The Academy: albatross

Hag; crone; wyrd sister… by whatever name she was called, tonight she was here. Her black legs stained by patterns of white and gray hairs; her underbelly the same way—but it was her storm gray body; dark and smoky that seemed to fade within the muggy areas of the academy. My chimera stood patiently, mismatched eyes glancing out across the wild flowing grass and the places where water lay; and white stone crumbled. She feels the ground speaking, the earth flowing up through her legs and into her very body; she feels the spider black hairs clinging to her neck and on the occasion drifting off in small fringes. Yet alas; as she feels all nature around her… the mother feels swift corruptive pain seizing her body. it grasps her from her hip; wherein she has been marked. For embedded within her flesh is the strange black shard; burnt in the shape of a rose; with blood ever leaking and shaped like petals.

The earth tells her; speaks to her; and it ensures her. yet she hears it, the timid greeting, and her head turns. The chimera mare glances at the girl; a strange filly whose ruby body seems to stand out; yet even then she chuckles at her, “Well hello.” She speaks with a deep Parisian accent. Her voice husky and smoldering with hints of devastation and wanton; “I am Elemmírë, and you are Albatross?” she knows her, the scent of her before had been present in the very glade she called home. And yet, she knows already what she wants; she desires what all students do—a teacher. The hag smiles, she can smell the differed people upon the girl, and within her ocean-teal eye imagery dances; reflections of people and places. She chuckles, but shakes her head, standing still as the earth around her grows silent.

Eternally, the rogue is peaceful, but the shard tears into her mind; telling her things. She regards Albatross as a blood source; and possible pet; but alas with Hypatia and Wyvern nearby… she resists. ‘Take her mother,’ it cries like a child, baying into her skull with pressure and force. She hears but cannot satiate it, and she clears her throat. Her swan neck curves and hangs her head against her breast, her body still even as the wind passes across her. Unlike the girl, the hag possesses heterochromia and a strangely half white face, perhaps due to an accident in genetics, either way she is built different too; much like a quarter horse. So she stands, “Do you prefer to give pain… or to receive it.” She’s rather blunt; but answer wisely.