Title: A Change of Seasons
Author: Loki
Rating: R. Violence/Language/Adult Situations.
Genre: Romance/Suspense/Angst.
Pairing: H/?
Status: WIP.
Summary: AU. Does the end justify the means? Life as it is known is about to be altered irrevocably, and a young Goddess finds herself caught in the crossfire. An unlikely romance. A struggle between good and evil, where both sides wear a mask to hide their true intentions.
Feedback: Needed very much. I know this isn't a lot to work with, but it's kind of like a teaser. If enough interest is shown I will definitely set about getting the first chapter posted. No flames please. Thanks! ^_^
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nada.
A Change of Seasons
Prologue: A New Season Passes Here
Shaded crystal water, bathed in by God's daughter.
Sighing whispers near, a new season passes here.
~ A New Season, The Church
¤ ¤ ¤
In the beginning it is said that light and dark existed side by side, and where the two elements met, we walked. But that was the First World, and it soon fell into raging flames.
Then we walked between the earth and sky for many years, leaving our footsteps to trail through the grey ashes of the First World. But then the great gales came, and the Second World was blown away on the wind.
When the winds settled, we walked on the ashes of the First World, and existence rippled from our passing. The Third World lasted the longest, but soon it, too, passed. We sank into calm waters, and for some indefinable amount of time we ceased to be.
This is the Fourth World, the world of man.
It is destined to be our last.
¤ ¤ ¤
They were four in number.
The youngest ruled over all the elements of Spring, from the first whispers of warmth in the fields, to the cold rains of April. She was gentle and new, the blue of the sky and the gold of the sun. Her name was Celena, and when she was born, the first mare galloped across the valleys of Eostre.
The second youngest presided over the kingdom of Summer, giving breath to the heat that nurtured the crops and the apples in the orchard. He was warm and passionate, and with him the days were long and fruitful. His name was Allen, and when he was born, the wings of the first bird shadowed the hills of Bringhid.
The third's reign was the realm of Autumn, the season of passage and the pivot of desire. She was the twighlight that swept the day into night, and the dawn that broke apart the dark. Her name was Hitomi, and when she was born, the first tigress stalked the long-grasses of Aerfen.
The eldest walked in the Hall of Winter, and all knew his passing. He was the freezing rain of the storm, ice that split apart the mountains, and the barren ground that produced no fruit. His name was Folken, and when he was born, paw prints of the first wolf appeared on the shifting snowfields of Duvessa.
These were the youngest of the gods. Of all their kind, the only ones to be born in the Fourth World. So it was appropriate that their number was four. One for every season.
Before this day, certain words on Gaea did not exist. 'War' was one of them. And so was 'death'...
TBC...
