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Quoted By:
<span class="mu-i">Three years before seven days ago...</span>
Your name is Chlotsuintha, though in truth and Wisdom it has been long years since anyone - save yourself, of course - has called you such. Even father. 'Daughter' is his word for you, while 'Sty' is the call of the few familiar, kind others in your life, on the account of the layered Glamours which may hide away your Mystery-blanked eyes with Suggestions of lesions, growths and the aforementioned styes when you are not wearing your gauze and mask. Other others - either less familiar or less kind - will call you either 'you' or 'Leper' or 'Tall one', or if they are from away, perhaps 'Spoil' or 'Blackcap' or 'Rotter', or styles even more distant or unkind. Or more distant <span class="mu-i">and</span> unkind.
What no one has ever named you before is 'Witchlet', though in truth, to-day you woke as one! After a year of concerted wheedling and whinging you finally broke your father down; so it was that after weeks of lullabies of lectures preparing you, yester-day was your first practical lesson in the Mysteries from him ... that wasn't just dealing with your Glyphs or the Strangeness for hundredth time. No, you set and Socketed a Socketing Needle, and managed to Reach through a Socket and through a Conduit! The test was done with some little trifling Construct that father made up for the lesson that would blush when you managed the Reach, just a silly little thing, useful for nothing more than the lesson itself ... but since it became clear weeks ago that the lesson was going to be about Socketing Needles, all you could think about were his workbenches. The Glyphery, the Fetish-Foundry and yes, the Life-Loom; for even with you now knowing its terrible history, as well as being wrung out by the somber admonishment from father that came on the heels of learning that history, you cannot keep your thoughts turned away from it. Father spends more time on the Loom than at his desk reading and writing, or working at the other tables. There are weeks where he will spend more time with that Loom than with you, agonizing over the minute of some Construct, struggling for ... something or other, you know not what. He is not want to share such things. But! With no one else to take into his complete confidence, and mother ... elsewhere, you are like to be the only help, the only <span class="mu-i">heir</span> he ever will have. How long have you wanted to prove yourself to him?
Can you even remember a time when you didn't?
Your name is Chlotsuintha, though in truth and Wisdom it has been long years since anyone - save yourself, of course - has called you such. Even father. 'Daughter' is his word for you, while 'Sty' is the call of the few familiar, kind others in your life, on the account of the layered Glamours which may hide away your Mystery-blanked eyes with Suggestions of lesions, growths and the aforementioned styes when you are not wearing your gauze and mask. Other others - either less familiar or less kind - will call you either 'you' or 'Leper' or 'Tall one', or if they are from away, perhaps 'Spoil' or 'Blackcap' or 'Rotter', or styles even more distant or unkind. Or more distant <span class="mu-i">and</span> unkind.
What no one has ever named you before is 'Witchlet', though in truth, to-day you woke as one! After a year of concerted wheedling and whinging you finally broke your father down; so it was that after weeks of lullabies of lectures preparing you, yester-day was your first practical lesson in the Mysteries from him ... that wasn't just dealing with your Glyphs or the Strangeness for hundredth time. No, you set and Socketed a Socketing Needle, and managed to Reach through a Socket and through a Conduit! The test was done with some little trifling Construct that father made up for the lesson that would blush when you managed the Reach, just a silly little thing, useful for nothing more than the lesson itself ... but since it became clear weeks ago that the lesson was going to be about Socketing Needles, all you could think about were his workbenches. The Glyphery, the Fetish-Foundry and yes, the Life-Loom; for even with you now knowing its terrible history, as well as being wrung out by the somber admonishment from father that came on the heels of learning that history, you cannot keep your thoughts turned away from it. Father spends more time on the Loom than at his desk reading and writing, or working at the other tables. There are weeks where he will spend more time with that Loom than with you, agonizing over the minute of some Construct, struggling for ... something or other, you know not what. He is not want to share such things. But! With no one else to take into his complete confidence, and mother ... elsewhere, you are like to be the only help, the only <span class="mu-i">heir</span> he ever will have. How long have you wanted to prove yourself to him?
Can you even remember a time when you didn't?
