For a few days leading up to the potluck, Marrow Island is haunted by a strange phantom; an image of a very tall, seemingly elfin woman with broad wings, appearing as an outline in the raindrops, a shape in the mist, a trick of the light. She's shouting in English, stabbing at the air with a long, broad sword. For those of the newcomers that understand English, the author will not be transcribing the vile curses the figure is spitting. They are inventive and graphic.
On the day of the potluck though, a hearse festooned with amaranths pulls up to the square while the gathering is in full swing. It slows to a sedate stop, and for a moment nothing happens.
The tall woman who steps out is much different in the flesh; she has to fold massive raven wings to get out the door, moving tattoos of sheet music crawl along her pale arms. Her black hair moves as a cloudy mass, often falling in front of the thick green blindfold on her face.
Surrounding her is a shroud of gunpowder that pops and sizzles in the air jubilantly, like fireworks, shapes of flowers and trees and clouds forming in the haze. For that first moment she's as regal and imposing as an angel.
Then she takes one step and falls flat on her face.
Erin Peters | Changeling: the Lost & CRAU | OTA
On the day of the potluck though, a hearse festooned with amaranths pulls up to the square while the gathering is in full swing. It slows to a sedate stop, and for a moment nothing happens.
The tall woman who steps out is much different in the flesh; she has to fold massive raven wings to get out the door, moving tattoos of sheet music crawl along her pale arms. Her black hair moves as a cloudy mass, often falling in front of the thick green blindfold on her face.
Surrounding her is a shroud of gunpowder that pops and sizzles in the air jubilantly, like fireworks, shapes of flowers and trees and clouds forming in the haze. For that first moment she's as regal and imposing as an angel.
Then she takes one step and falls flat on her face.