marble face. A ripple of coloured light engulfs the sculpture as it begins to transform.

The proportions of the sculpture begin to change, growing and expanding until it reaches a towering height. Its carved hair transforms into flowing locks, its marble limbs softening and flushing with colour. A dusky floral scent envelops the figure as she stands complete.

A radiant smile crosses Inedra's face as she stretches languidly.

You have emoted: Maerad lets out an almost inaudible gasp.

In an undertone, Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "I have not seen her in such a... glad mood before."

Approaching the sculpture and standing a little braced, Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "You need not take a memory if you do not wish to, but I-."

Allyrianne brushes a hand against Inedra, Oracle of the Aesthete's cheek, motes of twinkling sunlight surrounding them briefly before winking out of existence. 

Inedra's eyes flash gold like the morning sun, her jewelled lips parting slightly as her marble hands reach for Allyrianne's amidst lambent motes of light.

Gaze glassy with sunlight, Allyrianne exhales as she steps back from Inedra's hand, flush with sudden joy.

You have emoted: Shifting Current Maerad Windwhisper watches Allyrianne intently, a nervous concern in her eyes.

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody lets out her breath slowly. "It was a happy memory." She says at last, her gaze still distant.

You have emoted: Maerad's eyes drift over to the sculpture, and she furrows her brow slightly in consideration. Clasping her hands together in front of her, she wrings them about nervously.

You have emoted: Maerad folds her wings at her sides and steps forward slowly, letting her carefully held poise falter and her naturally ungraceful gait show, her eyes locked with the sculpture's.

Brushing your hand against Inedra, Oracle of the Aesthete's cheek, your eyes meet as the warmth of the morning sun suffuses you both with the radiance of the aurora.

Inedra's eyes flash gold like the morning sun, her jewelled lips parting slightly as her marble hands reach for yours amidst lambent motes of light. "See what I see," you hear a soft voice echo in your mind.

In a place that feels distant as memory itself, you see the ethereal glow of Isune standing beside a God suffused with an aura of pale grey light. Lacostian smiles at Her faintly, majestic black wings unfurling behind Him as Her hand alights on His shoulder. He whispers to Her as the sun rises, "You have done well, fairest one," and the rays of morning light heighten the blush in Her cheeks as the dawn unfolds.

In words fervent with resolve, yet curiously unspoken from the Lady's lips, a feminine voice swears, "I would Sacrifice anything for You, I would give anything at all."

The scene winks out like summer sunlight, and you sigh deeply as you step back from Inedra's hand, clouded with thoughts of love.

You have emoted: Shifting Current Maerad Windwhisper stumbles slightly and reaches out to grab at Allyrianne's hand for support, holding her other hand to her chest. "Oh!" she whispers breathily, struggling to regain her footing.

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody grasps your hand firmly, providing you whatever support is  necessary, the distant gaze gone from her expression. "Lacostian?" She asks quietly.

You have emoted: Maerad nods mutely.

You whisper, "I've...I've never felt anything like that before. It's so strange, like seeing a colour for the first time."

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody whispers, "My first memory was one of great sorrow. I felt...I felt that I had never tasted true pain, nor understood joy, until that moment. It was..."

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody whispers, "Dangerous."

You have emoted: Shifting Current Maerad Windwhisper ruffles her wings slightly in embarrassment as she manages to regain her footing, straightening her back again and lifting her head up. Pink flushes of apology and gratitude gleam on her cheeks as she releases Allyrianne's hand, though her eyes still seem distant, almost distracted by something unseen.

Softly, you say, "When I met Her - She said that an artist was not merely the shadow of their work. That all beautiful things were once dreams, and those dreams had a dreamer. This feels - like having had a dream, and piercing through to the future and seeing that it is real, that it has been made - and that you made it."

You have emoted: Maerad clasps her hands together again to disguise their trembling, managing to add a weak smile to her otherwise entirely overwhelmed expression.

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "[A secret codeword]."

Inedra's eyes begin to close as a lassitude overtakes her. Her vibrant form shrinks rapidly, her face emptying of emotion and her limbs returning to their cold marble state.

The sparkle fades from Inedra's eyes as she becomes an inanimate sculpture once more.

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody tentatively reaches out with her wings to draw you into a feather hug. "To us, the Elder Wars are tales. Stories of our origins, of the origins of the Soulless. But only stories."

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "But to Inedra, all these things are now, and so yes, we can taste them as dreams made reality."

A flicker of light washes briefly over the sculpture's crystal eyes.

You have emoted: Shifting Current Maerad Windwhisper's trembling slowly abates, and she smiles at Allyrianne, gratitude shining in her eyes. "I think," she says carefully, "that there are very few gifts more precious than firsts - a taste, or a sight, or a feeling. She has given me it, but you bought me here. I don't think I shall ever forget that."

With a faint trace of a smile, Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "I hope your mother will forgive me, for not letting her be the first to take you here."

You smile and say, "I am sure that she will."

he smile fading, replaced with a hesitating uncertainty, Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody says, "And... be careful. I am marrying Portius for many reasons, not least of which is that I love him, but if I sought to define love by... I do not think I would ever- perhaps in time."

Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody shakes her head abruptly. "Are you ready to return to Hallifax?"

You have emoted: Maerad's eyes glaze slightly with puzzlement, but she nods - the warning clearly heeded, even if not fully understood.

You say, "I think I am, yes."

You follow Symphonist Allyrianne, Aethereal Melody to before the Matrix.

Tacita

And so, Maerad experienced her first taste of love: a memory of her Lady's, given to her by the sculpture Inedra and her cousin Allyrianne. But though it was a joyous occasion, it only served to make her all the more confused - for the love she had felt was not real, but a memory in a dream.

Over time, Maerad began to worry that she could feel love only through dreams and unrealities. This fear plagued her, though she spoke of it to no one - at least, not until things started to get worse.

The problem was that she hadn't expected what happened next.

--

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Speaking of lucidians, I wonder if I could ask you a favour, given your artistic eye and talent for shaping beautiful things."

You tilt your head and listen intently.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Would you care to follow me? I would rather not alarm anyone passing through, though I assure you the favour is quite harmless."

You begin to follow Irillia.

You say, "Of course."

You follow Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance northwest to Transcendental Aviary.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Now, on a whim, I have been working on weaving a glamour of myself being lucidian. I myself cannot say what inspired this, but it has been an interesting study."

You smile softly.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Perhaps it is merely envy of the Magistrate's cameo, or the knowledge that much of my family is lucidian."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "At any rate, I wished to borrow your artistic eye for a moment or two and have you critique whether it is believable and harmonious and, well, appropriately -lucidian-."

You say, "I could never imagine myself as anything but trill, though I understand others find it interesting to consider themselves in different forms. I would be happy to help."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Indeed, I would not give up a single feather in truth for any form. But as a glamour, well, I thought it only a step above trying on a new dress or cloak."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance looks thoughtful and says, "Let me see..."

Irillia passes her hands over her face and changes from a feathered trill to a crystalline prismatic lucidian before your eyes.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance spreads her arms and turns slightly in place to display her glamoured form.

She is a crystalline prismatic lucidian and resembles nothing so much as a sculpture of a tall, willowy woman fashioned from gemstones. Composed of translucent crystal the cloudless blue of a sunlit sky, her body throws no shadow when light falls upon her, but instead casts a faint cerulean glow upon the ground. She carries herself with rigid posture and a patrician bearing, her statuesque figure a harmonious balance of delicately faceted angles and smoothly polished curves. Her well-formed limbs flow with an incongruously airy grace, their every gesture punctuated with the refractive glitter of a jewel catching the light. Set upon a glassy oval face, her features are sharply chiselled and inhumanly symmetrical, with high cheekbones, slender lips, a narrow aquiline nose, and wide-set eyes of glimmering, starlit silver, as subtly luminous as the inner lining of a storm-cloud. In lieu of hair, a profusion of finespin crystalline filaments crowns her head, each gradually paling in colour from azure at their base to transparent at the tips. She is wearing the Medallion of Beauty, delicate dress gloves of pearl grey velvet, a feathered hat of iridescent dawn-silver samite, a high-necked gown of iridescent dawn-silver samite, a thin cloak of white silk, elegant slippers of dove-grey silk and feathers and the Quintessential Mandala of Resplendent Harmony.

You have emoted: Maerad's mouth drops open for a moment, though she quickly conceals the stunned expression - replacing it with a curious gaze.

Lifting her crystalline hand to the light and regarding it with mild surprise, Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Well, this is most interesting. I have done my best, at least, after studying many lucidians living in the Collective."

With slight hesitation, you say, "It - it is a well wrought glamour indeed, Minister. So well crafted that it suits you perfectly, despite the lack of plumage." Smiling, she relaxes a little and nods approvingly. "I would not have guessed you as anything but a pure bred lucidian, if I did not know otherwise."

Irillia beams broadly at you.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Why, thank you, my dear! Higher praise I could not have expected, especially from a gifted artist like yourself."

A clump of yellow pollen tumbles in from the southeast as the wind shifts directions.

You smile shyly, averting your eyes.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "The lucidian race is truly a beautiful one, wouldn't you say? Oh...oh..achoo!"

Irillia covers her mouth and sneezes.

Disdainfully, Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "That pollen. Why does it not stay belowground with the rest of its kind?"

With reverence, you say, "I do not believe that there is any form more beautiful than that of the  lucidian, Minister."

Chuckling, Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Oh, I would not go quite that far. We trills are a magnificent race as well with our delicate builds and feathered wings, even if we do not resemble walking sculptures."

You have emoted: Maerad blushes and shakes her head slightly in disagreement. "It is true that the trill are beautiful in their frailty," she says softly, "but there is a strength in the angles of lucidians, a perfection...a depth and purity, clarity of feeling...I do not think you find it anywhere else."

Irillia nods her head in agreement.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "That is true. It is always a marvel to watch their bodies change colour and brighten with their emotions. In some ways, they are unreadable,

You nod your head emphatically.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance closes her eyes tightly, clenches her fists at her sides, and purses her lips, as though attempting something completely unfamiliar.

Opening her eyes suddenly, Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Agh! I cannot do it. I cannot manage the crystal colour-changing."

Smiling softly, you say, "Perhaps with practice. It is an added level of complexity to the glamour."

Irillia gives a trillingly melodic laugh.

Glorious grey wings arch behind Irillia, wrapping themselves about her with iridescent feathers  glimmering with starlit silver.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance laughingly says, "Oh, dear. And that effect doesn't help with the illusion either, does it."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance smiles and says, "Ah, but alas, no glamour can last forever."

You smile softly.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Thank you for your thoughts, however. I suppose now I know which form to wear if I attempt to attend a scientific symposium, or the like."

With a wry chuckle, Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Or if I run out of jewels to wear."

You smile broadly and say, "You are most welcome."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I am afraid I must be departing, after mailing this gold to its proper recipient. Fair winds, Miss Windwhisper, and may bright skies always welcome your coming."

You curtsey gracefully before Irillia.

You say, "Fair winds, Minister."

Tacita

A mixture of terror, awe and sadness overtook young Maerad - and for many years, she concealed both the powerful love that she had felt upon seeing Irillia Shevat's Lucidian form and her fear that, having now felt love in two impossible manners, she would never be able to truly feel it at all.

But no pain or love can be concealed forever, and though she avoided Inedra and the subject of marriage as much as she could, there eventually came a time that she could no longer hide at all.

Something was wrong within the Glade of the Sleeping Goddess, and she needed to help the rest of the Order in their quest to find out what - even if it meant a sacrifice.

--

You say to Zyphora, "Do you...think it would help, to check on Inedra? I was going to, but I - I haven't been back there since...since she last showed me something."

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris smiles and says to you, "Perhaps, it would not hurt to check. Would you like to go in a bit? I must daydream for a little bit. Or you can go ahead without me and I shall meet you there."

You have emoted: Maerad worries at her bottom lip slightly.

Hesitantly, you say to Zyphora, "I'm not sure I want to go there on my own. But I am sure that someone who can read auras ought to visit her - I, I can wait."

Zyphora nods her head emphatically.

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris smiles and says, "I understand. I will be back shortly."

Zyphora gives you a peck on the cheek.

A sweet-scented wind picks up, swirling about Zyphora with a flurry of white feathers that follow her to the southwest.

You fold your wings around yourself's body, wrapping yourself in a feathered embrace.

[Time passes.]

Platinum white feathers flutter in on a perfumed wind, dancing about Zyphora as she glides in from the up.

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris smiles and says, "All right, I am ready."

Zyphora begins to follow you.

Your mouth turns up as your face breaks into a smile.

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris says, "Lead the way, dearest."

Zyphora follows you up to the Sanctuary of Isune.

You have emoted: Maerad wrings her hands nervously for a moment before gathering some hidden resolve.

Zyphora follows you north to a tranqil, fragrant glade.

Curtseying, High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris says, "Hello, Inedra."

You have emoted: Maerad hesitates at the edge of the glade, looking at the sculpture with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris looks toward you with a mildly perplexed expression before speaking the words to wake Inedra.

The sculpture's crystal eyes flash brightly, and emotion suddenly fills its marble face. A ripple of coloured light engulfs the sculpture as it begins to transform.

The proportions of the sculpture begin to change, growing and expanding until it reaches a towering height. Its carved hair transforms into flowing locks, its marble limbs softening and flushing with colour. A dusky floral scent envelops the figure as she stands complete.

Zyphora brushes a hand against Inedra, Oracle of the Aesthete's cheek, motes of twinkling sunlight  surrounding them briefly before winking out of existence.

Inedra's eyes flash gold like the morning sun, her jewelled lips parting slightly as her marble hands reach for Zyphora's amidst lambent motes of light.

A sob breaks from Zyphora's throat, and reeling, she stumbles backwards from Inedra's hand, tears streaming unbidden down her cheeks.

You fold your wings around Zyphora's body, wrapping her in a feathered embrace.

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris drops a fond kiss on your head, composing herself once more.

You have emoted: Maerad Windwhisper, Student of Temporal Science glances up at Zyphora with concern, but steps back slightly from her sudden rush to comfort.

Picking up the hem of her trailing skirts, Inedra dances a few slow, listless steps, singing a low, mournful tune in accompaniment.

Gently, High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris says, "Do not be scared, Maerad. Inedra would not harm us. It was a dream of Lady Isune's Sacrifice for Lady Viravain."

Zyphora tilts her head curiously at Inedra, Oracle of the Aesthete.

In an undertone, High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris says to you, "I confess I have not been here quite often, but... does she often dance?"

You have emoted: Maerad glances over at Inedra, and takes a hesitant step forward. "She didn't mean to harm me," she whispers softly, tilting her head to the side. "And what she showed me, it wasn't harmful. But it was nothing I had ever experienced before. And it was so bright, that afterwards, the rest of the world seemed a little dimmer."

Glancing over her shoulder, you whisper, "I was afraid that if I came back, and asked to see through her eyes again...that I would forget the colours in the world entirely. That I would give myself wholly over to the imaginary, and forget the real."

You crease your brow in a frown.

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris frowns slightly, saying, "Maerad, but you know better than that. You know what is real." She reaches out a hand to trail it gently through your crest.

Gently, High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris says to you, "What did she show you, Maerad?"

You have emoted: Maerad clutches her doll closer to her chest, and looks down at the floor. "Lacostian," she murmurs almost inaudibly. "Love. She showed me love."

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris gives a barely audible sigh that disappears with the passing breeze. She says, quietly, "Is there a reason you think this memory of love disturbed you so?"

Sighing softly, you say, "It was real, once. But what she gave me was not mine, and thus it was not real. I - I had never felt anything like it before. Part of me never wanted to again. And when I finally did, it wasn't real. They were just an imagined form." She blinks widely, and seems startled by the tears that roll down her cheeks. "How can you mourn someone who never existed?"

Gently, High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris says, "Because once they did exist for you, even if it was a dream."

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris says, "But you mustn't give up hope or your grasp on reality, Maerad, because reality holds much joy as well. Reality can hold love so strong it blinds."

Looking up at Inedra, you say, "I understand, now. I understand what it means to feel too much. And sometimes - sometimes I wish I could give it away, but -" She falters, and spins on the spot, turning her back on the statue. "But I can, can't I? I can give it away." Her fingers twitch, and turn a single dose of redtint out of the rift into her hands. Staring at it, she marvels, "I can paint it out."

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris smiles gently, relief washing over her expression. "Of course, my love. That is one of the purposes of creating Beauty, personal catharsis."

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris says, "Did I ever tell you of my experience with meeting Her Sister Trillillial in our Lady's dream?"

Inedra, Oracle of the Aesthete cries out in frustration, her sobs hollow and broken in their crystalline cadence.

You have emoted: Maerad Windwhisper, Student of Temporal Science's lips curl into a faint smile, and she curls her fingers around the paint in her hands. She twitches slightly at Inedra's outburst, but only with concern, and after composing herself turns to shake her head at Zyphora.

Her eyes closing in recollection, High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris says, "She told me, 'Do not let Her lose Herself in dreams again. Keep Her awake.' Dreams can be attractive and impossibly beautiful, but... where we belong is in the waking world, preserving Beauty and loving one another. Living in the present and thinking of the future, rather than burying ourselves in the past, unable to move forward."

You smile softly.

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris opens her eyes and smiles at you. "Your painting will be beautiful, love, I'm sure."

Softly, almost dream-like, you say, "Sometimes when I sleep, I see their face again. Translucent, but like the sky - reflecting the world around. Graceful like nothing but crystal can be - impossibly, and all the more perfect for it." She blushes, and ruffles her feathers slightly. "It is hard. Ever so hard. But I think it would be wrong for me to forget it. As you say, it was...it was reality for me, for a few moments, at least."

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris tilts her head curiously at the word 'translucent', but nods, saying, "I agree, love. Just paint it out. Whatever grounds you and settles you will help.

You embrace Zyphora with great ardour.

Zyphora folds her wings around your body, wrapping you in a feathered embrace.

Clumsily brushing the last of her tears away, you say, "I love you, Mama. Thank you for coming with me. I know I didn't really get to study the auras here, but I think...I think perhaps I need to do this first."

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris smiles and says, "I love you too, Maerad. Thank you for asking me to come."

To the Oracle, High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris says, "Thank you, Inedra. [Secret codeword]."

You curtsey gracefully.

Inedra's eyes begin to close as a lassitude overtakes her. Her vibrant form shrinks rapidly, her face emptying of emotion and her limbs returning to their cold marble state.

The sparkle fades from Inedra's eyes as she becomes an inanimate sculpture once more.

You teleport along the aether strands to the Matrix.

You smile and say to Zyphora, "It is time that I was resting, for a little while at least. Thank you, again."

High Scion Zyphora Windwhisper, The Auroral Iris smiles and says to you, "Be well, dearest."

Zyphora gives you a peck on the cheek.

You portal to AeroChem Central Mine.

Cutting the wood into sturdy boards, you assemble a frame. You then stretch the cloth over the frame  until you have a perfect canvas, suitable for painting a work of art.

With a careful eye, you balance a palette of paints in one hand and prop a canvas on your knee. You brush with careful strokes until soon you have created a painting of a fleeting moment of crystal.

A corona of golden metalwork frames the figure that takes up pride of place in this portrait, wrought of thick, twisting wires that coil about like the walls of a birdcage. Painted in thick oils, they lend a robust shape to the setting. Curiously, the oval-shaped image in the centre has been painted onto canvas so thin that light shines through the image like a stained-glass window, lending the lucidian depicted within an almost divine glow. Tall and graceful, the watercoloured woman stands with a regal bearing - rigid, yet possessed of an ethereal beauty that shines out from the geometric perfection of her visage. Almost translucent, her crystal glistens the perfect pale blue of a clear noon sky, enhanced by the painstakingly mixed watercolours that shine with backlit radiance. A sense of gentleness, but also of great wit and curiosity plays at her slender lips, whilst aristocracy sits with poise in her aquiline nose. Almost invisible, the smallest smile plays on her expression, and her dazzlingly star-silver eyes glimmer with the expectation of one seeking appraisement. Curling up from her precisely symmetrical face are dozens of thin crystalline filaments, the strength of their material belied by the delicate spirals. Each begins a deep azure, falling gently to clear at the tips, the colours evoking the memory of the rising dawn. The portrait ends just below her shoulders, where a thin cloak of white silk has been pinned just above the heart; the medallion that holds it closed gleaming with iridescent power, its centre bearing a delicate lavender eye that glances up at its wearer.

It has 253 months of usefulness left.

It weighs about 37 pounds.

It bears the distinctive mark of Maerad Windwhisper, Student of Temporal Science.

Tacita

The portrait painted, and her secret exorcised, Maerad realised that it would be wrong of her to conceal it any the longer. She resolved to do as her mother had instructed her, and let her feelings be free entirely, in the hope that they would cease plaguing her.

And so, she entered the painting in Hallifax's art auction in the Festival of Isune, deeming it a fitting way to reveal its existence not only to the world, but most of all to the its subject.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before a certain question was asked.

--

Message #184 sent by Irillia (received: 2013/11/07 21:06:42)

Greetings, Miss Windwhisper. Now that I have had the chance to study your paintings more closely, may I congratulate you again on their artistry and beauty. The second painting, though, with that medallion... Forgive me, but I must ask. Could your second painting be a portrait of me?

A tranquil, fragrant glade.

Banks of clouds roil about here. Motes of icy white light surround a sculpture of a regal woman, enthroned here in splendour.

You see a single exit leading south.

You have emoted: Maerad lingers hesitantly at the edge of the glade.

Hesitantly, you whisper, "[A secret codeword]."

The sculpture's crystal eyes flash brightly, and emotion suddenly fills its marble face. A ripple of coloured light engulfs the sculpture as it begins to transform.

The proportions of the sculpture begin to change, growing and expanding until it reaches a towering height. Its carved hair transforms into flowing locks, its marble limbs softening and flushing with colour. A dusky floral scent envelops the figure as she stands complete.

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across your lips.

Softly, you say, "Hello, Inedra. I hope you are feeling okay."

Inedra, Oracle of the Aesthete frowns fiercely at you, her icy-blue eyes absolutely cold.

You have emoted: Maerad flinches and stumbles slightly, her wings flaring to keep her steady.

You frown and say, "I...I'm sorry. I've disturbed you. Only I wanted - I didn't know where else to..."

You have emoted: Maerad wraps her arms around her falcon doll, blinking widely with watery green eyes.

You say, "I don't know whether to answer her question or not. I thought, perhaps, you would...that if I helped you a little, it would guide me. That I might be brave enough to -" She breaks off and sighs. "Papa would tell me to be brave for myself, but I am not brave. Not about this."

You have emoted: Maerad sniffles slightly, then looks a mixture of despondent and upset at her own  reaction. "I'm sorry," she says, no longer clear whether she is speaking to the statue or herself. "It's just that she was so -beautiful-, and I'm going to disappoint people so terribly."

Setting aside her falcon with careful gentleness, you say, "I don't know what to do. Please help me, Inedra. Please."

Brushing your hand against Inedra, Oracle of the Aesthete's cheek, your eyes meet as the warmth of the morning sun suffuses you both with the radiance of the aurora.

Inedra's eyes flash gold like the morning sun, her jewelled lips parting slightly as her marble hands reach for yours amidst lambent motes of light. "See what I see," you hear a soft voice echo in your mind.

Twilight skies obscure your sight, drifting with languid clouds bruised blue and black. Shifting in a strange perplexity of hazy outlines, the unmistakable presence of a Divine enigmatic as eventide itself reveals Himself to a proud winged Goddess who stands before Him, Her wings unfurled in a resplendent display of colour. Isune's eyes light with sudden, terrible understanding as She falls to Her knees, shaking with righteous anger.

Emanating through the aether, a sonorous, multi-toned voice oscillates, "I realize I am not He whom You've waited for, Aesthete. Indeed, I never can be. Yet am I any less deserving of Your Compassion?"

Your eyes squeeze shut as tears spring unbidden to the fore, and hands curled into fists, you break away from Inedra's hand.

You have emoted: Maerad recovers her doll and clutches it desperately, falling to her knees with the strength of the memory. "Oh, Gods," she whispers softly, shaking her head to throw away the tears gathering in the plumage of her cheeks.

She stares off into the distance, overwhelmed by emotion. As the tears begin to dry on her cheeks, you say, "You're right. It's complicated. And she will never be - can never be - the same again. She will 

never be the one that I have waited for. But I owe her an answer."

You say, "Thank you. Thank you so much, for everything. I am sorry, so sorry, that it took me so long to come back to you. Be at peace now, my dear friend. [Secret codeword]."

Inedra's eyes begin to close as a lassitude overtakes her. Her vibrant form shrinks rapidly, her face emptying of emotion and her limbs returning to their cold marble state.

The sparkle fades from Inedra's eyes as she becomes an inanimate sculpture once more.

You have emoted: Maerad gets shakily to her feet and wipes the last of the tears from her eyes. Steeling herself for the what awaits her, she lifts her head and turns from the glade.

[Maerad returns to Hallifax, and goes to the post office.]

You pull a sumptuous leather wing chair studded with crystal closer to a sumptuous leather-covered office desk studded with crystal and begin to write.

As you finish writing the letter, it contracts to fit your text, ensuring that no more may be written on it in the future.

You read what is written on a sheet of crystallised stationery:

Archmage,

Please forgive me the manner of my reply; I have neither the courage nor the wit to make it in person. I fear that I would tremble such that my words failed me, and that would not serve to make a reply at all. Thus, I hope you will permit me this form, in which I have both the time to seek my words and the bravery to speak them.

I have in the past, I believe, explained to you a little of my beliefs about love - that we who are born of Trillillial and those who are born of Xyl keep Their love eternal, through our neverending retelling of Their love, our expression of it through our own selves as shards of Their divinity. I have made no secret of this, nor of the fact that I hold in my heart a place that yearns for crystal, for symmetry and for order - even though I am not so drawn to them in my own making.

As a painter, I have often crafted images of love, but for a very long time I had never felt it. Not at all, indeed, until my cousin Allyrianne took me to meet Inedra. It was there that I first experienced what it was like to love someone, through the memory that she shared with me - both the greatest gift that the Lady has given me, and the largest burden. For so long I feared that I would only ever know love through dreams.

It was some time afterwards that you called to me and asked for my artist's opinion. Oh, if only I had known what I would see! I know not whether I would have turned away, or looked all the longer. The image that you crafted is painted into my mind in permanent inks; I can never forget it, and though I could portray it a thousand times on canvas I am certain I would never capture its perfection.

And yet, I know that what I felt was not the wholeness of love. Please forgive me the clumsiness of these words - but it was not for your intelligence, your wit or your compassion that I felt love, though they are worthy of it. It was for your image alone, and though that is love it is only a single colour of it. Love is a rainbow, and to love but an image is to turn away from all the shades of red and yellow, taking only blue for your brush.

Still I could not help but love, though it was flawed, and though I knew with all certainty that I would never see it requited or indeed feel its warmth again. I folded those feelings up into the gems within my heart, and hid them. It was, I decided, safer - even if it meant that my heart would ever be tied up in dreams that cannot be. Oh, but how such things fester! It became to me a poison of roses, unknowingly drowning me from within. I lost my sense of real desire and of fantasy.

It was only of late, when I felt drawn to the glade - sensing, as other have done, that something there was unusual - that I ever stopped to consider the truth of my feelings, and their consequence. It was in speaking to Mama about the wellness of Inedra that I confessed that I had never been back to take her memories upon myself again - fearing, as I had done, that I would become unable to feel any emotion save for those that she gave me. Whilst there, Mama gifted me with an idea - to paint out the secrets of my heart, and in doing so exorcise them.

That is how this painting came to be, and thus my answer to your question is yes, but it is also no. It is a portrait of the single most beautiful form that I have ever laid my eyes upon. It is a portrait of the crystal hidden within my heart. And it is a portrait of the dreams that I shall ever carry, knowing their reality is impossible. Yet it is not you, all the same. But it is done, it is made - and no longer will its beauty cause me strain. 

In truth I did not know whether to answer your question at all - so I sought out Inedra. It is the first time since she showed me love, all those years ago, that I have taken a memory from her. The memory she showed me was of Lord Elostian, and though it felt keenly painful, I also knew that she had solved my fear. You deserved an answer to your question; I hope that these words, however clumsy, have given it.

Though I shall never seek an apology for what I have felt, I hope that you shall forgive me nonetheless.

Maerad Windwhisper

You address a sheet of crystallised stationery to Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance, and immediately a harried-looking trill comes out to take it from you. She whistles, and a glowing sphere comes flying into the room. The trill places a sheet of crystallised stationery inside of the sphere and it speeds away.

Tacita

Her missive sent, all that Maerad could do was wait for a reply, if one would ever come.

When it did - well, it would be unfair to say that it surpassed her expectations, for she had never dared to make any. What it most certainly did was put finally to rest the rollercoaster of emotion that she had been on for years, finally allowing her to take pride in her feelings and, perhaps above all, accept that they were not wrong.

And for the briefest of moments, looking at the painting she had been given, Maerad Windwhisper believed that she was beautiful - and that one day, a real lucidian would look at her as Isune had looked at Lacostian all those aeons ago.

--

You read what is written on a cloud-white letter embossed with a thunderbird motif:

Greetings, Miss Maerad,

As you asked me to forgive you for the manner of your answer to my query

regarding your painting, so must I ask you to forgive me for my long

silence and seeming lack of acknowledgement to your letter. The delay, I

assure you, originated not from lack of emotion or interest, but quite

emphatically from an overflow of both, for I had never expected so

profound and powerful a response to either my artless question or the

illusion of lucidian form that I created one day on sheer whim. Truly, I

could never have predicted that so small a thing could inspire such

feeling and such art in another.

You honour me, my dear, beyond all description with your love and

admiration for the lucidian form I wore. Yet, in truth, I am glad to see

that you have since realised that yours is but a love of form, a love

borne of the senses and not of heart and soul. Though the love is no

less for that, still it is incomplete--a fantasy, a dream, as you

yourself have said. And there is too much danger, too much heartbreak at

risk when one succumbs to living wholly in dreams.

I am glad, as well, that you have found release and expression for your

heart in your art. The love of Beauty should truly in the end lead to

new and greater Beauty, which then engenders the love of Beauty in those

who behold it. And the painting you created is without a doubt a visible

manifestation of Beauty in its highest sense, possessed not merely of

harmony of colour and form but also imbued with the glow that can only

come when one paints from the heart.

I hope that you will allow me to thank you for the gift of your honesty

and courage, as well as the immense compliment you have paid my

creation, with a painting of my own. Just as you painted that which you

found beautiful, so have I. The pursuit of Beauty, the creation of it,

the soul of an artist in whom Beauty inspires love, passion, and

exaltation--that, to me, is the most beautiful. That is what I have

sought to capture in my gift to you.

Irillia Shevat

The high, crystalline walls of an artist's studio form the backdrop of this warmly illuminated 

portrait, their rich sapphirine shade at once luminous and dark enough to provide contrast to the 

oil painting's central figure. Rendered in softly diffuse, subtle brushwork, a tall, winged trill 

glances toward the viewer over her shoulder, her attention seemingly diverted for just a moment from 

a painting in progress upon an easel to her right. A pale, billowing gossamer gown and misty, dawn-

grey coat nearly the same colour as her cloud-hued plumage and creamy complexion swathes her elegant 

but fragile frame, lending her an almost monochromatic look, like an ivory statue veiled in silvery 

drapery. Only the bold emerald-green of her eyes presents a note of vivid colour within her 

appearance, gazing outward from her square-jawed, fine-featured face with haunting directness and 

immediacy. The faint blush upon the trill's cheeks and the gentle parting of her lips, poised as if 

about to speak or sigh, further enhance her earnest, wide-eyed expression, at once curious and 

intelligent, innocent yet knowing, enraptured yet wistful, full of longing and bittersweet 

acceptance alike. Her left arm, lowered by her side, cradles a wooden palette laden with irregular 

daubs of colourful watercolours, while her right hand holds a paintbrush suspended above the canvas 

on the easel beside her. Tiny splotches of dried paint bespeckle her slender fingers in jewel-bright 

hues, and a streak of deep azure runs unnoticed across the back of her left hand in testament to her 

absolute artistic absorption. Though only partially visible and mostly obscured by shadow, the 

canvas on the easel at her side displays an unfinished likeness of a regal lucidian woman, the 

chiselled features and glimmering eyes already beautifully developed and imbued with a sparkle of 

vitality.

It has 241 months of usefulness left.

It weighs about 37 pounds.

It bears the distinctive mark of Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance.

Tacita

I have been saving these up to post them because I wanted to do it all at once, and not to spoiler anything for people ICly. Also, it's nice in terms of  resolution to be able to post an entire arc at once!

Obviously, some GIANT RAVES are in order because the people who got involved in this crazy thing were utterly, totally awesome, and I love you all even though I also hate you because you kept making me cry. There were other little pieces associated with this that I didn't capture to post, like Irillia's awkward glances during the improv games (which are recorded elsewhere), and Entrias's gentle-but-firm lecture about how she ought to get married to a nice trill man, all of which added to what has been a hugely fun RP arc.

Final and most important love must go to Irillia, who for a long time had no idea what was going on, and responded with the most amazingly beautiful portrait and letter ever. I totally recommend her for awkward crushes.

Irillia

Thank you for posting the entire arc of this unique love story and for letting me be part of it. It was an honour to be the subject of Maerad's awkward crush, and completely fun to watch it all unfold. And I know I'll always be a bit envious of whichever lucidian she eventually falls in love with and marries someday, too.

Marcella

Oh, I didn't know Maerad was Tacita. Heh. I had some good RP with her about that one picture she did of 'in the collective's service' or whatever it was called. Good logs!

Niina

Oh, I just loved reading this.  Beautiful story!