[Event- 39th: Of Being] Evening's Evaluations [Aislyn]

[Kaleidoscope]

A brief, wistful smile crossed the woman's lips. She listened with attention, yet all the while her fingers played with themselves, nervous, twitching. Distantly, a hawk's cry echoed above the still streets, high up in the sky, its call melancholy and gradually fading. Eleanor looked over at Aislyn as she started to draw, and although she couldn't have known what the other woman was drawing- at least, not from that angle- she self-consciously shook her hair over her face.

Eleanor soon nodded as if to say, 'no problem'. Then cast a glance down towards the street, pensive...

"There are many things in this city which seem hidden from view. Haven't you found that? It's the same with me. Something about this house has always managed to hide me from view." She laughed cynically. "Apart from the day I decide to end it all, of course. Of course. But before that, and before this, it's always been very quiet around here."

She looked up through fragile eyelashes, her gaze suddenly piercing. "I know what you're thinking. It happens to everyone I've ever talked to about this house. 'Oh, Ionu must disfavour you.' 'DId you have a hard childhood?' 'I bet you killed someone, right?'" Each phony sentence was said with growing mockery, yet at the end of her speech she trailed back down again, as if the energy exerted was too much, even for something as small as that.

"If Ionu hates me, I would think I would know by now. It's not like it's a fault of the gods, not any of this. Where I am is my own fault and that's that. But, enough of me. I'm sick of me. Would you let me look at your drawing? I have... I used to have at least a vested interest in the arts."

With that, the woman leaned forwards slightly onto her elbows. But something about her posture would show that she really didn't think the other woman cared so much to show her artwork. Eleanor wouldn't mind if Aislyn decided not to give her the opportunity to see her drawing, but in reality she was apprehensive to see what was on the page. Whether that was because she didn't like being drawn, or whether it was because of some other reason would be hard to tell.

[Aislyn Leavold]

39th of Spring, 516 AV

Tumultuous. Fretful, bipolar. Pretty, yet shattered. A flower with a broken stem. Melancholic and quiet, akin to the city at night. Vaguely cold, but in a way like rain. Inexplicably strange. Aislyn found the woman difficult to describe- in words. In charcoal, Eleanor seemed less like a person and more like an idea. A landscape, with the sun and moon in just the right position, the light coming in to frame the parchment in a way that the artist within her wanted to capture forever.
Perhaps that was why Aislyn felt a kinship with the woman. She was less of a woman and more of a drawing. A drawing with brush strokes that told a story of where it came from, what it was meant to do.
Or maybe just an offhand sketch, something made without a purpose other than to fulfill the desires of the starving artist.

The woman had a point regarding the schematics of the city. It had a purposeful way of having no purpose at all. When everything could be perfect, everything fell into place beautifully. And when the city decided to take the plan and tear it in two, the city did so with great pleasure. There was no schedule kept tidy by Alvadas, no scheme left untampered. There was no way to hide anything from the city of illusions. No way to hide anything from Ionu themselves.

”Disfavour is…” Disfavoured by Ionu. With her high standing considering the deity of illusions, Aislyn had never thought too terribly hard about dishonour. ”...a strong word.”

Aislyn’s deity was not malicious, her faith not an ineffable thing. But Ionu was fickle, and their city proved as much.
”I suppose Ionu has given you what you wished for. A home out of reach of the city, away from prying eyes. Kept hidden until you face an imposing decision.” As Aislyn thought about it, she began to believe her own words more. ”If Ionu put you in front of crowds of people vouching for your life- even if they may be in vain- would that not prove favour, rather than the reverse?”

At the request of seeing her artwork, Aislyn hesitated. She rarely shared her work, unless it were to those who were paying for it. But this was a special circumstance, she supposed. The drawing was of the woman, after all. And she had to remember- the pair of women were not exactly out of the woods quite yet. There was still a balcony, and a very long fall. Upsetting the one on the edge didn’t seem like quite the brightest idea.
Careful to keep only the page in question visible, Aislyn turned the paper, allowing Eleanor to see her likeness in charcoal. Enough of me, she had said. Yet it was only more of her that she was getting.

The sketch was rough, having been only just begun, but the features were clear. Blackened hair smudged with charcoal, leaving into the darkness of the dress, lacking the colour it had in reality. Hands curled and folded, covered in dust. The dress descended into nothingness, an unfinished side of an unpolished piece. As the eyes drew down the picture the details grew less and less exact. It wasn’t finished, but it was decent. That didn’t, however, guarantee the approval of the patron. Not that her opinion mattered, of course.

Staring down at the drawing to avoid staring at the woman, Aislyn pressed her thumbs into the page until her knuckles turned white. This was such an odd circumstance. A woman she barely knew, her life in question, with Aislyn actually making an attempt to help her.
And she couldn’t even pinpoint why.
After a sufficient amount of time, the artist withdrew. It seemed evident that the woman she faced was as apprehensive about the circumstances as Aislyn was. Perhaps this was odd for her as well. After all, she described very few visitors in her however many years she’d spent in the towering building. But at least one person had come up before Aislyn herself- as evident by the gaping hole in the ruined wood that once called itself a door. Was she actually make any sort of difference? It seemed safe to assume the artist was just yet another in a series of acquaintances, why was she to think of Eleanor any differently? By all means, she shouldn’t. And yet she did, despite her better judgement. There was no endgame, no consolation prize. Nothing in it for her. But, to her great dismay, something within her head wouldn’t let her leave.

They’d been dancing around the topic for too long. Aislyn broke the silence with a question, hastily worded but the message all the same.

”If you don’t mind,” Closing the notebook again, Aislyn drummed her fingers on the cover. A inaudible tap was produced, muffled by the leather of the book. ”Why… Why are you up here?” The tapping ceased as abruptly as it had begun. At the same time, Aislyn through a glance a few feet over to the balcony; the window framed the silhouette of some sort of bird, far off in the sky. ”Not the house- that, I understand. But the ledge.”

”What’s pushing you over it?”

[874]
"Speech" - Thought

[Kaleidoscope]

The edge in question was growing cooler as night-time drew it's dew-glistening wings across the world. Eleanor seemed impervious to the change however, although her skin was raised slightly with goosechills. She peered intently at her own likeness, her eyes tracing with flickering movements over each and every stroke of the charcoal, her lips slightly parting as if to utter something. Yet she said naught, and instead pinched her eyes closed as if holding off a headache. Then she opened her eyes, staring up into Aislyn's own eyes piercingly. "You're good. At drawing, that is." Then the book was withdrawn, and Eleanor sat back again.

"Perhaps I should have made myself clearer before. It was nobody's fault but my own that I am here as I am. But that's not to say that Ionu hasn't had an influence on my life." She fumbled with her sleeves, and pulled back her sleeve to reveal a black triangle captivating a pattern of lace inside. Cutting into her skin all around were self-inflicted scars, for they could be nothing else, of puckered colours: red, purple, brown.

"I can't seem to escape from do-gooders today. For so many years this mark has remained hidden, yet now this is the second time today I've exposed it to someone else. It's made me think about it all, about the things that happened when I was younger, all over again. About where it all went wrong." She shrugged, a graceful move of her shoulders. "And I've come to the conclusion that any anger I held towards Ionu for this mark is pointless. I was born to die, born to be cursed, to be a pain and a nuisance to those around me."

"Ionu I'm sure controls everything in this city, so perhaps he put these thoughts into my head too. Who knows?" She laughed once, bitterly. Her flippant tone veered away from her body posture. She held her hands clenched into fists in her lap, and her shoulders and neck were scrunched up and tense. Suddenly, the woman stood, and grasped the railing. Yet she wasn't about to go just yet, not yet...

"You ask what's pushing me over the ledge. It's him, this city, this mark. It's me though, more than anything. I can't live. Not like this, not anymore. Stuck up here, unable to feel or experience anything. Unable to escape anything. I can't change, yet I need to. The only thing, the only thing that I can do is to take my own life. Then I'll be interesting, and my death will mean something."

"I don't expect you to understand, no-one I've ever asked seems to. But death is interesting, unknown... and who knows, the plummet might bring me feelings I've not felt in a long time. Even if it's for the shortest fragment of time, isn't that worth it?" Her foot, without any concious thought behind it, was placed on a bar of the railing. Her hands gripped the cool metal, and her hair blew in a wind as a solitary beam of dying sunlight caught her face, reflected from a window opposite. Her face was caught in a rapture, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, her cheeks flushed to colour as her features expressed a twisted longing for something.

She was almost free.

[Aislyn Leavold]

39th of Spring, 516 AV

It took but a moment to reveal the mark.
It took many, many moments for Aislyn to realize what such a mark truly was. What it meant. The sense of vague familiarity- the sense that the woman was a kindred soul. That wasn't instinct; no. That was Ionu. She hadn't recognized the feeling like she had before, a peculiarity, but not impossible. She'd misread the signs in the past, this was no exception. In a strange way, the reveal provided a peculiar sense of relief. No, Aislyn had not suddenly forgotten how to distance herself from others. No, this woman had not single handedly broken all her defenses without lifting a hand. All she had done was gain a mark of the God of Illusions.
Then again, that was a danger all of its own.
Aislyn was marked of Ionu. Aislyn could naturally sense others that were marked of Ionu. Aislyn could also pinpoint the level of power such a person held, down to how many marks her favorites deity had left on their body. But that power went both ways. Anyone else marked of Ionu could also sense Aislyn’s marks, and that made any other marked of Ionu not a friend, but a danger.

Staring more into the mark, Aislyn tried to see into how powerful the woman was. Usually it was instantaneous, an instinctive feeling that popped into her head unceremoniously and without warning. But this mark felt… different. Off putting, most definitely. Foggy and unclear and… wrong. Leaning towards the woman, the illusionist found something else that was just as wrong as the aura of grime the mark portrayed. Eleanor’s mark, if it were at all possible, appeared to be upside down.

Subconsciously scratching at the hand that held her second mark- safely illusioned beyond sight- Aislyn found herself caught right in the center of a thousand different wrongs so convoluted she couldn't produce a right if her life depended on it. Then, suddenly, a pattern began to emerge. Everything connected, and most spontaneously, all the pieces fell into place.
There was a reason Eleanor hadn't recognized Aislyn as marked of Ionu.
There was a reason Aislyn couldn't figure out how many marks Eleanor held; a reason why her mark felt dirty and wrong.
There was a reason Eleanor believed herself to be hated by the deity of illusions themselves.
There was a reason Eleanor was up in that tower, and there was a reason why Aislyn couldn't help her any longer.
The mark Eleanor held was no blessing of Ionu; it was a curse.

Aislyn had never seen a curse before. It had simply never occurred to her that Ionu was capable of despising a being to the point where they went out of their way to become a driving force in the dismantling of said being’s life. For a moment, the illusionist was baffled by the thought that such a mark could exist, then by the question of what power a mark like that held. What was the opposite of Ionu’s blessing, the opposite of illusionism, the opposite of Aislyn?
The opposite of creation; destruction. The destruction of illusions. The same realization came to her as had come when she had first been marked and realized what power such a mark gave. A curse of Ionu. The inability to see, feel, or experience illusions- and by extent, Alvadas.

There was no existence Aislyn could imagine to be more miserable.

Even as the illusionist found herself unable to move, Eleanor shrugged as if she were talking about something more nonchalant- the weather, or recent news. But she wasn't talking about grey skies or rain, she was talking about her life like it was something to be disregarded. Like it was worthless. For so many years this mark has remained hidden… Aislyn felt ill, a sickening feeling of dread in her chest. Crushing her, consuming her.
She knew how to save this woman.
She knew exactly how to save her life- rid her of the demons she was considering ending her life over. Aislyn was an illusionist; of not one mark but two. She was favoured by Ionu, and one that asked few favors of her deity at that. In fact, there had been nothing Aislyn had asked for in her life of this importance. She knew Ionu to love bargains, fickle as they were. Whatever Eleanor had done, it wasn't worthy of death. Aislyn could save her.
Aislyn could save her life.

But everything came at a price.

If she saved this woman, she'd reveal herself as an illusionist- something Aislyn had sworn to herself years before to never, never do. That had been a promise she'd kept for so long, so petching long, and a promise she’d broken just twice, thereafter she'd nearly lost her life in the process.
What was to stop that from happening again?

Eleanor stood, and Aislyn was faced with a choice.

Her fears- all that she had worked to protect and keep secret for seven long years- or this woman, a being she'd been acquainted with for less than a bell. She'd sworn to never become so attached to someone that she'd do something she'd regret, yet here she was. She'd let Ionu’s power tether her to this woman, and now she was faced with precisely the situation she'd meant to avoid. But to let her die...
There was often an exhausting happiness, or an air of self-pity that was just as draining in many of the people Aislyn met. Perhaps not immediately obvious, but buried at varying depths below the skin. Some wore it on their sleeve, some hid it in words they believed to be philosophical. But Eleanor didn’t have that. She didn’t have the blinding, artificial life. She wore a different colour, played a different tune. But there wasn’t a problem with how Aislyn thought of Eleanor. The problem came with the conflict that brewed between her mind and her heart.
”I… I understand.” There had to be some other way out. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t reveal herself. Not like this. Her words could get her out. Somehow, somehow. ”People only want you around for their benefit. They want you because you’re pretty. You’re talented, your existence is somehow helpful to them. Like you owe them something for their praise.” Pushing herself off the ground, Aislyn left the bowl and the notebook behind. She took a step towards the woman and the woman took a step back, towards the edge. Towards death. Nothing she said seemed to mean anything to the woman. But that. She couldn’t do that.

That was asking too much.

This had been a mistake, this- coming up to the building, investigating the beautiful woman that had called to her from the top of it. It had been a mistake to get involved, to get attached to this person she knew nearly nothing of, just because her life was a mirror image of Aislyn’s own. She was letting her feelings get the best of her, and that was something she couldn’t do. Not anymore. She couldn’t play vigilante and expect to get off scot-free. She couldn’t associate with people and expect to escape. She couldn’t make exceptions.
Eleanor put a foot up on the bar of the railing, the metal creaking and threatening to shatter under her weight just like everything else in the damned house. She closed her eyes, the wind pulling her hair away from her face just as the light caught it.
Pulling her fists to her stomach, Aislyn swore she was about to asphyxiate. She was being the person Aislyn needed. The person Aislyn didn’t have. She had known that from the beginning. She was acting as the voice of reason that the voice of emotion lacked. The pair of eyes from outside, observing the fact that the house was on fire but making no more to settle the flames. After all, you couldn’t douse the flames from inside the inferno. But when Aislyn had needed it most, no one had come for her. So now when Eleanor needed it, she was there.

Slowly, a hand shaking more fiercely than Aislyn had ever experienced before was extended towards Eleanor, the illusion coating her second mark slowly melting away like hot wax. The effect continued up her arm, Aislyn's own spindly, self-inflicted scars tracing up her wrist until her illusion regained hold at the crook of her arm. Maya remained, every other piece of the puzzle firmly in place, but after a few seconds an inverted triangle was revealed on her palm, raised above the skin around it like it had been sewn with a crimson red string. It took her several attempts to articulate the words that came next, her tongue refusing to cooperate, as if it knew what a bad decision she was making.

”I can help you.”

[1,555]
"Speech" - Thought

[Kaleidoscope]

Aislyn's internal struggle was lost of Eleanor, who was lost in her own battle of wills. They played like ghost's fire across her face, sometimes bursting out in a pained expression, other times falling back to a relaxed, almost dead state. All this in the space of a handful of ticks, that seemed to the woman to stretch out into infinity. Yet now her companion was talking. Her voice that had seemed disconnected before now suddenly seemed real. The change was enough to make Eleanor turn to face her, surprise registering as her eyes were drawn unwillingly down towards the woman's hand.

She was marked, too. Yet her mark was the right way around, blood red but perfect in it's way. Eleanor brought her gaze sharply to Aislyn, and stared into her eyes with an unwavering strength. "You can help me." The woman didn't know what Aislyn expected when she revealed her mark, but Eleanor's retort was flat, biting, scathing. "You can help me by what, pushing me off? Doing his bidding, what he's wanted all this time? He doesn't have time for people like me, write-offs like me. So why should you? He saw fit to see nothing in me, all those years ago. I've been haunted by nothing, all this time. I've been nothing. Not in an interesting way, not in a special and unique way. Just a husk of a person, unimaginative, uncreative, un un un."

Now the woman grabbed the railing and pulled herself over. Instead of hanging on from the side where a slip wouldn't matter, she now hung out into empty space, dark dress flapping in the breeze. Her anger switched to sadness, to desperation. "You can't help me Maya. No-one can. I've wanted to be a something all my life- you can't come in and suddenly change it now. Not even if you are Ionu's favoured." She smiled wistfully. "It was sweet of you to try. Sweet of everyone to try, even if I didn't want it. But, I think I've made my decision now."

Time stood still, every moment around seemed to suddenly cease breathing. Birds, trees, Alvads... nothing else existed in that moment except the two women, the balcony and the dead plants. It seemed that she was resigned to her fate. Her lips smiled, her hands grew looser. Yet, if Aislyn was to look closely into Eleanor's eyes, a fierce shadow of desperation pleading with all it's might could be seen. Pleading for the help that Eleanor wouldn't allow it.

She was almost gone now, one hand freed from it's resting place, the other still grasping the railing closely. Now her left foot was edging backwards, and with a clatter of violent noise she loosened the broken floor tile and slipped. It wasn't neat, or smooth. Eleanor half-fell, her right hand still gripping the railing tightly as she fumbled for a foothold again. Life was clinging to her, even as all her actions pointed against it. A muffled gasp of shock and pain escaped her lips, and her face was caught in a tornado of her dark, dark hair.

In that moment, the iron grip that held time to a standstill was broken by the crow that flew down onto the balcony's metal railing. Eleanor was swinging, her white fingers slowly and painstakingly slipping as she struggled to grasp a means of safety. The wreathed figure of Leth was just showing over the silhouettes of the rooftops, and bathed the two figures in shimmering lightness.

The moonlight cast pearly, iridescent, swirling shapes across the ebony-dark feathers of the crow. It's intelligent eyes seemed to be watching thoughtfully. Amusedly, even, a sardonic kind of amusement that faded into... sympathy? as it stretched it's wings and hopped along the balcony edge towards Eleanor.

Eleanor had managed to grip the railing again, but her legs still swung freely over the edge. Her face was a mask of terror, her heart beating beyond belief. The crow obliviously let out a, "Caw", it's beak bright and shining. The crow's wings suddenly opened up, but yet... they were not the wings of a crow. Not a normal crow, at least. The colours, the effects- it's wings were shaded with peacock feathers. It's body seemed to be made out of silk and taffeta. It's very existance seemed odd, in a way. Why was it here? Birds weren't known to flock to the woman's balcony, for there was nothing to eat there. And this bird especially, it wasn't normal. In fact, it was almost like an illusion, but of course Eleanor couldn't see those, and this bird was very real.

The crow flapped once, a powerful surge of it's wings that disturbed the air and sent Eleanor's hair curling into spirals. And then, it lunged forwards, beak outstretched. With one clean peck, it's curved beak landed upon the the woman's arm, on her sleeve, tearing it off without any effort at all. In the surprise of it, her hand slipped off the railing again, but the crow flew level with her and perched upon her shoulder.

Then, with another clean swoop downwards, the bird's impossibly shining beak pressed downwards. Like a kiss, it touched the very mark that had caused her so much trouble and heartache. Then it let out another ear-piercing squawk, spread it's wings and disappeared back into the encroaching night.

It took a moment for her to realise in the position she was in. Yet she soon did, looking down with astonishment. Eleanor's curse was gone. Her eyes opened wide, and she laughed like a bell, even as she was in her precarious, life-threatening position. She could live again.

That was if she could survive falling to her death. Her hand slipped, and she dangled again. Now that fierce spirit in her gaze awoke, and cried out in a clear and cutting voice that echoed through the streets. "MAYA! Help me!"

[Aislyn Leavold]

39th of Spring, 516 AV

ooc"This is gay"
- everyone, after every post I make in this thread.

There was a soft moment in which Aislyn believed what she had done to have worked. Perhaps this wouldn’t end like all the other times, perhaps Eleanor would realize the implications she was making, ask her for the help she obviously needed. She would take her hand, come down from the railing, and Aislyn would then figure out what to do from there. She had Ionu on her side, she could fix what the deity had done to her. If only Eleanor would take her hand.

But she didn’t.

Her words were harsh, and Aislyn withdrew suddenly, surprise betraying her features for a quick moment at the outburst she received. Eleanor grew angry, at herself and apparently Aislyn. Especially Aislyn.

She had been wrong.
This had ended just the same way it always had.

Eleanor pulled herself over the railing, and though Aislyn had previously dedicated herself so fiercely to the idea of helping the woman, she couldn’t find that energy now. She stepped back, her gnosis brought to the forefront of her mind to replace the illusion on her hand. The shaking hadn’t stopped. This was why she didn’t reveal herself. This was why she didn’t help people. This was why people were dangerous; why the only person she could trust was herself.
Yet now, even herself didn’t seem so trustworthy anymore.

Aislyn had tried her best. From the very moment she had stepped up those stairs she had known her efforts might turn out to be in vain. She had come to observe, because she was curious. But she had ended with much more than what she had bargained for. She had let herself get into this position, let herself reveal her mark, let herself become attached to yet another being that the world would prove to be irrelevant by the time a season had passed. And it was her fault. There was nothing she could do, now.
Still, she jumped at the horrible screech the bar emitted as the railing fell under Eleanor’s weight. Aislyn hadn’t even wondered at why the woman was marked like she was. Ionu didn’t do things without reason- there must have been something; something horrible she had done to deserve what she had gotten. Ionu had their reasons. Surely, they must. And if those reasons were sure enough to warrant the deity’s apathy, then it was not something Aislyn should have been getting involved in. In a way, Eleanor was right. Ionu would have made some effort on their own by now, shown some sort of sign. But they hadn’t, and Aislyn had been foolish to think she could somehow change that.
It was that conclusion the illusionist had come to when a crow appeared from what was most definitely thin air.

There was a singular breath in between the bird’s appearance and Aislyn’s recognition of the being. Her mark had always given her a sense of warmth when her deity was near, but in Alvadas that warmth never faded. However, there was most definitely a more intense feeling that came from that particular ability now, just as the crow began to observe Eleanor from its perch beside her.
It had been quite a while since Aislyn had last seen the crow, but the exhilaration was no different. It had been a crow- a crow with the most beautiful black that hid feathers of every colour below- that had bestowed upon Aislyn her first mark of illusionism.
Ionu gave many enigmatic signs, but this was not one of them. This was the clearest message the woman had seen in a long time, and it quite obviously represented Ionu’s approval of her saving the life of the woman that now dangled from the balcony Aislyn stood upon.

Another breath passed. A swoop, a squawk, and then, worst- yet somehow best- of all, a scream. Then the crow was gone, and Aislyn was left staring, mind reeling and yet somehow falling at a blank simultaneously. There was nothing she could do. That was what she had thought. But there, right in front of her, that was what she could do.
If Ionu had saved this woman, Aislyn couldn’t let that repentance go to waste.

”Just-” Her breath came unevenly, the lump in her throat not quite dissolved. She’d never been in a situation like this, what was she supposed to say? ”Just hold on.”

Getting down on her knees as close to Eleanor as she could without falling off herself, Aislyn reached through the bars in some vain hope of pulling the woman up herself. The hand she had previously offered the woman now grasped her wrist, and as soon as the contact was made she attempted to pull the woman up as high as her strength would let her. If she could only get her high enough to grasp the bars of the railing, then perhaps the woman could pull herself up by the metal. It was fragile, yes, but if Aislyn didn’t let go, she’d be able to pull herself up just a little bit a higher. If she were higher, she could swing her other arm up, then her legs. Then they’d both be on solid ground, and after that…

Well, she’d burn that bridge when she got to it.

Pulling the woman’s wrist up high enough to grasp with her other hand, Aislyn tightened her grip around Eleanor’s wrist until her knuckles turned white, both arms now pulling upwards. The woman's hand was cold, her scars prominent through the texture on her skin. Even as she hung, Aislyn could see the terror in her eyes. She'd seemed so placid before, like she was watching the world through a wall of glass. When Aislyn had first laid eyes upon her, she'd seemed broken- broken in a way that was somehow still beautiful.
But now she was real in a way she hadn't been before. Really scared.

The illusionist had always lived by the maxim of not trusting a soul. That had never been in question. But there was always, always someone that had broken that rule, that held all of Aislyn’s faith and perhaps some more. The illusionist trusted Ionu more than anything else in the battered series of events that had been her life, and if saving Eleanor was what Ionu wanted, then saving Eleanor would be what Aislyn would do.

[1,067]
"Speech" - Thought

[Kaleidoscope]

The woman, of course, had no idea what was running through Aislyn's head, as she was considered and almost been dismissed in those brief fragments of time before the crow had appeared. No, all the woman knew was Aislyn's response to her scream for help. Actual, physical help that grasped her firmly through the bars. Eleanor almost laughed with relief as her ice-cold fingers gripped the other woman, almost fumbling. Her breath came in short, haggard gasps as a tear ran down her shock-paled cheeks. She grasped and fumbled with her other hand to grip the metal, pulling herself up with all her might as she placed her life in Aislyn's hands.

Her eyes, wild with fear, stared into Aislyn's as her foot failed to make purchase on the wall, but then her other foot managed to find a nook, and with the woman's help she propelled herself over the top of the railing, falling with a short tumble to the safety of the balcony. For a tick, the woman appeared frozen, unable to move as her heart tried to settle itself back into a semblance of normality. Then, with a final ear-shattering creak, a segment of the fragile balcony railing cracked, and fell with a huge-sounding crash to the street below. Eleanor half-jumped with fear, but the spell was broken. The woman curled around herself and the floodgates opened. She weeped as if her life depended on it, and in a way, it did. The tears fell from her eyes and washed her face with relief, misery, happiness, shock and all manner of other emotions as the woman was reduced to a crumbling mess of racking sobs, clutching her torso as if to keep herself together.

Her tears faded, slowly, achingly. Finally she sat up, a bright smile opening onto her face like a newly seeded plant as she looked around, eyes alighting on a simple candle illusion that floated upside-down on the other side of the plaza. Then she laughed, clear as a bell, and tore her eyes away reluctantly to face Aislyn. Words formed and then died on her lips one after the other as she considered what she wanted to say. All the while she was staring up at the woman. It wasn't hard for her to connect her good fortune with her, with Maya, not that she thought any deeper that that- it was simply that she wanted to share in her newfound joy of being, finally, markless with another soul in this crazy city.

Springing up, the woman reached to grab Aislyn's hand, holding it for a fragment of time before letting go wordlessly. Then she pressed her hands to the wall of her home, head sinking to touch the bricks. Her hair fell across her face like a curtain, but just visible, her smile crept slowly across her face. A private thing of utter joy. In a whisper, she simply said, "Thank you, Maya. Thank you, Ionu." There wasn't anything more that she was even capable of saying at that point in time. Nothing she wanted to say. Her thanks she would show in her smile, in her genuine expressions of happiness that she hadn't felt in so long.

It wasn't even just that her mark had been removed. It was that she had been on the edge of what she had thought she had wanted for herself, found that she wanted to live, and then been given the chance by the very woman who she had only just recently met, and who she had been convinced was simply a servant of Ionu who wouldn't hesitate to deliver what she had secretly thought the god wanted all along. The relief she felt was something almost tangible, almost solid. And the happiness was there too... an ethereal presence falling over the woman like a shroud of the finest mist, covering her every inch of skin with joy.

[Aislyn Leavold]

39th of Spring, 516 AV

The was a strange sense of serenity in the chaos that followed Aislyn’s desperate grasp for the woman’s wrists. Eleanor’s spell had been broken, whatever the cost, and Aislyn would have plenty of time to regret it later, but for now she was simply, strangely, calm. All things considered, at least. The emotionless image of the woman Aislyn had originally met had been shattered, replaced with someone else, someone who felt, and perhaps more importantly, someone who was alive.
Or rather, would be alive, as soon as Aislyn managed to get her onto solid ground.

There were several very long, very slow moments of what if in between the moment she made contact with Eleanor’s hand and the moment they both fell backwards, Aislyn landing rather ungracefully on her side. For a moment, there was nothing, and then a dying shriek from the balcony, crumbling stone cracking like clay in the sun. Then it was gone, the whole platform on which they had stood chimes before laying as rubble in the alleyway below. For a moment, Aislyn simply stared, until the sound of crying drew her eyes away.

Eleanor was freed from whatever negative effects Ionu’s displeasure had placed upon her, that was most definite. For awhile, Aislyn stared at the woman, not entirely sure what to do about the figure writhing on the ground in front of her. Up until that point in time, she couldn’t have imagined Ionu’s power affecting someone so severely in the way it had affected Eleanor. To affect her so negatively.
The illusionist pulled herself up into a sitting position, brushing at the dust that had collected on her clothing, only managing to smudge it further. Occupied with the grey-black sediment, it took several ticks for her to realize the crying had stopped.
All of a sudden, Eleanor was in front of her, grasping her hand and pulling her up. Then she was around the room, touching what she previously couldn’t feel.

There was a growing pit in Aislyn’s chest that she couldn't quite seem to place as the woman leaned against the wall opposite to Aislyn, her hair fell in wind-tangled strands across her face. She looked almost the same as when she had first stood atop her impossibly tall balcony. The connection Aislyn had felt, however, was rather faded now, both in the way she had shared a mark- though opposing- with the woman, but also in the peculiar sadness the illusionist had resonated with. When the woman thanked her, she could do little other than nod. Quite frankly, she didn’t know what else to do. Saving lives was not something she did on a daily basis, after all. The Winter War had been the closest she’d come to being any sort of savior, and even then she was never exactly acted honorably, never more than a tick away from her own demise. On top of that, all those she had assisted- and those that had assisted her- had been little more than strangers.
Come to think of it, Eleanor wasn’t much more of a stranger either.

”I-” Aislyn coughed, unsure of how to proceed with conversation considering what had just happened. ”If- If you don’t mind me asking…”

There was an almost palpable aura of happiness surrounding the woman now. Relief, joy; pure and utter emotion. It was strangely warming to see someone so happy that had once been so sad. Still, now that they were on solid ground, Aislyn had far more questions yet to be answered. Starting off, of course, with the most pressing of her concerns.

”Why did Ionu mark you?”

"Speech" - Thought

[Kaleidoscope]

As an Ionu-painted star floated across the street below, Eleanor's eyes opened wide as she looked around properly, for the first time in years. She spoke in quiet murmurs, not looking at Aislyn as she answered- her gaze too distracted with the surroundings. "I was a fashion designer. Maybe you're surprised to hear that? I thought myself to be brilliant. Ionu took note of that boast, I suppose. There was a beautiful woman who lived in a wooden house who was known to make beautiful, unusual clothes. I loved them. I loved them. Too much, her ideas bled into my own, and before I knew it I was selling knock-offs of her work."

Eleanor stopped for a moment, and extended her hand to allow a feather-white snowflake to momentarily land on her delicate fingers. She watched with delight as the snowflake blossomed and grew into a miniature tree, its branches minute crystals of frost, before it melted away to nothing. "Then I was doing it deliberately, and people... oh, the people knew. It's why they stopped coming, and why I grew so angry. I made coat after coat, shirt after shirt, but no-one would buy my 'unique' designs, only those visitors who didn't know better. Then, when I was doing relatively well, I was paid a visit by this woman. Except, it wasn't actually her. It was Ionu. She cursed me, there and then for my naivety."

She shot a deep breath through her nostrils, and ran a hand through her hair. A short burst of laughter broke the silence, a laugh still holding bitterness, perhaps. "Well, it turns out that woman was marked by Ionu, much like yourself I suppose. Then I couldn't copy her art, because well... I couldn't see it. Since then I've lived, if you can call it that, with Ionu's shadow on me at all times. Until you came." Eleanor sat with her legs over the edge of the gap where her balcony had been. She looked wistful now, her eyes cast out into the distance.

"It's ironic, isn't it, that even through a curse, Ionu is my deity. It is so good to see his city again." She absent-mindedly rubbed where her mark used to be.

"Maya. Who are you? You know who I am. But why did you help me, even when you're marked favourably in Ionu's eyes? Come, sit here and talk. Unless you have to go?" Gods, I'm sure you've got better things to do than this. But, well... I'd appreciate it." Her voice trailed off hesitantly at the end. Truly, Eleanor didn't know her guest, and couldn't figure her out at all. Was she kind to have saved her? She certainly didn't seem the do-gooder type. Was she curious, foolish, morbid? Some she knew might be interested in being in the presence of one who wished to throw herself from a balcony.

She stared at the floor below. Something had fallen. Yet it hadn't been herself. Now the moment, lasting all day, was finally over. Death had seemed close at times, as if Dira had her hand resting maternally on her shoulder. She had seriously, truly contemplated the fall. The way she would land, crumpled and broken, and taken from the world. For a time she had even welcomed it. Then she had felt hope. The young woman, Nephti, had brought peace to her troubled, aching mind. Then more, always more. She had grown angry and sad and terrified all at once- had longed for release from it all. Now Maya, and a release of a different kind.

OOCHeck, have all the dialogue. I think we're near the conclusion now. Agreed?

[Aislyn Leavold]

39th of Spring, 516 AV

A fashion designer. That explained the dress- such a beautiful, broken thing. Tattered now, but Aislyn had noticed the brilliance. Then the story unravelled like the threads on her dress and the illusionist was met with a whole new reality. A beautiful woman with beautiful designs another took too much interest in. Sad, really.

Aislyn looked off the balcony as she listened, appreciating the sky as Leth began to rise into his domain. It was long past the sunset Aislyn had originally arrived with, but the night was no less beautiful. Ionu almost seemed to be showing off illusions, just for the newly freed woman to appreciate. Tiny stars glittering down like rain or snow, swirling in what would seem to be impossibly precise patterns for merely the wind to create. She had been cursed for pettiness and naïvety. It was so peculiar, witnessing how her deity affected the lives of others. Especially in the smallest ways, with the biggest impacts. It seemed strange for Ionu to take offense at the plagiarism of a handful of mortals, until Eleanor revealed just who it was she had stolen from. Marked by Ionu, much like yourself.

A chill went up Aislyn’s spine to hear the second part of her sentence, the illusionist uncomfortable with her being so open about what the woman kept so fiercely hidden.

Looking down, she caught herself staring at the woman, her face no longer filled with the emptiness she had before. Aislyn didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know why she was there, didn’t know why she had come, and certainly why she wasn’t somehow more torn over what she had done. No, ‘torn’ was the wrong word. She was most certainly torn. She wanted to hate herself for what she had done- and a part of her did. She wanted to run out of the house, to turn away and never look back. She wanted to throw herself off the balcony, if necessary. The other part of her wanted to stay, wanted to sit with her legs dangling down and close her eyes, letting her illusions fade away.
At least every part of her agreed that the latter would never happen.

Eleanor turned her head to face the illusionist, Aislyn’s face flushing below her illusion as she avoided her gaze. Who was Maya? A question that had very different meanings depending on whether Aislyn was being asked or was asking herself. Even still, Aislyn obliged the woman’s request, lowering herself to sit beside her.

”I…”

There had been a story Aislyn’s mother had enjoyed, one of the illusionist’s favourites as a child. A tale of a man with paper skin and wax bones that had fallen in love with Syna herself. He spent his days chasing after her embrace, and his nights lamenting her absence. He would chase her, hoping one day to receive her affections for his complete and utter devotion. One day she entertained his ambitions, and he grew closer than he ever had before. The paper of his skin began to burn and his bones of wax began to melt, and soon he was no more. In his absence Syna continued unwaveringly on, bringing Mizahar its days and nights as she always had before, and always ever would. Aislyn felt like that man now, slowly melting to satisfy her curiosity. She wanted to know more, even as she began to burn.

”I’m... ” ’I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than this.’ ”I’m an artist. I… You’ve seen, I draw.” She was panicking, just the slightest bit. She had thought it so many times before, who Maya was, what she was meant to be, yet now she had no idea how to articulate her thoughts in a way that would reveal nothing more about herself than she already had. Eventually, she gave up. ”I… I’m not sure why I did. Why I helped you.”

Pulling one of her legs up, Aislyn looked down upon the pile of rubble where Eleanor would have fallen, should she have jumped after all. ”I saw you standing on the edge of a great big fall you wouldn't live to regret,” Aislyn picked at her fingernails, then at the skin on her hand. "And I suppose I saw myself."

OOCAgreed

"Speech" - Thought