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Delia had been up since the early hours of the morning, watching the sun rise, she almost felt like there would not be a sunrise that morning, with the way her chest tightened with guilt. Her life had fallen apart ages ago, but that did not mean the guilt of surviving was entirely forgotten by the woman. Sometimes, when she should sleep, she could do nothing but think back on her past… Her parents, her husband. The horrible deed she had done, or perhaps what was more horrible than murder had been the fact she still—to this day—did not regret that murder, not one bit. She could still close her eyes and feel the glee racing through her; the sense of freedom…
In the night, Delia had left her tent, blowing her candles out, and wandered away from the safety of her bed, the safety of the circus. Cairo was warm during summer, so she was not too worried—it was a bit chilly but nothing too bothersome. Years of living in Egypt had eased her into the seasons. She had eventually found a nice, secluded place to rest, toes digging into the sand, her gaze watching the sky.
Life had almost been easier back then, when the world made sense—when she didn’t know some secrets she knew. Not that she regretted her place within the circus, her part to keep it running was as important as anyone else’s role in the circus; the cult.
She’d just been sixteen when she had come home from an outing with friends, to find her house up in flames. At sixteen she had naively hoped that her parents had escaped the hungry fire, but… luck was never on her side in her earlier years.
Delia dragged her fingers through the sand, as the sun finally rose in the sky. Hours had passed, just sitting in the dark. She had sand in places she didn’t really want sand, but she lingered where she was. She had to get to training but… instead of getting up she laid back in the sand, closing her eyes, and let herself be teleported back to her time on the streets of Athenia—before Egypt was home.
She’d be trying to pickpocket someone, just enough money to buy food; that’s what she’d told herself. Just enough to survive—but she’d stuck her hand in the wrong pocket. She’d stuck her hand into his pocket…
That’s how they’d met. It should have been a red flag, really. What man would take a thief off the street and try to give them a better life, save to use them for a purpose that only he would gain from? She scoffed, shoving herself upright, toes digging into the sand briefly.
She had not brought any of her equipment with her, but she could still practice actually dancing. Her movements were not graceful movements, they were movements full of anger, hatred. Self-hate, hatred for the past—and as she danced, her hands roamed over her abdomen, fingers pressing into scars that she hated.
She thought about Keelan; about how he deserved what he got, and she briefly thought about the flames that had consumed him. What if they had consumed her too, how great would that have felt? She hissed quietly, finishing her dance as she heard the circus come alive with chatter. People would be looking for her. They had schedules, after all.
Nem had done great things for the circus, even in such short time. Though he had yet to break Delia from her modest manner of dress, she’d told him once that it shouldn’t matter how she dresses, so long as she isn’t injuring herself. The schedules, the better treatment of the performers and slaves…
First on her schedule for the day, was to find Miri—the newest member of their merry band of misfits. She twirled children that ran up to her, greeted slaves kindly, waved and smiled to anyone she saw, searching familiar faces for Miri; the girl that heard the gods.
How quaint, how special, how fitting.
She wanted to be on the gods' good side, but on the off-chance the girl was crazy, it would benefit her to get close to her; learn her secrets, protect Nem and the rest by warning them against anything the girl might do.
Catching sight of Miri, she called, “Miri!” She wasn’t dressed for the day, still in a loosely fitted top and even looser pants, her feet bare, hair mussed, but she wasn’t too concerned because from the looks of Miri, she’d wandered away from Rekhmire. “How are you today?” She inquired, kindly, as she came up next to the strange girl. Potentially the strangest newcomer they had had yet.
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Delia had been up since the early hours of the morning, watching the sun rise, she almost felt like there would not be a sunrise that morning, with the way her chest tightened with guilt. Her life had fallen apart ages ago, but that did not mean the guilt of surviving was entirely forgotten by the woman. Sometimes, when she should sleep, she could do nothing but think back on her past… Her parents, her husband. The horrible deed she had done, or perhaps what was more horrible than murder had been the fact she still—to this day—did not regret that murder, not one bit. She could still close her eyes and feel the glee racing through her; the sense of freedom…
In the night, Delia had left her tent, blowing her candles out, and wandered away from the safety of her bed, the safety of the circus. Cairo was warm during summer, so she was not too worried—it was a bit chilly but nothing too bothersome. Years of living in Egypt had eased her into the seasons. She had eventually found a nice, secluded place to rest, toes digging into the sand, her gaze watching the sky.
Life had almost been easier back then, when the world made sense—when she didn’t know some secrets she knew. Not that she regretted her place within the circus, her part to keep it running was as important as anyone else’s role in the circus; the cult.
She’d just been sixteen when she had come home from an outing with friends, to find her house up in flames. At sixteen she had naively hoped that her parents had escaped the hungry fire, but… luck was never on her side in her earlier years.
Delia dragged her fingers through the sand, as the sun finally rose in the sky. Hours had passed, just sitting in the dark. She had sand in places she didn’t really want sand, but she lingered where she was. She had to get to training but… instead of getting up she laid back in the sand, closing her eyes, and let herself be teleported back to her time on the streets of Athenia—before Egypt was home.
She’d be trying to pickpocket someone, just enough money to buy food; that’s what she’d told herself. Just enough to survive—but she’d stuck her hand in the wrong pocket. She’d stuck her hand into his pocket…
That’s how they’d met. It should have been a red flag, really. What man would take a thief off the street and try to give them a better life, save to use them for a purpose that only he would gain from? She scoffed, shoving herself upright, toes digging into the sand briefly.
She had not brought any of her equipment with her, but she could still practice actually dancing. Her movements were not graceful movements, they were movements full of anger, hatred. Self-hate, hatred for the past—and as she danced, her hands roamed over her abdomen, fingers pressing into scars that she hated.
She thought about Keelan; about how he deserved what he got, and she briefly thought about the flames that had consumed him. What if they had consumed her too, how great would that have felt? She hissed quietly, finishing her dance as she heard the circus come alive with chatter. People would be looking for her. They had schedules, after all.
Nem had done great things for the circus, even in such short time. Though he had yet to break Delia from her modest manner of dress, she’d told him once that it shouldn’t matter how she dresses, so long as she isn’t injuring herself. The schedules, the better treatment of the performers and slaves…
First on her schedule for the day, was to find Miri—the newest member of their merry band of misfits. She twirled children that ran up to her, greeted slaves kindly, waved and smiled to anyone she saw, searching familiar faces for Miri; the girl that heard the gods.
How quaint, how special, how fitting.
She wanted to be on the gods' good side, but on the off-chance the girl was crazy, it would benefit her to get close to her; learn her secrets, protect Nem and the rest by warning them against anything the girl might do.
Catching sight of Miri, she called, “Miri!” She wasn’t dressed for the day, still in a loosely fitted top and even looser pants, her feet bare, hair mussed, but she wasn’t too concerned because from the looks of Miri, she’d wandered away from Rekhmire. “How are you today?” She inquired, kindly, as she came up next to the strange girl. Potentially the strangest newcomer they had had yet.
Delia had been up since the early hours of the morning, watching the sun rise, she almost felt like there would not be a sunrise that morning, with the way her chest tightened with guilt. Her life had fallen apart ages ago, but that did not mean the guilt of surviving was entirely forgotten by the woman. Sometimes, when she should sleep, she could do nothing but think back on her past… Her parents, her husband. The horrible deed she had done, or perhaps what was more horrible than murder had been the fact she still—to this day—did not regret that murder, not one bit. She could still close her eyes and feel the glee racing through her; the sense of freedom…
In the night, Delia had left her tent, blowing her candles out, and wandered away from the safety of her bed, the safety of the circus. Cairo was warm during summer, so she was not too worried—it was a bit chilly but nothing too bothersome. Years of living in Egypt had eased her into the seasons. She had eventually found a nice, secluded place to rest, toes digging into the sand, her gaze watching the sky.
Life had almost been easier back then, when the world made sense—when she didn’t know some secrets she knew. Not that she regretted her place within the circus, her part to keep it running was as important as anyone else’s role in the circus; the cult.
She’d just been sixteen when she had come home from an outing with friends, to find her house up in flames. At sixteen she had naively hoped that her parents had escaped the hungry fire, but… luck was never on her side in her earlier years.
Delia dragged her fingers through the sand, as the sun finally rose in the sky. Hours had passed, just sitting in the dark. She had sand in places she didn’t really want sand, but she lingered where she was. She had to get to training but… instead of getting up she laid back in the sand, closing her eyes, and let herself be teleported back to her time on the streets of Athenia—before Egypt was home.
She’d be trying to pickpocket someone, just enough money to buy food; that’s what she’d told herself. Just enough to survive—but she’d stuck her hand in the wrong pocket. She’d stuck her hand into his pocket…
That’s how they’d met. It should have been a red flag, really. What man would take a thief off the street and try to give them a better life, save to use them for a purpose that only he would gain from? She scoffed, shoving herself upright, toes digging into the sand briefly.
She had not brought any of her equipment with her, but she could still practice actually dancing. Her movements were not graceful movements, they were movements full of anger, hatred. Self-hate, hatred for the past—and as she danced, her hands roamed over her abdomen, fingers pressing into scars that she hated.
She thought about Keelan; about how he deserved what he got, and she briefly thought about the flames that had consumed him. What if they had consumed her too, how great would that have felt? She hissed quietly, finishing her dance as she heard the circus come alive with chatter. People would be looking for her. They had schedules, after all.
Nem had done great things for the circus, even in such short time. Though he had yet to break Delia from her modest manner of dress, she’d told him once that it shouldn’t matter how she dresses, so long as she isn’t injuring herself. The schedules, the better treatment of the performers and slaves…
First on her schedule for the day, was to find Miri—the newest member of their merry band of misfits. She twirled children that ran up to her, greeted slaves kindly, waved and smiled to anyone she saw, searching familiar faces for Miri; the girl that heard the gods.
How quaint, how special, how fitting.
She wanted to be on the gods' good side, but on the off-chance the girl was crazy, it would benefit her to get close to her; learn her secrets, protect Nem and the rest by warning them against anything the girl might do.
Catching sight of Miri, she called, “Miri!” She wasn’t dressed for the day, still in a loosely fitted top and even looser pants, her feet bare, hair mussed, but she wasn’t too concerned because from the looks of Miri, she’d wandered away from Rekhmire. “How are you today?” She inquired, kindly, as she came up next to the strange girl. Potentially the strangest newcomer they had had yet.
Everything felt like if it could just bounce a little higher, the whole world would float. Miri quite liked floating. Arih used to say when he was younger that it looked like she floated when she walked. She would ‘float’ around their little home just to see his little face giggling. Usually it wouldn’t take long before one of their parents came in and sent Miri tumbling right back to solid ground.
Rekhmire didn’t seem to like it when she floated, either. He was confusing. It always seemed like he wanted her to fly, at first, but then he would strap her down and teach her things. That was what he’d been doing today. But then someone needed him and he went away and next thing Miri knew the straps were gone and she was free to float all she wanted. Sometimes she didn’t remember the things he taught her, but it didn’t matter because the gods were speaking clearer than ever, so Miri was pleased.
Today, though, the voices of the gods pounded in her ears. It was agitating; they seemed far more real than anything she laid eyes on. Hazel eyes were large and glazed as she wandered the campgrounds, whispering the stories they told her, trying to remember them all. It was like seeing the world from behind underwater. But the gods did not need air to speak. They seemed to mock her as she went spinning along the paths aimlessly, basking in the warm sun, toes curling into the sand in a fruitless attempt to cling to the earth. She liked floating, but if she floated too far away she might lose sight of the ground, and then Arih and Raziya would be left alone. That simply would not do.
Everything at the Tempest of Set was so pretty. Sometimes Miri caught glimpses of the costumes, shimmering in the dying sunlight before a show. Rekhmire had taken her to see once or twice; they’d sat in the back with Miri oohing and ahing along with the rest of the crowd, like the child she must have been ten years prior. It was getting a bit harder to remember much about her childhood; she could do it if she thought hard enough, but there didn’t seem to be much of a point. Why think about the years of screaming and huddling in corners with her little brother, when there was a whole new world to discover? And she did want to be useful. Rekhmire promised he would help her be useful, and he knew everything it seemed. So Miri breathed in the funny smoke when he told her to and listened to the new Egyptian vocabulary, and dreamt of the things he told her to dream of.
All the while the voices in her head grew stronger and clearer, and Miri knew it would not be long until she could understand their words and speak for the gods. That was surely her purpose, right? There was not much else it could be. She was small and not particularly strong, and words were meant to convey a purpose. As much as she might want to, as much as small pieces of her dreams contained her flying like a bird in the biggest tent, Miri knew her destiny was to speak the will of the gods.
Pressing her hands to her ears, trying to see if that would make the rest of the world in front of her make more sense, Miri almost did not hear the woman approaching. @set and Thoth were arguing loudly about something sad that she could not comprehend. Staring blankly at the beautiful, unfamiliar woman, it took Miri a moment to realize that she was meant to respond. “How do you know me?” This was all very suspicious. Did the gods speak to this woman, too? That must be it. Her heart beat faster—pounding like a drum in her chest. Listen hard, little one. “Did you hear that, too?” she asked hopefully, eyes widening even further. Miri took a step back and stared up at the bright sky, spinning in an elated circle. She had never met another prophet before! She had so many questions. Rekhmire said any of the circus people would answer her questions, but that he had the best answers, so Miri did not talk to many of the people she had come across so far. They stared at her sometimes, but the gods mostly ignored them so she did, too. Later, we’ll tell you later, they had grumbled impatiently. She would never question them. Or Rekhmire. He was weird and grumpy, but he always helped her feel calmer. She was safe here, he said.
Dizzy from all the spinning, Miri returned her fogged gaze to the woman in front of her, a rare but serene smile appearing on her face. “Have you met my brother yet?” she asked earnestly, “He’s lovely. Busy doing something without me, so I don’t get to see him or Raz much.” She paused, and tapped a knowing finger on her temple, “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Everything felt like if it could just bounce a little higher, the whole world would float. Miri quite liked floating. Arih used to say when he was younger that it looked like she floated when she walked. She would ‘float’ around their little home just to see his little face giggling. Usually it wouldn’t take long before one of their parents came in and sent Miri tumbling right back to solid ground.
Rekhmire didn’t seem to like it when she floated, either. He was confusing. It always seemed like he wanted her to fly, at first, but then he would strap her down and teach her things. That was what he’d been doing today. But then someone needed him and he went away and next thing Miri knew the straps were gone and she was free to float all she wanted. Sometimes she didn’t remember the things he taught her, but it didn’t matter because the gods were speaking clearer than ever, so Miri was pleased.
Today, though, the voices of the gods pounded in her ears. It was agitating; they seemed far more real than anything she laid eyes on. Hazel eyes were large and glazed as she wandered the campgrounds, whispering the stories they told her, trying to remember them all. It was like seeing the world from behind underwater. But the gods did not need air to speak. They seemed to mock her as she went spinning along the paths aimlessly, basking in the warm sun, toes curling into the sand in a fruitless attempt to cling to the earth. She liked floating, but if she floated too far away she might lose sight of the ground, and then Arih and Raziya would be left alone. That simply would not do.
Everything at the Tempest of Set was so pretty. Sometimes Miri caught glimpses of the costumes, shimmering in the dying sunlight before a show. Rekhmire had taken her to see once or twice; they’d sat in the back with Miri oohing and ahing along with the rest of the crowd, like the child she must have been ten years prior. It was getting a bit harder to remember much about her childhood; she could do it if she thought hard enough, but there didn’t seem to be much of a point. Why think about the years of screaming and huddling in corners with her little brother, when there was a whole new world to discover? And she did want to be useful. Rekhmire promised he would help her be useful, and he knew everything it seemed. So Miri breathed in the funny smoke when he told her to and listened to the new Egyptian vocabulary, and dreamt of the things he told her to dream of.
All the while the voices in her head grew stronger and clearer, and Miri knew it would not be long until she could understand their words and speak for the gods. That was surely her purpose, right? There was not much else it could be. She was small and not particularly strong, and words were meant to convey a purpose. As much as she might want to, as much as small pieces of her dreams contained her flying like a bird in the biggest tent, Miri knew her destiny was to speak the will of the gods.
Pressing her hands to her ears, trying to see if that would make the rest of the world in front of her make more sense, Miri almost did not hear the woman approaching. @set and Thoth were arguing loudly about something sad that she could not comprehend. Staring blankly at the beautiful, unfamiliar woman, it took Miri a moment to realize that she was meant to respond. “How do you know me?” This was all very suspicious. Did the gods speak to this woman, too? That must be it. Her heart beat faster—pounding like a drum in her chest. Listen hard, little one. “Did you hear that, too?” she asked hopefully, eyes widening even further. Miri took a step back and stared up at the bright sky, spinning in an elated circle. She had never met another prophet before! She had so many questions. Rekhmire said any of the circus people would answer her questions, but that he had the best answers, so Miri did not talk to many of the people she had come across so far. They stared at her sometimes, but the gods mostly ignored them so she did, too. Later, we’ll tell you later, they had grumbled impatiently. She would never question them. Or Rekhmire. He was weird and grumpy, but he always helped her feel calmer. She was safe here, he said.
Dizzy from all the spinning, Miri returned her fogged gaze to the woman in front of her, a rare but serene smile appearing on her face. “Have you met my brother yet?” she asked earnestly, “He’s lovely. Busy doing something without me, so I don’t get to see him or Raz much.” She paused, and tapped a knowing finger on her temple, “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
Everything felt like if it could just bounce a little higher, the whole world would float. Miri quite liked floating. Arih used to say when he was younger that it looked like she floated when she walked. She would ‘float’ around their little home just to see his little face giggling. Usually it wouldn’t take long before one of their parents came in and sent Miri tumbling right back to solid ground.
Rekhmire didn’t seem to like it when she floated, either. He was confusing. It always seemed like he wanted her to fly, at first, but then he would strap her down and teach her things. That was what he’d been doing today. But then someone needed him and he went away and next thing Miri knew the straps were gone and she was free to float all she wanted. Sometimes she didn’t remember the things he taught her, but it didn’t matter because the gods were speaking clearer than ever, so Miri was pleased.
Today, though, the voices of the gods pounded in her ears. It was agitating; they seemed far more real than anything she laid eyes on. Hazel eyes were large and glazed as she wandered the campgrounds, whispering the stories they told her, trying to remember them all. It was like seeing the world from behind underwater. But the gods did not need air to speak. They seemed to mock her as she went spinning along the paths aimlessly, basking in the warm sun, toes curling into the sand in a fruitless attempt to cling to the earth. She liked floating, but if she floated too far away she might lose sight of the ground, and then Arih and Raziya would be left alone. That simply would not do.
Everything at the Tempest of Set was so pretty. Sometimes Miri caught glimpses of the costumes, shimmering in the dying sunlight before a show. Rekhmire had taken her to see once or twice; they’d sat in the back with Miri oohing and ahing along with the rest of the crowd, like the child she must have been ten years prior. It was getting a bit harder to remember much about her childhood; she could do it if she thought hard enough, but there didn’t seem to be much of a point. Why think about the years of screaming and huddling in corners with her little brother, when there was a whole new world to discover? And she did want to be useful. Rekhmire promised he would help her be useful, and he knew everything it seemed. So Miri breathed in the funny smoke when he told her to and listened to the new Egyptian vocabulary, and dreamt of the things he told her to dream of.
All the while the voices in her head grew stronger and clearer, and Miri knew it would not be long until she could understand their words and speak for the gods. That was surely her purpose, right? There was not much else it could be. She was small and not particularly strong, and words were meant to convey a purpose. As much as she might want to, as much as small pieces of her dreams contained her flying like a bird in the biggest tent, Miri knew her destiny was to speak the will of the gods.
Pressing her hands to her ears, trying to see if that would make the rest of the world in front of her make more sense, Miri almost did not hear the woman approaching. @set and Thoth were arguing loudly about something sad that she could not comprehend. Staring blankly at the beautiful, unfamiliar woman, it took Miri a moment to realize that she was meant to respond. “How do you know me?” This was all very suspicious. Did the gods speak to this woman, too? That must be it. Her heart beat faster—pounding like a drum in her chest. Listen hard, little one. “Did you hear that, too?” she asked hopefully, eyes widening even further. Miri took a step back and stared up at the bright sky, spinning in an elated circle. She had never met another prophet before! She had so many questions. Rekhmire said any of the circus people would answer her questions, but that he had the best answers, so Miri did not talk to many of the people she had come across so far. They stared at her sometimes, but the gods mostly ignored them so she did, too. Later, we’ll tell you later, they had grumbled impatiently. She would never question them. Or Rekhmire. He was weird and grumpy, but he always helped her feel calmer. She was safe here, he said.
Dizzy from all the spinning, Miri returned her fogged gaze to the woman in front of her, a rare but serene smile appearing on her face. “Have you met my brother yet?” she asked earnestly, “He’s lovely. Busy doing something without me, so I don’t get to see him or Raz much.” She paused, and tapped a knowing finger on her temple, “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
Delia tilted her head at the first question, and then at the second. Instead of answering those, she waited. And soon… Miri was asking about her brother. “Oh yes, dear. I know you, Miri, your older sister, Raziya, and your little brother Arih.” She replied in a soft tone.
“Mmm… Well, once you finish your training, you’ll see them more.” She stated, with a smile, tapping a finger against her temple, mimicking the girl. “So, tell me, Miri, are you enjoying the circus?” Delia knew everyone, but if the girl implied that she thought Delia was… able to hear the gods as she could, she was horribly wrong.
Delia merely followed the gods to get where she was today; there’d been zero communication. But maybe she’d have some fun with the poor, drugged-out girl. “You know, Raziya is a big part of the circus. We hope that you and Arih will be too.” She moved forward to brush her fingers across Miri’s cheek. “Do you want to have a family that’ll love you forever?”
Raziya had come when she was a young girl, off the streets after being left there by the people that birthed her. It was still a thought infuriated Delia. Some people wanted children and did not have them for whatever reason, and others dumped their children away as if they were nothing.
She reached to run her fingers through Miri’s hair, “Has Raziya told you about me, Miri?” She inquired; it was a stupid question because the girl had not recognized her—and with the drugs, she might not remember the things she knew sober. But it was to plant a seed; ask your big sister about me.
“I’m Delia,” she murmured, with a smile. “You should ask Raziya about me, I’ve known her for years now.” They were quite attached to one another, Delia had recognized that what Raziya needed at the time was a mother-figure, and she had provided and she had become. “You could really ask anyone about me… they’ve all got good things to say,” Save for Rekhmire, probably. They were on neutral terms, but not really close.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Delia tilted her head at the first question, and then at the second. Instead of answering those, she waited. And soon… Miri was asking about her brother. “Oh yes, dear. I know you, Miri, your older sister, Raziya, and your little brother Arih.” She replied in a soft tone.
“Mmm… Well, once you finish your training, you’ll see them more.” She stated, with a smile, tapping a finger against her temple, mimicking the girl. “So, tell me, Miri, are you enjoying the circus?” Delia knew everyone, but if the girl implied that she thought Delia was… able to hear the gods as she could, she was horribly wrong.
Delia merely followed the gods to get where she was today; there’d been zero communication. But maybe she’d have some fun with the poor, drugged-out girl. “You know, Raziya is a big part of the circus. We hope that you and Arih will be too.” She moved forward to brush her fingers across Miri’s cheek. “Do you want to have a family that’ll love you forever?”
Raziya had come when she was a young girl, off the streets after being left there by the people that birthed her. It was still a thought infuriated Delia. Some people wanted children and did not have them for whatever reason, and others dumped their children away as if they were nothing.
She reached to run her fingers through Miri’s hair, “Has Raziya told you about me, Miri?” She inquired; it was a stupid question because the girl had not recognized her—and with the drugs, she might not remember the things she knew sober. But it was to plant a seed; ask your big sister about me.
“I’m Delia,” she murmured, with a smile. “You should ask Raziya about me, I’ve known her for years now.” They were quite attached to one another, Delia had recognized that what Raziya needed at the time was a mother-figure, and she had provided and she had become. “You could really ask anyone about me… they’ve all got good things to say,” Save for Rekhmire, probably. They were on neutral terms, but not really close.
Delia tilted her head at the first question, and then at the second. Instead of answering those, she waited. And soon… Miri was asking about her brother. “Oh yes, dear. I know you, Miri, your older sister, Raziya, and your little brother Arih.” She replied in a soft tone.
“Mmm… Well, once you finish your training, you’ll see them more.” She stated, with a smile, tapping a finger against her temple, mimicking the girl. “So, tell me, Miri, are you enjoying the circus?” Delia knew everyone, but if the girl implied that she thought Delia was… able to hear the gods as she could, she was horribly wrong.
Delia merely followed the gods to get where she was today; there’d been zero communication. But maybe she’d have some fun with the poor, drugged-out girl. “You know, Raziya is a big part of the circus. We hope that you and Arih will be too.” She moved forward to brush her fingers across Miri’s cheek. “Do you want to have a family that’ll love you forever?”
Raziya had come when she was a young girl, off the streets after being left there by the people that birthed her. It was still a thought infuriated Delia. Some people wanted children and did not have them for whatever reason, and others dumped their children away as if they were nothing.
She reached to run her fingers through Miri’s hair, “Has Raziya told you about me, Miri?” She inquired; it was a stupid question because the girl had not recognized her—and with the drugs, she might not remember the things she knew sober. But it was to plant a seed; ask your big sister about me.
“I’m Delia,” she murmured, with a smile. “You should ask Raziya about me, I’ve known her for years now.” They were quite attached to one another, Delia had recognized that what Raziya needed at the time was a mother-figure, and she had provided and she had become. “You could really ask anyone about me… they’ve all got good things to say,” Save for Rekhmire, probably. They were on neutral terms, but not really close.
The lady was pretty, that was certain. But somehow, everyone here was pretty. Miri hoped they thought she was pretty, too. Mum usually just said she was too small and too pale but mostly too useless to do much. Maybe if the circus people thought she was ugly, they would paint her face and teach her to smile more and do her hair in pretty braids. The lady in front of her didn’t need any help being pretty. A good prophet wouldn’t need any help.
Miri’s eyes widened, blinking in the light. “Did Arih seem happy? I want him to be happy. He gets to be a kid now, right?” Raz could take care of herself. And she could take care of Miri and Arih now, too, now that they were all together again. The world swayed, blurring and restoring itself in slow motion. Miri looked down and realized that she was the one swaying. How ridiculous. She stopped.
“The circus is beautiful,” she agreed, expression turning serious once more. She thought of all the swirling fire and flying bodies like birds, and the hissing of Kesi’s snakes. “All except the knives,” Miri added after a moment, flinching away from the woman’s touch. The gods must have forgotten to tell her not to touch her. “The knives are sharp. Someone might get hurt.” She did not want anyone in the circus to be harmed. They were all too pretty.
The lady was talking about Raziya again, and somehow Miri did not mind the fingers running through her hair. It felt like a breeze created by a butterfly, tickling a few strands against her chin. Miri missed butterflies. It felt like ages since she’d seen one. “I have a family that loves me forever!” she smiled, thinking of the way little Arih would clutch at her fingers when they walked together, and the endless letters Raziya had sent. But somehow, that wasn’t what the lady—Delia—meant. But had Raziya mentioned Delia? The smile slid from her face. Miri took a step back. She couldn’t remember, and said so. “I… don’t know.” Her mind felt even fuzzier than her vision.
“I think the gods are playing a trick,” Miri said softly, staring at Delia. “I don’t remember… I’ll have to ask Raz.” Her hands pressed against her ears again. She wanted to run, to hide. But her feet did not quite seem to touch the sand, and everything was growing distant. Raziya… was somewhere. Everything was underwater. Miri felt herself stumble. “Did they tell you how to stop it?” Coptic became harder when the world was like this. Stopping the fog was of the utmost importance. “Raziya knows a lady named Delia…” Miri didn’t think she knew a Delia. But she could not remember.
Hazel eyes landed once more on the lady in front of her, her features blurred and distant. The prophet. The prophet would know how to make it stop, how to save her. But should it be stopped? The gods did this, and the gods were all that mattered. If they wanted her to be lost in the fog, she should stay and find her own way out, right? A tiny gasp passed through her lips. She stumbled again, trying to take a step towards the distant figure. “Help.”
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The lady was pretty, that was certain. But somehow, everyone here was pretty. Miri hoped they thought she was pretty, too. Mum usually just said she was too small and too pale but mostly too useless to do much. Maybe if the circus people thought she was ugly, they would paint her face and teach her to smile more and do her hair in pretty braids. The lady in front of her didn’t need any help being pretty. A good prophet wouldn’t need any help.
Miri’s eyes widened, blinking in the light. “Did Arih seem happy? I want him to be happy. He gets to be a kid now, right?” Raz could take care of herself. And she could take care of Miri and Arih now, too, now that they were all together again. The world swayed, blurring and restoring itself in slow motion. Miri looked down and realized that she was the one swaying. How ridiculous. She stopped.
“The circus is beautiful,” she agreed, expression turning serious once more. She thought of all the swirling fire and flying bodies like birds, and the hissing of Kesi’s snakes. “All except the knives,” Miri added after a moment, flinching away from the woman’s touch. The gods must have forgotten to tell her not to touch her. “The knives are sharp. Someone might get hurt.” She did not want anyone in the circus to be harmed. They were all too pretty.
The lady was talking about Raziya again, and somehow Miri did not mind the fingers running through her hair. It felt like a breeze created by a butterfly, tickling a few strands against her chin. Miri missed butterflies. It felt like ages since she’d seen one. “I have a family that loves me forever!” she smiled, thinking of the way little Arih would clutch at her fingers when they walked together, and the endless letters Raziya had sent. But somehow, that wasn’t what the lady—Delia—meant. But had Raziya mentioned Delia? The smile slid from her face. Miri took a step back. She couldn’t remember, and said so. “I… don’t know.” Her mind felt even fuzzier than her vision.
“I think the gods are playing a trick,” Miri said softly, staring at Delia. “I don’t remember… I’ll have to ask Raz.” Her hands pressed against her ears again. She wanted to run, to hide. But her feet did not quite seem to touch the sand, and everything was growing distant. Raziya… was somewhere. Everything was underwater. Miri felt herself stumble. “Did they tell you how to stop it?” Coptic became harder when the world was like this. Stopping the fog was of the utmost importance. “Raziya knows a lady named Delia…” Miri didn’t think she knew a Delia. But she could not remember.
Hazel eyes landed once more on the lady in front of her, her features blurred and distant. The prophet. The prophet would know how to make it stop, how to save her. But should it be stopped? The gods did this, and the gods were all that mattered. If they wanted her to be lost in the fog, she should stay and find her own way out, right? A tiny gasp passed through her lips. She stumbled again, trying to take a step towards the distant figure. “Help.”
The lady was pretty, that was certain. But somehow, everyone here was pretty. Miri hoped they thought she was pretty, too. Mum usually just said she was too small and too pale but mostly too useless to do much. Maybe if the circus people thought she was ugly, they would paint her face and teach her to smile more and do her hair in pretty braids. The lady in front of her didn’t need any help being pretty. A good prophet wouldn’t need any help.
Miri’s eyes widened, blinking in the light. “Did Arih seem happy? I want him to be happy. He gets to be a kid now, right?” Raz could take care of herself. And she could take care of Miri and Arih now, too, now that they were all together again. The world swayed, blurring and restoring itself in slow motion. Miri looked down and realized that she was the one swaying. How ridiculous. She stopped.
“The circus is beautiful,” she agreed, expression turning serious once more. She thought of all the swirling fire and flying bodies like birds, and the hissing of Kesi’s snakes. “All except the knives,” Miri added after a moment, flinching away from the woman’s touch. The gods must have forgotten to tell her not to touch her. “The knives are sharp. Someone might get hurt.” She did not want anyone in the circus to be harmed. They were all too pretty.
The lady was talking about Raziya again, and somehow Miri did not mind the fingers running through her hair. It felt like a breeze created by a butterfly, tickling a few strands against her chin. Miri missed butterflies. It felt like ages since she’d seen one. “I have a family that loves me forever!” she smiled, thinking of the way little Arih would clutch at her fingers when they walked together, and the endless letters Raziya had sent. But somehow, that wasn’t what the lady—Delia—meant. But had Raziya mentioned Delia? The smile slid from her face. Miri took a step back. She couldn’t remember, and said so. “I… don’t know.” Her mind felt even fuzzier than her vision.
“I think the gods are playing a trick,” Miri said softly, staring at Delia. “I don’t remember… I’ll have to ask Raz.” Her hands pressed against her ears again. She wanted to run, to hide. But her feet did not quite seem to touch the sand, and everything was growing distant. Raziya… was somewhere. Everything was underwater. Miri felt herself stumble. “Did they tell you how to stop it?” Coptic became harder when the world was like this. Stopping the fog was of the utmost importance. “Raziya knows a lady named Delia…” Miri didn’t think she knew a Delia. But she could not remember.
Hazel eyes landed once more on the lady in front of her, her features blurred and distant. The prophet. The prophet would know how to make it stop, how to save her. But should it be stopped? The gods did this, and the gods were all that mattered. If they wanted her to be lost in the fog, she should stay and find her own way out, right? A tiny gasp passed through her lips. She stumbled again, trying to take a step towards the distant figure. “Help.”