Post by Aro Volturi on Sept 19, 2012 15:04:38 GMT -5
Aro stormed through the halls of the castle, doors opening ahead of him automatically. Another repetative fight with Sulpicia. The same argument they had been having for centuries. The stronger she became, the more often they had it. The guards…always about the guards. She always demanded that she was strong enough to go around without them underfoot. She just did not understand how dangerous these times are. She did not understand how many of the old families were renewing the old tactics.
As he entered his private sanctum he relaxed a bit. This place always helped him do that. Shedding his clothes, he laid them out carefully on the table, smoothing them so they would remain pristine. Even his rings and pendant joined them. This was simply the tradition he had created centuries ago and never seen reason to change.
Looking around at the paintings he had done over the ages, and the sculptures, always the same dream. The three women….the Fates…or as we once called them…the Moirai….one always spoke to him in the dream. It is to her that he had come to speak. He stepped to the central sculpture and knelt before the bier with its purple flames burning as always. It had taken decades to figure out how to the get the color to match his dreams. Now it was as it had been in his dreams.
He looked deep into the flames and followed an ancient prayer he knew from his mortal days…
“ Klotho, la mia guida. CERCO la vostra guida. CHIEDO il vostro consiglio. Guida i miei occhi. Guida il mio cammino. VE LO domando Klotho, figlia di ananke stenai. Cantare la vostra antica canzone per me.”
(English: Klotho, my guide. I seek your guidance. I seek your council. Guide my eyes. Guide my path. I ask this of you Klotho, daughter of Ananke. Sing your ancient song for me.)
As he looked into the flames, he heard her song, his body swayed with the music in his mind. He felt his body relax and his mind opened to her. His eyes opened as his path extended before him. She never showed him the future…only the now…but that had always been enough. Her visions brought him clarity and calmness that he might not otherwise have had.
As was his tradition, he laid a single rose, cut close to the flower, in the flames watching the flames as the rose was consumed. He hoped privately that Klotho enjoyed the tradition. By this point, he did not even have to think about it. It was simply his way of saying thank you.
He rose quietly from his place before the flame, and reclaimed his clothing, dressing carefully while facing a mirror by the doors. Smiling to himself at the pretension, he had to admit the pattern of movements was a comfort to him. He unlocked the doors and strode toward the council rooms to listen to the afternoon’s supplicants.
As he entered his private sanctum he relaxed a bit. This place always helped him do that. Shedding his clothes, he laid them out carefully on the table, smoothing them so they would remain pristine. Even his rings and pendant joined them. This was simply the tradition he had created centuries ago and never seen reason to change.
Looking around at the paintings he had done over the ages, and the sculptures, always the same dream. The three women….the Fates…or as we once called them…the Moirai….one always spoke to him in the dream. It is to her that he had come to speak. He stepped to the central sculpture and knelt before the bier with its purple flames burning as always. It had taken decades to figure out how to the get the color to match his dreams. Now it was as it had been in his dreams.
He looked deep into the flames and followed an ancient prayer he knew from his mortal days…
“ Klotho, la mia guida. CERCO la vostra guida. CHIEDO il vostro consiglio. Guida i miei occhi. Guida il mio cammino. VE LO domando Klotho, figlia di ananke stenai. Cantare la vostra antica canzone per me.”
(English: Klotho, my guide. I seek your guidance. I seek your council. Guide my eyes. Guide my path. I ask this of you Klotho, daughter of Ananke. Sing your ancient song for me.)
As he looked into the flames, he heard her song, his body swayed with the music in his mind. He felt his body relax and his mind opened to her. His eyes opened as his path extended before him. She never showed him the future…only the now…but that had always been enough. Her visions brought him clarity and calmness that he might not otherwise have had.
As was his tradition, he laid a single rose, cut close to the flower, in the flames watching the flames as the rose was consumed. He hoped privately that Klotho enjoyed the tradition. By this point, he did not even have to think about it. It was simply his way of saying thank you.
He rose quietly from his place before the flame, and reclaimed his clothing, dressing carefully while facing a mirror by the doors. Smiling to himself at the pretension, he had to admit the pattern of movements was a comfort to him. He unlocked the doors and strode toward the council rooms to listen to the afternoon’s supplicants.
