Equinox and Exile
Mar. 20th, 2010 07:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonEvery year, at exactly a quarter 'til midnight of the Vernal Equinox's Eve, Lady Spring and Old Man Winter meet in a bar. There they have only a half hour to spend in each other's company before vanishing back to their respective thrones. Once seperated they can never see each other again until another year's passing. Over the rolling millenia, with their blooms of epochs and dusks of empires, they had become increasingly fond of one another. Spring, it was discovered, was the only one who could make Winter laugh... and in return Winter learned it was he alone that could make Spring dance. Though they had fallen in love long before the War in Heaven it wasn't until recently, when the first bar opened along a prosperous river in a forgotten land, that Old Man Winter got drunk enough to awkwardly confess his heart's burden to Lady Spring.
When Spring took him by the hand and winked 'I know' it was said to be the only time Winter had ever smiled (though the first fall of snow should certainly prove otherwise). Lady Spring was about to reciprocate her affections but before she could speak they both began to fade. Winter becoming a bitter chill that sunk deep through the skin to frost the very bones of those unfortunate to pass by. Spring became a warm breeze whose mist left a bitter taste of tears across its path.
Through a correspondence delivered by envoys of Ravens from him and Mockingbirds from her, their love rather than diminish through exile grew with each passing season. They soon became anxious for the ritual's arrival that would briefly bind them together, though its laws and origin had been forgotten by both it bought to the couple a strength of hope without which their existence would be a prison of agony.
So it was last night that the two met at the Highlander here in Terminus.
I had the good fortune to be in the booth behind them, eavesdropping while my friend made small talk with the staff. To the untrained eye the booth would have seemed empty save a purse and a hat left on the table along with a fresh round of drinks, conveying in a casual glance the booth being both occupied and empty at the same time. Magick often seems to work by such contradictions. What I managed to glimpse (under the pretense of hitting the head) was a dead ringer for Leonard Cohen in a black felt tip hat and a teenage punk chick with short spiked red hair. I overheard the old man pleading with her to runaway with him while she shook her head 'no' in tears.
Later, after finishing my first drink and waitress fishing for a second, I caught the couple dancing to Patsy Cline's Stranger in my Arms between the tables. No one else at the bar found it odd that the song wasn't on the jukebox's playlist. I asked my friend to check the couple out, but for some reason she couldn't see them. I snorted a laugh and toasted my empty glass to them both...
... just as the song ended when the clock ticked 12:15. My friend looked over at me, repressing a sudden cold shudder that had come over her, and asked why I was suddenly crying.
When Spring took him by the hand and winked 'I know' it was said to be the only time Winter had ever smiled (though the first fall of snow should certainly prove otherwise). Lady Spring was about to reciprocate her affections but before she could speak they both began to fade. Winter becoming a bitter chill that sunk deep through the skin to frost the very bones of those unfortunate to pass by. Spring became a warm breeze whose mist left a bitter taste of tears across its path.
Through a correspondence delivered by envoys of Ravens from him and Mockingbirds from her, their love rather than diminish through exile grew with each passing season. They soon became anxious for the ritual's arrival that would briefly bind them together, though its laws and origin had been forgotten by both it bought to the couple a strength of hope without which their existence would be a prison of agony.
So it was last night that the two met at the Highlander here in Terminus.
I had the good fortune to be in the booth behind them, eavesdropping while my friend made small talk with the staff. To the untrained eye the booth would have seemed empty save a purse and a hat left on the table along with a fresh round of drinks, conveying in a casual glance the booth being both occupied and empty at the same time. Magick often seems to work by such contradictions. What I managed to glimpse (under the pretense of hitting the head) was a dead ringer for Leonard Cohen in a black felt tip hat and a teenage punk chick with short spiked red hair. I overheard the old man pleading with her to runaway with him while she shook her head 'no' in tears.
Later, after finishing my first drink and waitress fishing for a second, I caught the couple dancing to Patsy Cline's Stranger in my Arms between the tables. No one else at the bar found it odd that the song wasn't on the jukebox's playlist. I asked my friend to check the couple out, but for some reason she couldn't see them. I snorted a laugh and toasted my empty glass to them both...
... just as the song ended when the clock ticked 12:15. My friend looked over at me, repressing a sudden cold shudder that had come over her, and asked why I was suddenly crying.