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Mar. 17th, 2007 01:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
livingintrinityWhen she left the rooms they didn't even whisper anymore. It was no secret that Lady Marian had spells. They blamed it on a weak heart. Said it was failing due to her fathers replacements and being cast aside by her childhood sweetheart. She'd stopped waiting at the door to hear them a year ago. She simply walked out of the house and into Sherwood.
They liked to believe in the spells being dangerous were she pushed too hard, and without her saying anything to refute them, they let her go.
The spells in all truth were moments when her patience finally snapped. Her fingers were tired of the embroidery today, her fathers tart words from breakfast had left a sour taste, and she longed for the sounds of the forest. She walked into the greenery until she couldn't see or hear the house.
Stopping to rest on a tree she lifted her face to letting the sun shower her.....and was surprised to feel water submerge her being.
Panic came first and then curiosity to why she should panic.
She couldn't remember.
Anything really.
She walked through the water and the trees, comforted that there were still trees, toward a shape in the distance. There is no weakness in her absence of thought, though humility and elegance echoed from her every movement.
Her eyes betray a soul too old to be young and too young to be old, which understand in the fog more than was understood previously, even as the lodge's finite appearance causes that truth to slip away once more.
And then she remembers she is Mary; but Marian to those who ask.
They liked to believe in the spells being dangerous were she pushed too hard, and without her saying anything to refute them, they let her go.
The spells in all truth were moments when her patience finally snapped. Her fingers were tired of the embroidery today, her fathers tart words from breakfast had left a sour taste, and she longed for the sounds of the forest. She walked into the greenery until she couldn't see or hear the house.
Stopping to rest on a tree she lifted her face to letting the sun shower her.....and was surprised to feel water submerge her being.
Panic came first and then curiosity to why she should panic.
She couldn't remember.
Anything really.
She walked through the water and the trees, comforted that there were still trees, toward a shape in the distance. There is no weakness in her absence of thought, though humility and elegance echoed from her every movement.
Her eyes betray a soul too old to be young and too young to be old, which understand in the fog more than was understood previously, even as the lodge's finite appearance causes that truth to slip away once more.
And then she remembers she is Mary; but Marian to those who ask.
