Héra's blog

Underwater movements, bound in a ceramic coated casket. Tiny inklings of life, bubbles, trickling through the heavy body around her, only to die in a burst of tension at the surface. Such a strange comfort to be confined to the cramped space of a bathtub. Her heartbeat had consumed her senses, frightening her away from her need to indulge in her swelling emotions, hammering too fast, too strong, summoning too much to her eyes. Each beat was the echo of the tiny peck he had given her, that terrible woman. Each watery throb was a phantom touch of that crippling ache that ate away at the inside of her ribcage.

(( Just so people who don't notice the tag know, this post has sexy stuff and illegal things of a vigilante nature. So... ENJOY. :D ))

I have marched through these sands since Her hourglass began to tremble. This is no wasteland, but a perfected encephalon, mighty and vast. Everything works as it should; every grain of time, every sun-bleached carcass that constitutes as a thought forgotten. This land of the South is not where emotion or ideas go to perish, but a place where they are made to change and be everlasting in Her glimmering world. This is reality; truth.

The Baroness had never been a static creature, nor a consummate being. She had always been there, however, letting her bare feet be caressed by sands so scorching hot that other shades or Guardians might have melted upon trespassing. Her form shifts and contorts at a near-constant. Her hair is never as long or as curly as it was the moment prior, or turning around to pour ringlets over her statuesque figure, but so often bound in desert wraps and shrouds of thin linen.

The days went by in short bursts, leaving only minutes, it seemed, for sleep. Héra had made so much progress on her projects and studies, lately, that it barely made time for other things when stuffed into the already crammed schedule. Her planner was full of neatly written notes and dates, times and names, codes and secret spots. All her t's could be crossed and all her i's would have their adorable little floaty-heart dots, but neatness in ink never turned her days any more orderly.

(( To go with this song. ))

Jakobus :: Success has come to me after my latest experiment with my mentor. His need and his drive to be correct in all of aspects of his work has been challenged and will likely result in my demise, or a humorous hypothetical thereof. He is a man that likes control, and to be in control. There is no fairness between a student and their mentor, as he has told me all too often.

He had set limits and I pushed against them, so much that I could feel his frustration and angry gaze even with a door between us. It feels so wonderful to challenge authority like this. I see why Nikolai was so thrilled to be a devious man for so long.

Damage Control has been placed at a hold, to see how my dear teacher will retaliate. It's worrisome and exciting and makes my heart race. I do hope this becomes a moment that we may both learn and grow closer from. It will open up much possibility for new adventures of the mind.

I remember how she was this perfect, happy child. It was I who was so flawed in her shadow.

Her feet were so noisy, that sunny afternoon. Pitter pat. Patter patter. Tee hee.

Barely older than a tot, and more beautiful then than she has ever been, she ran through our mother's garden completely carefree. Father was away on business, even so shortly after the twins had died. To be truthful, only Mother felt the sorrow of their deaths. So did tiny Sitta, but she cried only because Mother cried.

I didn't cry for either of my brothers. Bael and Cane were a disaster from the start. Their father was, too.

Month of Love, 18th day

Jakobus :: Although he is friendly and a rather beautiful man, he is still very dangerous in all of his strangeness, even after my trust has been given to him in full. His intent is never fully realized until the extent of his experiments come to a close, or some time thereafter. He has a good heart, but a sketchy way of doing things, and it shows too easily when he's not careful to hide it. A good heart because he'll chase after the things that are important to him, no matter their uselessness beyond his need for them. People of emotional importance (See: Aedran) are a project to him to keep after, but must be observed in person. He hurriedly chased after me as I broke into a dramatic outburst, begging me to continue our friendship. I was irrationally distraught and he simply didn't care about being right. He merely wanted me to be alright, after all was let go of. - something to keep in mind -

She had waited weeks for this moment. The arcane energy that smoldered from each and every excited body was enough to weaken the will of the mind, and inebriate the senses with a thick haze of elation. They had all been waiting for this; this hour to prove that they were the one to progress to the next tier of magic.

Héra stood within the ring of students, each just as focused on success as the one next to them. An ache of anxiety beat in her chest, feeding tiny naysaying whispers to her brain. Yours won't be as good as theirs. All that effort for nothing. Useless. She breathed in slowly, filling her lungs with the thick sweetness of the air.

Settle your mind, and focus on the end result. Envision your success.

A sanctuary of books and notes and numbers and theories. Héra relished every moment she had alone with her studies; if purely to find herself in a most comfortable state of nakedness. While still covered with plain unders and an equally plain brassiere, the skin not covered was free from the stuffy warmth of her robes. Her solitude made the tiny, faint scars on her arms perfectly alright to reveal. Years of self-punishment were now meaningless without eyes to capture them.

Now finished with her reviews, the young mage left the couch in the room Jakobus had supplied for her and wandered slowly to her ashwood vanity. Nimble fingers plucked her hairbrush from its place and soothed her wild curls of bedhead with slow, thoughtful strokes. Tired, dusky-lidded eyelids drooped over her vibrant yellow eyes, although they appeared so Sin'dorei green in this light, she thought.

The sky is a blanket of indigo speckled with glitter. If you move just right, a star will peek out from its hiding spot to say 'hello'. Beneath the shroud stands dear, little Héra in her most favorite summer dress. A comforting haze drifts through the air, giving her a feeling of moderate protection. She wanders the night, her bare feet quiet against the cool, rain covered stone of the city's smooth streets. Alone in its glory, she can still hear the faint chatterings of people in the distance and the music from corners where unfortunate beggars usually play.

Slow and calm, her legs carry her to the familiar hub of the city, the Royal Exchange. With not another soul in sight, Héra manages to break apart from her insecurity of being left behind and steps into the cold, wet grass of the fountain's home. The fog shifts as she nears the trickle of water, and a figure appears.

Polished platinum smiled back at Héra as she quietly admired and joyed in the return of her bountiful chestnut curls, brushing the ends of a few ringlets with her silver-handle comb. The short-lived nature of her playful Silvermoon red hair left not a trace on her head, thanks to the perfected skill of the Dalaran stylist.

The student housing situation had not yet been resolved from the day before, leaving the perky adolescent to the luxuries of the Ravnok Manor. A fouled safety rune was no doubt the case.  Within the comfort of her own room, Héra enjoyed her free evening how she liked: barely dressed, barefoot, and in the glow of her Level 70 Elite Tauren Chieftain posters.

Dearest brother,

Silvermoon turned out to be something far more interesting that I had originally anticipated. What started out to be just another excuse for the girls to go shopping turned into a most exciting insider's look at the workings of the city. Most of which I can be thankful for because of a most peculiar man named Jakobus Nachtengaal. He's a scholar and a charmer and an utter amusement all on his own. I know you don't like hearing about it, brother darling, but his arms practically gravitate toward anything pretty, especially if it just so happens to have a pair of breasts.

His tour was a wild gryphon ride of tests and teasing challenges. Like how he tried to see if I had told him my real name, which I had, or even snatching up a copy of a library card admission just to see the details. Don't worry. I put the Academy's address on the form. I wouldn't dare lead any strange men to your door.