732 Present Purpose, Part I wanted to laugh.
As loud as I can, as hard as I can.
The simple notion of my Father bundling the ring up with a pretty red bow to send to , wearing goo-goo gaa-gaa eyes thinking of wedding chis and white doves was enough to send wheezing till my face turned blue.
But for his sake, for his feelings, I swallowed the down the urge, and just asked instead.
“Dad, are you trying to tell sothing?”
“Like what?” He asked blankly.
“Shit, you really just handed an engagent ring and you’re gonna ask ‘like what’?”
He took a few seconds’ silence to think. A few second’s silence very subtly pestered by whispered laughter.
“Oh,” He finally caught on. “No. I don’t an it like that.”
.....
As if seeing his stoic face right in front , I gave him a dubious frown.
“So what do you an by it, then?”
“I saw your mother preparing to send a present to you. I wanted to give you one too. So I did. What you decide to do with after is entirely up to you.”
A few seconds’ silence again, and then…
“And perhaps your mother might have influenced my choice of gift ever so slightly.”
“I knew it.”
Yep. That sounds more like it. Now it was making more sense. Leave it to Mom to just entirely hijack soone else’s present like that.
“But I didn’t want to give you that ring for that,” He said earnestly. “I just thought maybe you’d find it… cool. I thought it was cool.”
And now that sounds more like the dear ol’ dad, alright. A little confused, but he’s got the spirit.
“Yeah, alright, thanks Dad,” I said, picking the silver ring up, feeling a new peculiar sense of grandeur at the touch, and perching it beside the bed. “Very cool.”
Mystical engagent ring aside, the story behind it sounded vaguely relevant to present ti.
Imbuing magic in an object, an object given to soone else out of love. Don’t I already have sothing similar to that with right now?
Hanging loose and swinging free around my neck…
“The story behind the ring,” I mused. “How well-known is it?”
“It’s not, actually. In fact, most knowledge pertaining to the Divines has never been properly chronicled. As a result, a vast majority of their deeds and histories are left up to interpretation.”
And there goes my theory of Irene being a sly copycat. I suppose Amanda wouldn’t be any the wiser either… otherwise such a romantic sentint wouldn’t go amiss to my ears upon receiving her gift.
Kinda begs the question though, doesn’t it?
“So how do you know?” I asked.
“An interesting question for another ti,” He replied. “You haven’t opened your mother’s present yet.”
Well, if that wasn’t just the most clumsiest attempt at changing the subject… still, I suppose if he didn’t stop here now, I wouldn’t stop later.
“Mom’s present…” I whispered under an apprehensive breath, setting my sights back toward the flat, festive square lying on the bed. “It’s safe to at least rip it open, right?”
“Depends,” He grunted. “Would you consider yourself to be in a bad mood now?”
“Um, no?”
“Then yes, it’s completely safe to rip it open.”
Yeah, I don’t think I really wanna open it up anymore after hearing him say that. Would rather hand it to so super secret agencies for careful study first.
Oh well, what the hell.
Like the most volatile orange in existence, I carefully began to peel away the wrapper with the drag of a finger. Little by little, I was seeing black, my guesses changing the more I peeled away.
Partway through, I thought it was a black towel. Halfway, it looked more like a black scarf. Then, with torn pieces of paper strewn across my floor, I found myself holding out the blackness in its entirety, softer than silk, lighter than air, swaying in my grip from a breeze non-existing, and Mr. Black, who had up to this point, been contently curled atop a pillow, broke into a shrill, ferocious hiss before hurriedly slinking away beneath the bed.
The first thing I thought of? Sera.
The longer the look, the more it looked like a cloak. Like Sera’s except blacker, bigger, and for so strange reason, within my hands… I could almost feel as if my fingertips were being subrged in its darkness, like a gaping hole in reality… given form.
“You’re very quiet,” Dad said, breaking silence and snapping back to attention.
“I’m very confused,” I muttered, turning the cloak over at its sides, and feeling a tingling in my grip from just how weightless and intangible it felt despite the glaring presence it exuded from its pitch blackness. “What am I holding right now?”
“A precaution,” He cryptically responded. “Use it.”
“What, wear it?”
“Use it,” He said again. “Focus, determination, and intent.”
Ah, magic. Of course…
I fell silent, focused, feeling the distinct, unmistakable buzzing inside coursing throughout my body. Not a second later, whatever was supposed to happen—it happened. The blackness in my hands took hold of .
A startling warmth began slithering across my skin—the cloak was shrinking, taking over —becoming , more and more, my body was being coated in the darkness.
“Umm,” I managed to sound out, shuddering as it began spreading around my neck. “Is it supposed to be doing this?”
“It’s protecting you,” Dad stated in his usual dull voice. “You don’t recognize it? Go find a mirror, take a look.”
Still rippling and dribbling all around , I awkwardly shambled my way to the mirror in my room propped against the wall, and had a good long look at myself as the blackness disappeared from my grip entirely and had consud completely.
“Oh…” I heard my voice trailing.
“Yes,” I heard Dad speaking from afar. “Your mother thought it was best if you have it… you know, just in case.”
This blackness, darkness, ebbing, shifting, almost as if living—it was Mom’s gown. The sa she had worn when she had helped cleanse Harry, the very sa darkness that was a permanent fixture to her appearance in Ria’s mories when she was still heralded as the Vile Terestra.
Except… it wasn’t even a gown anymore, but just as I’ve observed before—a cloak. From my ankles, all the way up to my neck I was coated in an outer layer of darkness that did not absorb any light. It was bizarre, surreal… I looked… weird.
“You’d look silly in a dress, your mother said, so she altered it slightly to better suit you,” Dad said, answering questions unasked but nonetheless appreciated. “I’m inclined to agree. She fashioned it out of the cloak I used to wear too.”
“I see…”
“With it, you’ll find any type of magic far easier to wield and manage. It augnts your skills, refines it without the hassle of exertion. Beco adept enough, and you may find it acting upon your will without your input. A most capable individual would be nigh invincible wielding such a thing… such as it was the case with your mother.”
That was all well and good, but as I continued to peer at myself in the mirror, I only had one question in my mind that mattered above all else.
“Why would she give this?” I asked, turning, shuffling back to the glowing display of my phone, feeling the cloak flutter in turn to my every move. “How did she give this? She told , she said… this thing is her magic, a manifestation of it. She can’t use magic, she says it’s risky, how did she…?”
“A leftover,” The tiny little speaker blared back at . “A lingering remnant from the situation before.”
“Okay, how does that work?” I said, growing more confused than ever. “The cloak is a literal manifestation of her magic, right? You’re telling she just ripped her magic off of her?”
“Yes.”
I had to pause to make sure my brain didn’t implode.
“A lesser, paler residue of her magic, that is. Like I said, what you’re wearing is nothing more than a leftover from before. Normally, she’d get rid of it at an instant, or otherwise it’d gradually fade away into nonexistent overti. But, instead, she found a better use for it.”
I scoffed, in spite of my own bafflent, I scoffed. “As a Christmas present?”
“As your Christmas present, yes” Dad affird. “Now typically, magic separated from its host is harmless, inert, and unable to be used in any way. That’s why there’s no risk to this, that’s why she’s able to give this remnant of her magic to you without any danger.”
“But in that sa vein, isn’t it basically pointless giving it to ? It’s as you said, if its separated from the host, I can’t even use it.”
“And that’s where you stand to the contrary,” He said. “You inherited your mother’s talents, her powers. What is she able to do, so are you… potentially. You share in her nature. You and she are deeply entwined. So what is her magic… by proxy, now beco yours.”
Silently, I looked myself in the mirror again. The ebb and flow of the blackness enveloping entirely. The tingling warmth embracing , it finally struck why it felt weird, bizarre… and to a certain extent, comforting to the touch. My magic made manifest, holding close… hers and mine.
“Bear in mind, you’re still using a leftover, an inferior,” Dad said in a ringing voice. “Fabricating one of your own would prove vastly superior to anything else, but for the ti being, your mother’s gift would do for now.”
“For what?” I asked him, too thoughtless, dumbfounded to realize the simple answer.
And Dad, knowing my stunned state was considerate enough to speak out the blatantly obvious.
“What else for?” He said nonchalantly. “In case you ever might need it.”
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