Storms
Telling Tales
Some stories are magical, meant to be sung
Song from the mouth of the river
When the world was young
And all of these spirit voices rule the night.
-Paul Simon, "Spirit Voices"
A tale can start in many ways. Because of this it is many tales, and at the same time each of these is only one way of telling the same story. There were once two brothers. This is the tale of the elder brother, a demon who had almost everything. He was noble and strong and beautiful, but cold. He always pursued the things he wanted without thought for the consequences to others. It was what he didn't have, the almost, that twisted him, knowing that he was not the chosen one. He spent his life safe behind the walls of his prejudice, believing his path wide and straight and secure. Until one day, he realized it was not enough.
There once were two brothers. This is the tale of the younger, who was clever and skillful and wild. There were people that loved him, but because of his past he could not see this. There was a place for him, but as only half he never felt welcome there. His older brother knew the who and what and where of himself andthe youngercould not carve himself up to make himself fit, so he hated his brother for having what he never could.
This is also the tale of a young woman. Who she was, nobody was quite sure, except that she had strange blue eyes and hair like midnight, and she came from some time far away. She came to have a myth and a soul ripped from her body and was forced to wander to find the scattered pieces of both. With delicate hands she stole the cold heart and the feral one and tried to build a bridge with strands of silver hair.