3/7/2026, 5:44 PM
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SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )
She breathed a laugh that sounded more like a huff when he pointed out the thing she had noticed as well: Aisling had gotten so tall. It would - hopefully - not be long before her two sisters arrived, and how tall would THEY be beside her? Aisling wasn’t the tallest of the brood and the thought of her sisters being even taller made her heart wrench. While Fable would never regret her daughters, she wanted keenly for the slowed-down version of life humans lived - she would get years upon years to watch them blossom into themselves, using the near-decades worth of time to soften herself to the idea of them spreading their own wings and taking to skies that no longer belonged to her purview.
Not that she could ever hope to swallow the resignation - it got caught in her throat, threatening to choke her. In the end, she wanted what was best for her children, and she would never hold them back.
Inevitably, the thoughts brought her to Eidola and Kyros, whose forms she hadn’t seen in many months. Were they well, wherever they had gone? Not knowing the answer to that drove cracks into her very soul, but short of picking the Kingdom up and moving it across the world in search of them, there was little she could do to find them. She had to hope that they knew the Kingdom was an open door for them always, and that maybe their paths would cross again. It didn’t stop her from keeping an eye out for them everywhere she went.
Just in case.
Her gaze turned to Fox as he reassured her that Aisling still had time to learn from her, still needed her - sometimes she wondered if he had a little window into her brain and could read her thoughts like she read lines in a poem back in Talamh. It certainly felt like it sometimes, and warmth gathered beneath the fur of her cheeks as she realized, should he have such a power, he would have been privy to a great many thoughts she dared not think about.
If one thing was true, it was that fire flowed in the veins of the Goldencourtes. While Fable wasn’t one to fight, she would do anything to protect those she loved - her fire was slow to burn, but it still flickered beneath her breast bone, ready to catch kindling if the situation ever arose.
His shoulder bumped hers and her grin dialed into a mischievous smirk, but her expression quickly shifted with a mild edge of surprise as his words summoned a memory - or several. Specifically, it dragged out the first day back with her family, Fox seated alongside her, as she taught him how to use silverware to eat - and her reflexive motion that overcame her like an innate, automatic instinct as she fed him from the fork she held. She had been powerless to stop the motion, but it was only one intimate gesture in a whole sea of others, and she restlessly turned each and every one of them over and over and over in endless scrutiny.
Fable cleared her throat as if she hadn’t been stuck in a momentary reverie, split between warring emotions surrounding that memory and the fact none of them had faded even now.
She gave him a true smile as he credited her younger sister for her part in the matter. Niamh would have been welcome to have here with them, but she had been of mind to stay with Kieran and Aine, for she couldn’t imagine leaving the horses to fend for themselves and she couldn’t trust anyone else with them - so the farm’s sheep, horses, and chickens would be taken somewhere safer, hopefully out of war’s reach.
Of her other siblings, Vixen had told them she wished them well, but she had a life she’d worked hard to build - how much of that was true, Fable wasn’t certain, but she lamented never being able to mend their broken bond. Most of the others were undecided. Ffionn and Fleta hinted they might return, as Fleta had already gotten a taste of Mythris and was curious to learn more, and Ffionn would always follow her sister to the ends of the universe. Where one went, the other would always follow.
After all, they had given her word that her daughter would die and she could take measures to prevent it from coming to pass. There was little she wouldn’t do to repay such a debt, and she was a powerful entity to have on one’s side. She had an entire fleet of dedicated knights, but she, herself, was a force to be reckoned with; if Epona’s retellings were to be believed, there was a side to their Matriarch that was steeped in a dark, dangerous magic forbidden to those who were part of the coven. She, at times, seemed to detach from conscious thought and operated on a sort of murderous auto-pilot, an existence borne of instinct and a lack of remorse. She had many lapses early in her life, but since she entered her relationship with Edward, instances had been fewer and fewer. Some in her circle attributed it to her growing control, but Fable wasn’t so convinced. She had seen their soulmate bond - it was unlike any she had ever seen.
Where most were bound by a gossamer string, pulsing with varying shades of light, theirs was like a cosmos had been compressed into the angles and sharp edges of a cracked-open geode. Their links fit together rather than were shared; it was perplexing. It was as though they were not two entities meant together since their first breath, but two halves of a single whole.
As if their souls had been one singular entity and they merely shared it, and when they found one another, the ragged edges slotted back together.
She never brought it up with them, nor mentioned it to her mother. Fable had a somewhat loose understanding of the threads of fate she could see, learned mostly through a few others she met who had heard of such an ability, but even they didn’t have all the answers. She had seen links that ran the gamut - some, like the one between Amalthea and Edward, were far beyond what she could ever hope to know.
Even more difficult was thinking at all. It was as if cotton had been placed in every nook and cranny of her mind and the feedback loop responsible for coherent thought was moving through it with severe delay. Each breath enhanced the fuzzy feeling cocooning her, sharpened by the deeper inhales she drew of the intoxicating scent.
She stared at the flame settled before them, eyes round in wonder and ears ticked forward.
She felt like she was on her third glass of fae wine at this point. Fable could almost taste the nectar on her tongue, its ambrosial notes summoned by memory alone.
Now, she had no such choice in whether or not she partook. It was stolen by whatever this fire was emitting. The warm and cozy sensation blanketed her, eating away at the inhibition she’d schooled for the better part of a year as her gaze lifted from the fire and tilted Fox’s way, watching the light dance across his features, bouncing off the snow just to gild him with its touch.
Not that she could ever hope to swallow the resignation - it got caught in her throat, threatening to choke her. In the end, she wanted what was best for her children, and she would never hold them back.
She's so tall now,Fable admitted with a slight frown. Despite the pride that dwelled in her chest for each and every one of her daughters, it seemed like only yesterday that Aisling and her sisters had been curled into her side and entirely helpless. They had relied on her for everything from nourishment to protection and warmth - she gave it all willingly, she would bleed her soul dry to give it to them. But now, they were growing up so fast. Faster than she could ever want, but she was powerless to manipulate time here.
I feel like I blinked an' she's nearly grown.
Inevitably, the thoughts brought her to Eidola and Kyros, whose forms she hadn’t seen in many months. Were they well, wherever they had gone? Not knowing the answer to that drove cracks into her very soul, but short of picking the Kingdom up and moving it across the world in search of them, there was little she could do to find them. She had to hope that they knew the Kingdom was an open door for them always, and that maybe their paths would cross again. It didn’t stop her from keeping an eye out for them everywhere she went.
Just in case.
Her gaze turned to Fox as he reassured her that Aisling still had time to learn from her, still needed her - sometimes she wondered if he had a little window into her brain and could read her thoughts like she read lines in a poem back in Talamh. It certainly felt like it sometimes, and warmth gathered beneath the fur of her cheeks as she realized, should he have such a power, he would have been privy to a great many thoughts she dared not think about.
Aye, Illi has always been so enthusiastic, I know she will catch up quickly - an' Nausicaa will probably be more focused on findin' Shiloh. Sometimes, I think she likes him more than me,she said, a grin slowly spreading across her lips. Her little wildheart, as she called her, was certainly more interested in all things combat. It made Shiloh an easy favorite for her, given his background. Though it pained her to think of her children ever finding themselves in harm’s way - especially after Nausicaa’s encounter with a bear - she was grateful her brother was willing to help her learn, both in this world and the last.
I would say I have no idea where she got it, but then I just have t’remember who m’siblings are.
If one thing was true, it was that fire flowed in the veins of the Goldencourtes. While Fable wasn’t one to fight, she would do anything to protect those she loved - her fire was slow to burn, but it still flickered beneath her breast bone, ready to catch kindling if the situation ever arose.
His shoulder bumped hers and her grin dialed into a mischievous smirk, but her expression quickly shifted with a mild edge of surprise as his words summoned a memory - or several. Specifically, it dragged out the first day back with her family, Fox seated alongside her, as she taught him how to use silverware to eat - and her reflexive motion that overcame her like an innate, automatic instinct as she fed him from the fork she held. She had been powerless to stop the motion, but it was only one intimate gesture in a whole sea of others, and she restlessly turned each and every one of them over and over and over in endless scrutiny.
Fable cleared her throat as if she hadn’t been stuck in a momentary reverie, split between warring emotions surrounding that memory and the fact none of them had faded even now.
M’mathair says a lot of things,Fable muttered, mostly to herself, but raised her voice to normal volumes with her next words.
She claims it’s part o’ how she won athair over an’ he agrees. It must work on obstinate colts, too.
She gave him a true smile as he credited her younger sister for her part in the matter. Niamh would have been welcome to have here with them, but she had been of mind to stay with Kieran and Aine, for she couldn’t imagine leaving the horses to fend for themselves and she couldn’t trust anyone else with them - so the farm’s sheep, horses, and chickens would be taken somewhere safer, hopefully out of war’s reach.
Of her other siblings, Vixen had told them she wished them well, but she had a life she’d worked hard to build - how much of that was true, Fable wasn’t certain, but she lamented never being able to mend their broken bond. Most of the others were undecided. Ffionn and Fleta hinted they might return, as Fleta had already gotten a taste of Mythris and was curious to learn more, and Ffionn would always follow her sister to the ends of the universe. Where one went, the other would always follow.
I know Amalthea will watch out for them,Fable admitted, feeling in her heart it was true. The Hand’s Matriarch had a long history with her family, and she would see to it that the Goldencourtes got settled, wherever that might be. While she and the rest of the McClures would face war head-on, she would ensure their loyalty was repaid before the real threats arrived.
After all, they had given her word that her daughter would die and she could take measures to prevent it from coming to pass. There was little she wouldn’t do to repay such a debt, and she was a powerful entity to have on one’s side. She had an entire fleet of dedicated knights, but she, herself, was a force to be reckoned with; if Epona’s retellings were to be believed, there was a side to their Matriarch that was steeped in a dark, dangerous magic forbidden to those who were part of the coven. She, at times, seemed to detach from conscious thought and operated on a sort of murderous auto-pilot, an existence borne of instinct and a lack of remorse. She had many lapses early in her life, but since she entered her relationship with Edward, instances had been fewer and fewer. Some in her circle attributed it to her growing control, but Fable wasn’t so convinced. She had seen their soulmate bond - it was unlike any she had ever seen.
Where most were bound by a gossamer string, pulsing with varying shades of light, theirs was like a cosmos had been compressed into the angles and sharp edges of a cracked-open geode. Their links fit together rather than were shared; it was perplexing. It was as though they were not two entities meant together since their first breath, but two halves of a single whole.
As if their souls had been one singular entity and they merely shared it, and when they found one another, the ragged edges slotted back together.
She never brought it up with them, nor mentioned it to her mother. Fable had a somewhat loose understanding of the threads of fate she could see, learned mostly through a few others she met who had heard of such an ability, but even they didn’t have all the answers. She had seen links that ran the gamut - some, like the one between Amalthea and Edward, were far beyond what she could ever hope to know.
Even more difficult was thinking at all. It was as if cotton had been placed in every nook and cranny of her mind and the feedback loop responsible for coherent thought was moving through it with severe delay. Each breath enhanced the fuzzy feeling cocooning her, sharpened by the deeper inhales she drew of the intoxicating scent.
She stared at the flame settled before them, eyes round in wonder and ears ticked forward.
No, never,Fable replied, drifting closer until one of the colorful embers kissed her nose and she arched her head away. Even though its touch seared, she found she didn’t mind it - she didn’t worry about much of anything right now, really.
She felt like she was on her third glass of fae wine at this point. Fable could almost taste the nectar on her tongue, its ambrosial notes summoned by memory alone.
D’ye remember th’ nectar?Fable asked him. It had been served at every festival and she had been prudent about how much she imbibed at the time, determined to remain fairly, manageably sober in his presence - there was no telling what she might have said or done had she not.
I feel like I've had some, for some reason.
Now, she had no such choice in whether or not she partook. It was stolen by whatever this fire was emitting. The warm and cozy sensation blanketed her, eating away at the inhibition she’d schooled for the better part of a year as her gaze lifted from the fire and tilted Fox’s way, watching the light dance across his features, bouncing off the snow just to gild him with its touch.
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