![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tagebuch - "casting a spell" 11/01
Nov. 2nd, 2003 07:41 pmHer inky black hair had been pulled back with a silver clip of some sort - Helene hadn't done it herself, it had been her maid who had had the task of dressing her hair. The old witch probably used the dragon one, or maybe the one in the design of a unicorn. She had to ham up the ceremony with her fantasy fancies. Helene would have prefered to leave her hair down and performed in the nude, but however she was clad, she was glad to be doing it. The rules had to be follwed, all expections had to be met. The spell was her first within the clan, she would prove herself or fall to the embers below. She was glad to be doing it.
Utterly glad.
The ingredients were prepared hours before, everything smoked, plucked, boiled, and trimmed to perfections. The herbs had been tied with purple lace ribbons, the liquids contained in transparent glass bottles, the foodstuff piled neatly on clay plates. Helene glided past all the elements without so much as a glance. It was no longer her duty to do the menial tasks. She was the priestess for the night. She was glad for that too.
She used no book, the spells had been sung down through the generations and from her birth she had danced to them. She did chose not to use a wand, declaring that her fingers were long enough to weave the spell free from any sticks of wood. The elders had murmured and clucked, but they were old hens now and not to be taken without a good pinch of salt.
And so, after waiting as patient as the sphinx, her hour approached and Helene stood for the casting. The ceremonial cloak was dropped by silent hands onto her awaiting shoudlers and the weight of the material surprised her for a full second or so. She regained control of herself and shrugged under her heavy duty.
Stepping over the ring of stones, she entered into her magick.
Utterly glad.
The ingredients were prepared hours before, everything smoked, plucked, boiled, and trimmed to perfections. The herbs had been tied with purple lace ribbons, the liquids contained in transparent glass bottles, the foodstuff piled neatly on clay plates. Helene glided past all the elements without so much as a glance. It was no longer her duty to do the menial tasks. She was the priestess for the night. She was glad for that too.
She used no book, the spells had been sung down through the generations and from her birth she had danced to them. She did chose not to use a wand, declaring that her fingers were long enough to weave the spell free from any sticks of wood. The elders had murmured and clucked, but they were old hens now and not to be taken without a good pinch of salt.
And so, after waiting as patient as the sphinx, her hour approached and Helene stood for the casting. The ceremonial cloak was dropped by silent hands onto her awaiting shoudlers and the weight of the material surprised her for a full second or so. She regained control of herself and shrugged under her heavy duty.
Stepping over the ring of stones, she entered into her magick.
