A few weeks ago
The early morning sun filtered unobstructed through the glass window, lighting the dust motes that endlessly danced in the living room. Grey eyes watched the play of sunshine, remembering the lithe form of her mother reading a book or sweeping the wooden floor. Her mother Aoife was part of the earth now, as she had requested before her passing. It was up to her daughter now, to clean out the house of belongings and decide what to do with them.
Inara Rosenberger liked to blend in. She was small for a woman of 21 winters, barely reaching 5'1" in the simple boots she usually wore. The ample curves she had inherited from her father's side of the family were hidden under an oversized shirt and jeans. Her European mother's grey eyes looked odd surrounded by the caramel of her Latin father's roots, but she enjoyed the way they seemed to unnerve most people. The woman thought it balanced out her somewhat soft features and gave her an edge. Her dark curls were usually pulled into a hasty ponytail, away from her face and out of her way.
A few hours into her duties, the young woman decided to take a break. A glass of iced tea in her hand, she allowed her fingertips to run along the old books that stood vigil from the bookcase. Feeling curious, her fingers pulled the oldest leather spine before she settled on her mother's favorite chair. And then she began to read.
Her heart skipped a beat at the words read. The pit of sorrow and guilt she had felt the moment the news of her mother's death had reached her turned into something warm. It was just like Aoife too... one last gift.
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Her burgundy tinted lips turned into a sly smirk while she made her way to her workspace. Chatter slowed then died in her wake, her coworkers barely recognizing the woman that passed them by. Where bulky clothes once hung, a teal silk blouse and black pencil skirt hugged her curves. Long, dark curls flowed with her stride, the soft click of her heels announcing her path. Settling into her usual seat, the young woman fixed the glasses on her face before settling into her customary tasks.
A breath longer, the murmurs started once more. She smiled to herself, imagining some of the comments.
Following that fateful afternoon, Inara had poured over all of the books in that library. And then, she studied some more. The power seemed to flow through her veins, now awakened with the knowledge of its existence. Her magic was slowly taking shape inside of her, patiently waiting for purpose.
Aoife's gift had already served her well.
The early morning sun filtered unobstructed through the glass window, lighting the dust motes that endlessly danced in the living room. Grey eyes watched the play of sunshine, remembering the lithe form of her mother reading a book or sweeping the wooden floor. Her mother Aoife was part of the earth now, as she had requested before her passing. It was up to her daughter now, to clean out the house of belongings and decide what to do with them.
Inara Rosenberger liked to blend in. She was small for a woman of 21 winters, barely reaching 5'1" in the simple boots she usually wore. The ample curves she had inherited from her father's side of the family were hidden under an oversized shirt and jeans. Her European mother's grey eyes looked odd surrounded by the caramel of her Latin father's roots, but she enjoyed the way they seemed to unnerve most people. The woman thought it balanced out her somewhat soft features and gave her an edge. Her dark curls were usually pulled into a hasty ponytail, away from her face and out of her way.
A few hours into her duties, the young woman decided to take a break. A glass of iced tea in her hand, she allowed her fingertips to run along the old books that stood vigil from the bookcase. Feeling curious, her fingers pulled the oldest leather spine before she settled on her mother's favorite chair. And then she began to read.
Her heart skipped a beat at the words read. The pit of sorrow and guilt she had felt the moment the news of her mother's death had reached her turned into something warm. It was just like Aoife too... one last gift.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her burgundy tinted lips turned into a sly smirk while she made her way to her workspace. Chatter slowed then died in her wake, her coworkers barely recognizing the woman that passed them by. Where bulky clothes once hung, a teal silk blouse and black pencil skirt hugged her curves. Long, dark curls flowed with her stride, the soft click of her heels announcing her path. Settling into her usual seat, the young woman fixed the glasses on her face before settling into her customary tasks.
A breath longer, the murmurs started once more. She smiled to herself, imagining some of the comments.
Following that fateful afternoon, Inara had poured over all of the books in that library. And then, she studied some more. The power seemed to flow through her veins, now awakened with the knowledge of its existence. Her magic was slowly taking shape inside of her, patiently waiting for purpose.
Aoife's gift had already served her well.
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