The handle of my door was adorned with a small basket holding a single marigold. Hung with obvious care. No card was present, but the scent of her by my door told who’d sent them.
> I recall my hand lingering near this variety of flower when we played that guessing ga, so maybe that was to bla. <
I pulled the bloom free, its petals still soft despite the journey and wait in the hall. She must have left it not too long ago. The timing even felt like providence - or perhaps the Lunar Goddess has a sense of scorn for my assertion that the deity mostly stays out of things.
For tonight, with the full moon high above the city, I had a little working to do. And the symbolism of this particular piece of plant life is even better than the ’common harebell’ I picked out in the wild.
> Apparently those things are associated with fae in this world and I will not be using that for the ritual, no thank you. The child will have enough trouble as it is. <
I’d gathered the other materials throughout the week when I learned I would be back in ti. Expensive white chalk from an art supply store. A dried bundle of common, white, blue, and black sage sold by a specialty shop where I also purchased two candles.
A chisel from a hardware store - that I took to my piece of chert to get a nice sized chunk. Red sand... from that sa shop I bought the chalk, because good art stores are apparently a boon to mystics in a hurry in this world. And finally, so pure spring water and two nice small glass saucers.
After taking a shower, I pick up the the box with all of these things inside and leave my apartnt. Heading instead to where I’d already planned to do this. At this ti of night, the pool was closed - so the building’s rooftop was empty. So small agility gets to the top of the concrete that encases the elevator where I can begin to draw the diagram with the chalk.
The lights of nearby tall buildings make it harder to see the stars overhead. And the sounds of the traffic that rumbles and roars against those sa walls and glass make it seem not at all like the quiet space it should.
In my world, this ritual took place in sacred structures half the height of this building, tended by the snake shifters. It also was not usually set up and perford by the very person it was ant for, but here... I made do with what I could as I finished the large circle that arced between eight smaller ones.
At each ’receptacle’, I placed the pieces as tradition demanded - opposing each other. Lit candle sat across from unlit. Fresh marigold from the dried herbs. Red stone and red sand. Clean water in one saucer and an empty one that would soon hold my blood in representation.
Normally it would be taken slower, with much explanation in a lengthier ritual ant to keep the mother calm because trauma is not good for pregnancies. But I don’t have the patience for that, so I slice one of the hunter’s regular knives and let it pool quickly before Vrika heals it just as quick.
Wiping the wound with a cloth and so of the unused water, I put away everything unnecessary in the box again before I Stash it all - including the clothes I wore to sneak up here. Only the beautiful dupatta was draped across my bare shoulders as I settled my bottom to concrete.
The cold of it only registers as a vague knowledge thanks to | Nurturer’s Tolerance |. Onto the asterisk-lined center of the magic circle with legs crossed, hands resting on my abdon where the unborn grows, and the words I’d learned when studying long ago chanting out in my native tongue.
Blessings for new life, acknowledgnts of the cycle that binds all things, invocations to deities from my world whose existence I knew with more experience - unlike the distant Lunar Goddess of this world I parleyed with only once.
I spoke the final words and looked up at the bright white-blue moon to ask for protection for the child. I promised again that I would guard it with my life, if necessary, then sat in the relative silence that followed.
Part of had feared so great maternal instinct would finally bloom out of doing this. However, nothing like that ca. Just the sa resolve I’d carried since learning of the pregnancy, the sa duty-bound determination to see this through safely.
And part of feared that lack, as well. That I might indulge the child only ever as a duty. Because that outlook reminds of my own Queen Mother, who seed to think it was her duty to keep as a perfect Princess.
Vrika nudged to materialize in my mindscape. For almost a whole minute I just sat there and resisted its persistence. When I finally listened, it padded close to rest its muzzle against my shoulder.
The beast spirit’s whole presence carried friendly comfort, partnered understanding, and an almost gentle insistence through its imagery that love... could take many forms. That all of them were powerful expressions that changed the course of life.
> On that, I agree. However, not all change is better. Nor is love sothing so stagnant as to resist changing itself. <
Out in reality, I stood to my feet and looked away from the moonlight that had witnessed my ritual. Un-stashing the box, I begin to put my clothes back on and gather everything. The chalk... well, I guess a good rain will wash it away.
Landing on my bare feet back near the elevator entrance, blue glowing words take over my vision. Yet, just like with the ritual I just perford, they only make feel concerned that I’m *not* more concerned than I am.
| TI UNTIL APOCALYPSE COMNCENT: 28 DAYS, 0 HOURS, 0 MINUTES |
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