A Conversation With Mysrai About The Poppy

Zitto

Following is a log from a conversation Zitto had with Mysrai, offering an invitation to the upcoming wedding and a discussion about the story of the poppy. As a very brief summary for people who haven't gotten to read about it, Maylea painted the poppy for/with Mysrai but was injured during the process. Whether or not this was deliberate/done with malice aforethought has been on Zitto's mind since he read the Book of Maylea. Personally, I was blown away by Mysrai's ability to improvise a scene featuring Kaenalye, Zitto's Fiance, and Zitto's long-time friend all on the spot.

You bow respectfully to the master shrine of Mysrai.

You say, "Elder Mysrai, with a humble heart I beg of You to grant me an audience if it please You."

Shifting whispers of reality condense as an echoing voice intones, "Oh, have you come to offer Me another dramatic scene with your lovely lady? No, I do not see her. I wonder what else you might have to offer Me, then, in return for such an audience."

You have emoted: Zitto considers the matter slowly. At last he resolves, "I am pleased to offer what You should ask of me in exchange for a single answer, save that it be not betrayal of my Lady or my People. I also come bearing an invitation, but as a show of good faith..." As he pauses, he raises a brazier before the altar.

You offer up a brazier of wonder to Mysrai, the Scarlet Courtesan.

A throaty laugh echoes around you, bringing a fire to your stomach and heat to your cheeks as though He stood directly behind you. "A handful of grains in a sea of sand, little one."

You say, "I know my gesture is as nothing before the devoted faith of your many Beloved. Will you none the less receive my invitation? It is not for my sake, but hers."

A flurry of poppy blossoms, shredded and torn, whirl around you before making their way towards the master shrine, briefly taking the appearance of a masculine form that gestures, "You may offer your invitation, in return for these grains."

You have emoted: Zitto kneels, pressing his head to the floor in a further display of humility. "Lief and I are to be wed on the 15th of Vestian this coming year. My Lief attributes to You, if not the fact of our proclamations of love to one another, at least the enhastenment of them. I believe She would be deeply touched if You, or perhaps your Beloved Aschwar, were to attend." Though his head is still pressed to the floor, a faint smile flickers across his face as he adds, "And if it please You, You may find amusement in watching mortals make sport with one another at the reception. Miss Faythe hosts a formidable game night."

Your words hang in the air of the fulcrux for several long minutes, leaving you with nothing but silence as the poppies slowly float through the air in a slow current of wind that refuses to obey the laws of nature. There is no proper answer in this time, only the heavy presence of His alien mind around you.

You have emoted: Zitto keeps his head to the floor, no longer with any hint of amusement. "You or Your emissary would of course be afforded the respect due to a most esteemed and welcome guest," he offers, his voice cracking somewhat in either fear or desperation.

It is several more long minutes after your cracking voice offers this that His voice returns, oddly neutral as He states, "I will offer My Heart your invitation, and should they wish to attend I will hold their safety against your own. Every prickle from a thorn shall be returned against your body tenfold, and pray that their first visit to the forest should not happen again, lest I leave you little more than a stain upon the bark."

You have emoted: Zitto lets out the smallest sigh of relief, barely audible and quickly restrained. There is no hint of flippancy or disrespect in his solemn pronouncement, "I of course accept responsibility for their safety. Thank You for Your time, Great One. I am sure Lief will be pleased to know You have even considered the matter, regardless of your Heart's decision."

You have emoted: Zitto lifts his head from the floor to look at the veil, and for a moment he looks desperately tempted to flee. He rises and makes his way slowly away from the shrine. At the edge of the veil he suddenly stops and turns back towards the shrine with a curious, daring expression.

With no response from the shrine, you turn once more towards the veil, and among its shifting skeins you spy a female visage, clad in s garment of shifting purple bindings. Her eyes flicker with the soft gold of a fading day, and a wreath of deep blue hair falls around a heart-breakingly familiar face; that of your own Goddess.

Slowly, She steps forward, Her golden eyes shimmering within the veils as She comes close to their edge, falling just short of their exit as She stares at you. No, this could not be your Goddess, for the chestnut of Her hair is nowhere to be found. Moments later, She steps through, and you feel sick as you gaze upon Her, forcing you to close your eyes.

When you open your eyes next, it is as though an icepick has been driven through your heart, for there is your own beloved. Blossoms fall from her antlered head as she looks up at you with a soft smile that is only enhanced by the fullness of her peach-stained lips, the kimono draped around her dragging slightly against the floor. "I do." Her voice is as soft as a summer's rain, melodic as the birds of spring.

You have emoted: Zitto squats lowers to the floor, huddling himself as disquiet plays out across his face. He seems to be on the edge of tears. For a moment, his resolve wavers.

You think to yourself: The cruelty is an answer on its own. I should not be here.

You think to yourself: No... We are Unbroken. We will ask.

"Ask, my love. There can be no hesitation, no second guessing." She turns and walks past you, but before you can turn your head to look, there is a moment of dread that strikes deep in your stomach. The gentle blossoms that fell in her trail halt and stutter, freezing in midair and jerking awfully before dissolving into black shadows that fall to the floor.

You have emoted: Zitto casts his gaze at the floor, not daring to turn around. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then asks, "When you painted the poppy with Lady Maylea, the process hurt her. Did You know that it would?"

You have emoted: Zitto seems to have achieved some degree of resolve, for after asking the question, he rises again. Slowly, he turns to face the pacing figure, determination blotting out fear as he stares.

"...all gone...bye bye..." The voice, one you have not heard in millenia, is as familiar to you as the scent of paper bound in tomes, dry and cracked in torment as it rises from nowhere and everywhere. Shadowy, skeletal hands creep past you, dragging at the floor past you as you turn to see a tall viscanti hunched over as though unconscious; held aloft by these same shadowy hands. Her long white hair trails down in bloody mats, taint and shadowy energy pouring from a vicious wound in the hollow of her throat. "...all gone..."

You have emoted: Zitto shudders at the sight of his long-lost friend. "Tremula..." he says, his wistful voice catching in his throat. He seems to forget himself, forget that what he is seeing is an illusion. Tears pour slowly from his eyes as he looks on, and he whispers, "I was not enough to save you."

Like breaking pottery, she dissolves into nothingness, and shadow engulfs your surroundings, painting the fulcrux in black.

Slowly, you hear footsteps approaching you, and soon you see the bare skin of the Scarlet Courtesan at your side, His face looking out into the infinite darkness.

Surrounded with an aura of comfortable heat and passionate ecstasy, His sublime visage is far more potent than any mortal should bear; making it clear that He is a radiant immortal. A face that is filled with arrogant angles, lent easily to smirking, and void-black, lidless eyes that are given to sparkling with swiftly-changing constellations give Him the appearance of a sly, attractive youth. Appearing as a wire-muscled adolescent, stained a coppery brown by the sun, His limbs hold in orbit about them a constant flow of poppy blossoms both shredded and whole. His hair is an attractive, feathered mess atop His head, tousled and streaked with shimmering powders of copper and scarlet sparks that shimmer and pop in barely-restrained energies. Dark, rubescent powders mix with ivory beneath His eyes, along His neck, and across His collarbones, displaying incomprehensible hieroglyphs that curl upon themselves in puzzling suggestions of barely manifested realities. Along His finely sculpted torso are as many planes and angles as a marble statue, lending Him a perfect, masculine appearance with their sharp definition.

He is wearing:
a cropped pair of deep grey trousers that hang low on His hips in a provocative manner;
a burgundy belt of leather cinched loose and carefree;.

You have emoted: Zitto turns to regard the Courtesan for a few moments, his breaths coming quick and a slight flush overtaking him. Still, something in him seems to have been emptied, or changed, for his wide-eyed gaze does not linger long before it too turns out to stare into the darkness.

Without looking in your direction even once, there is no doubt in your mind that Mysrai's words are addressed to you as He speaks in the familiar, warm tones that send blushes down your cheeks, "It was not the painting that hurt Her, little one."

You have emoted: Zitto continues to gaze out into the darkness as he considers the answer. Though he shudders at the sound like one might at the call of a lover, his voice is numb as he asks, "Then what did?"

"She knew Me." The words echo like an explosion in the darkness, and suddenly countless motes of twinkling light blossom into being, interspersed over each other and overlayed yet all wholly distinguishable from the next as they shine windows into realities beyond understanding. Mysrai looks around with little concern as He observes with callous disregard that which threatens to overwhelm your mind. The stars remain but for a moment, and then fade, into little more than a twinkling backdrop that could put the night sky to shame. "For a time, Our minds, and Our spirits, were as one. Maylea is a powerful Elder, and I respect Her greatly, yet as She experienced My mastery over paradigms and the bending of fate...even She could not help but to suffer."

You have emoted: Zitto stares awestruck at the brief procession of light, and for a long time says nothing as he stands, unblinking and slack-jawed. After a time he shakes his head, then rubs his eyes, though it does little to dispel his overwhelmed, disturbed expression. It takes longer still for him to process what he has heard, though finally he arrives at a conclusion. Slowly words are formed, pushed through a mind still reeling. "You... knew. Did you... care?"

"I found a piece of this within the poppy, which I took to be Mine. In awakening it, She had to experience this, and for that She suffered." Mysrai simply looks towards you with dispassionate, starstruck eyes of purest void-black, shaking His head, "Her own nature drew Her to make a reality what was only a possibility. I intended Her to come to no harm, and when She did I offered Her to the Hamadhi for care." His smile comes easy, though His eyes remain without feeling as He simply states, "But knowing such now, I would not hesitate to do so again. She did not break, did She?"

You have emoted: Zitto takes another deep breath and seems at last to have collected enough of himself to achieve coherency. "She does not break," he offers as an answer, then tries, but fails to meet Mysrai's dark gaze. His own eyes once again fall towards the floor and fear creeps back into his voice at the anticipation of a reckoning. He says, "You have given me answers. I offered anything that does not require the betrayal of my People or my Lady. What will you claim from me?"

Mysrai bends forward and presses His palm to your cheek, His flesh as soft as silk and His grip as firm as iron as He gently lifts Your face towards His. He presses His lips to your brow in a kiss that sizzles against your flesh and causes the darkness around you to fade. "I will collect, fear not, little one." His voice sends a white-hot lance of pain through your vision, and you hurriedly blink away the starspots, revealing nothing left of the Courtesan but a flurry of poppy blossoms as His voice echoes, "Do enjoy your wedding."

You have emoted: Zitto kneels one final time in deference towards the altar before quickly making good his escape from the fulcrux.

With a whisper of energies and a glimpse of changing paradigms, the veil parts, allowing you passage beyond.

Mysrai

You are too kind! Admittedly, it wasn't entirely improvised, I started planning how I wanted to do this encounter and researching about a month ago when you were maggoted. I wanted to make sure I could give the appropriate level of response this kind of question could deserve. You were a wonderful target.