Celta Thursday, Cut from Heart Dance
This was good.
On an inhalation, she opened her eyes. Nearly lost the sweet serenity as she saw a glowing open door before her. A one person sized passage way.
To the past.
Never had she been able to move more than five seconds in the past. Now the door glittered before her, beyond it, the past in darkening shades of gray until the horizon was black.
She could go back in time! Could she return?
No, not if you change events that effect you. It was if time itself whispered to her. In her bones she could see herself of the now being absorbed at some point in time by the changed self then. That was scary. But it might be worth it.
Could she go back to where her father had died? Sidling toward the very edge of the door, she peeked in, sent her Flair probing. My father's death. Far in the distance, miles away, a slight flame shot red. She shuddered. Too far.
But perhaps she could go back to before her fight** with Saille. Now a wall of flame indicated the point. Yes, it had felt that horrible, engulfed in a wall of flame. Maybe she could even go back to...when? When Fairyfoot had dragged in his HeartGift again? A golden glow appeared, several blocks away. Tempting.
She thought of all the mistakes she'd made with Saille. Her lips curved up. She could go back and fix them. Then she frowned. That might be too easy. And hadn't she learned lessons along the way that made her a better, deeper, person? Wouldn't the person she was now be a better HeartMate to him than someone who hadn't faced her own blind faults?
Sighing out, she let the air of her breath disperse the door, watched it fade away.
And thinking of time, it was time for her to go to Saille and see if she could win him back. Her Heartgift! She'd made one a couple of months ago, during her Passage. Where was it?
She'd thought it pretty stupid at the time, to make a ceremonial pillow that held marriage bands during a HeartMate wedding. It was rare for people to use those during a ceremony in this day and age. Unless the wedding was very formal, very expensive. For a GreatLord, say. Her stomach clutched. She should have known, then. Hurrying to a dark corner, she placed a stool under the high corner cabinet that she'd bespelled and opened it, reaching in for the box she'd brought home from the discard pile at work. She took it, then shut the door of the cupboard, stepped off the stool.
Setting the box on her bed, she dispelled the shieldspell and opened it, her breath whooshed out of her at the power of the thing. Sexuality twined around and through her like the long, subtle curves of branches and leaves she'd emgroidered in gold on the scarlet silkeen. Old, creamy lace edged the pillow.
Heat raced through her.