24th of Spring, 516 AV
Well, it was spring now. Time of flowery celebrations and “new beginnings”.
Nothing changed, really.
Alvadas was a very fluent city, of course. To say nothing ever changed was a blatant lie. Things changed constantly, adapting, molding, as fluid as the illusions themselves. Though most of the time, ‘things’ would be illusions anyway. Most things in Alvadas were. That being said, it wasn’t like illusions ever got old. One got used to them, yes, but they could never really become mundane, as it were.
After all, it was almost difficult to even think of the mundane in Alvadas, no less during the festival of illusions.
The Festival was always Aislyn’s favourite time of year. Illusions were at their peak, the mood of both the Alvads and Alvadas itself improved dramatically, and above all, Ionu came down to play. Though ‘play’ was more of a word for ‘petch around with unsuspecting citizens’, in her beloved deity’s case. That did give said citizens the opportunity to spot the famed illusionary god/dess before the festivities ended. In what was possibly Aislyn’s favoured recurring event, hide and seek. Though not in the same way that children played. A way in which the city was the seeker, and its deity was the hider. The promise of being the one great enough to actually track down a god was just too much of an opportunity to miss. Aislyn, of course, was no exception to such fanfare.
Every year that she could remember, she had been the one first in line to spend the day chasing illusions; usually those less spectacular, in the hope that perhaps the larger, more Ionu-esque illusions were just a distraction. It had never worked out, as far as she knew, but then again the larger illusions hadn’t either. It seemed those who weren’t looking for Ionu found them the easiest. And this year, Aislyn certainly wasn’t looking.
Well, that was a lie. She wasn’t looking at the moment. But she had been looking, earlier in the festival. Today, however, was a time for actual productivity. Not that the illusionary fun of Ionu wasn’t productive- but the artist had more than a few things she needed to get before she could properly go gallivanting through the city. Like drawing.
To properly christen her new notebook, Aislyn had already done more than a few full-scale drawings of several different subjects. The first of which being Phobius, then of the yarn decorations that covered the city. And finally, of the illusions of the festival. A whole two pages of front and back sketches, a collage of all she had seen so far. No words. Not yet, at least. It hadn’t really seemed like the time for words. When she actually had something to document, or some new observation to write down, perhaps. For now, though, all she had to write was a shopping list. Technically, lists had words, but it wasn’t exactly the most academically challenging piece to write. Also not the most exciting, but you would have thought it a work of art the way it was fashioned. Each item had a drawing next to it, and each drawing had a scribble. The scribble, of course, was not of Aislyn’s design. It was an addition courtesy of her mother, who was the one that had announced the shopping trip in the first place.
That morning, Aislyn had been awoken by the sound of her mother yelling, rushing about the tiny cottage yelling about all the things they lacked.
Oh, my darling dearest, I appear to have run out of scarves. Scarves, my dear! How could I ever go on? We must go out at once!
Maria Leavold hadn’t owned a scarf in her life.
But, of course, Aislyn had agreed, begrudgingly assigning her mother the large basket while she herself took her backpack to carry whatever it was they needed. It took about three ticks before her mother started speaking to the carrying device like a pet.
”Oh dear, is that so?” The woman nodded, simultaneously shaking her head as if disapproving of whatever the basket was telling her. Aislyn distracted herself by collecting a good sum of mizas in a pouch. As she slipped the coins into her otherwise empty bag, her mother gasped. ”My, that’s terrible! Dearie, you just must tell me more!”
The one-way conversation continued as Aislyn’s hand hovered over her crossbow. It would fit in her backpack, but not much else would be able to join it if she brought it with her. The illusionist’s eyes were drawn to the quiver, sitting nearby, its contents unfortunately lacking. No, then. No point in bringing a weapon that couldn’t fire.
Also, she was going to need some more bolts.
Picking up a stray piece of charcoal, the woman added it to her shopping list, which she then closed securely inside her second notebook, allowing the small book to be the only thing she brought. After that, the only thing left was to put up her illusions, and leave.
Using a window that opened to a side of the building (ensuring no one could see inside), Aislyn began to do her work. The makeshift mirror was more of a formality than anything; as long as she didn’t gain any new imperfections, the illusionist could become “Maya” with concentration and a few chimes alone, anywhere. The only flaw was that she couldn’t be sure “Maya” was perfect. After all, Phobius knew about the rather nasty injury on her face from the amalgamate creature from last season due to her inability to know it was there. But she hadn’t been hurt recently, so all should still be in order.
So. “Maya”.
Aislyn knew that list by heart. Blonde hair, almost white. Eyes a blue a few shades lighter than the sky. Scars on wrists, upper arms, thighs, legs…
Gods, she had quite a few assorted marks, didn’t she? Slowly, as the evidence of previous altercations began to disappear, Aislyn smiled. No, she didn’t.
Gnosis mark hidden between skin a hop skip and jump paler than her own. A softer face, with kinder features. That was… Five. Done.
Running a hand over her face, she watched as where she touched shimmered back and forth between “Maya” and reality. Her fingers lingered on the healing scratch marks on her left cheek. She’d been keeping it clean, and the bleeding had stopped. It still stung, but her fingers caressed it nonetheless. She wouldn’t see Phobius today. Or at very least, he wouldn’t see her. He was the only one who knew ‘Maya’ had such a scar, but that didn’t mean she always had to have it.
The scar disappeared.
Nothing changed, really.
Alvadas was a very fluent city, of course. To say nothing ever changed was a blatant lie. Things changed constantly, adapting, molding, as fluid as the illusions themselves. Though most of the time, ‘things’ would be illusions anyway. Most things in Alvadas were. That being said, it wasn’t like illusions ever got old. One got used to them, yes, but they could never really become mundane, as it were.
After all, it was almost difficult to even think of the mundane in Alvadas, no less during the festival of illusions.
The Festival was always Aislyn’s favourite time of year. Illusions were at their peak, the mood of both the Alvads and Alvadas itself improved dramatically, and above all, Ionu came down to play. Though ‘play’ was more of a word for ‘petch around with unsuspecting citizens’, in her beloved deity’s case. That did give said citizens the opportunity to spot the famed illusionary god/dess before the festivities ended. In what was possibly Aislyn’s favoured recurring event, hide and seek. Though not in the same way that children played. A way in which the city was the seeker, and its deity was the hider. The promise of being the one great enough to actually track down a god was just too much of an opportunity to miss. Aislyn, of course, was no exception to such fanfare.
Every year that she could remember, she had been the one first in line to spend the day chasing illusions; usually those less spectacular, in the hope that perhaps the larger, more Ionu-esque illusions were just a distraction. It had never worked out, as far as she knew, but then again the larger illusions hadn’t either. It seemed those who weren’t looking for Ionu found them the easiest. And this year, Aislyn certainly wasn’t looking.
Well, that was a lie. She wasn’t looking at the moment. But she had been looking, earlier in the festival. Today, however, was a time for actual productivity. Not that the illusionary fun of Ionu wasn’t productive- but the artist had more than a few things she needed to get before she could properly go gallivanting through the city. Like drawing.
To properly christen her new notebook, Aislyn had already done more than a few full-scale drawings of several different subjects. The first of which being Phobius, then of the yarn decorations that covered the city. And finally, of the illusions of the festival. A whole two pages of front and back sketches, a collage of all she had seen so far. No words. Not yet, at least. It hadn’t really seemed like the time for words. When she actually had something to document, or some new observation to write down, perhaps. For now, though, all she had to write was a shopping list. Technically, lists had words, but it wasn’t exactly the most academically challenging piece to write. Also not the most exciting, but you would have thought it a work of art the way it was fashioned. Each item had a drawing next to it, and each drawing had a scribble. The scribble, of course, was not of Aislyn’s design. It was an addition courtesy of her mother, who was the one that had announced the shopping trip in the first place.
That morning, Aislyn had been awoken by the sound of her mother yelling, rushing about the tiny cottage yelling about all the things they lacked.
Oh, my darling dearest, I appear to have run out of scarves. Scarves, my dear! How could I ever go on? We must go out at once!
Maria Leavold hadn’t owned a scarf in her life.
But, of course, Aislyn had agreed, begrudgingly assigning her mother the large basket while she herself took her backpack to carry whatever it was they needed. It took about three ticks before her mother started speaking to the carrying device like a pet.
”Oh dear, is that so?” The woman nodded, simultaneously shaking her head as if disapproving of whatever the basket was telling her. Aislyn distracted herself by collecting a good sum of mizas in a pouch. As she slipped the coins into her otherwise empty bag, her mother gasped. ”My, that’s terrible! Dearie, you just must tell me more!”
The one-way conversation continued as Aislyn’s hand hovered over her crossbow. It would fit in her backpack, but not much else would be able to join it if she brought it with her. The illusionist’s eyes were drawn to the quiver, sitting nearby, its contents unfortunately lacking. No, then. No point in bringing a weapon that couldn’t fire.
Also, she was going to need some more bolts.
Picking up a stray piece of charcoal, the woman added it to her shopping list, which she then closed securely inside her second notebook, allowing the small book to be the only thing she brought. After that, the only thing left was to put up her illusions, and leave.
Using a window that opened to a side of the building (ensuring no one could see inside), Aislyn began to do her work. The makeshift mirror was more of a formality than anything; as long as she didn’t gain any new imperfections, the illusionist could become “Maya” with concentration and a few chimes alone, anywhere. The only flaw was that she couldn’t be sure “Maya” was perfect. After all, Phobius knew about the rather nasty injury on her face from the amalgamate creature from last season due to her inability to know it was there. But she hadn’t been hurt recently, so all should still be in order.
So. “Maya”.
Aislyn knew that list by heart. Blonde hair, almost white. Eyes a blue a few shades lighter than the sky. Scars on wrists, upper arms, thighs, legs…
Gods, she had quite a few assorted marks, didn’t she? Slowly, as the evidence of previous altercations began to disappear, Aislyn smiled. No, she didn’t.
Gnosis mark hidden between skin a hop skip and jump paler than her own. A softer face, with kinder features. That was… Five. Done.
Running a hand over her face, she watched as where she touched shimmered back and forth between “Maya” and reality. Her fingers lingered on the healing scratch marks on her left cheek. She’d been keeping it clean, and the bleeding had stopped. It still stung, but her fingers caressed it nonetheless. She wouldn’t see Phobius today. Or at very least, he wouldn’t see her. He was the only one who knew ‘Maya’ had such a scar, but that didn’t mean she always had to have it.
The scar disappeared.
~
We are all born mad. Some remain so.
