[CRP] The Journey to Fenia

[Hexa]

"Witches are moon-birds,
witches are the women of a false, beautiful moon."
- Amy Lowell

"You realize, the girl will have issues, Alexandri?"

The old crone hissed the words as the two of them gazed down at the infant, wrapped in a blanket of crimson red. She was suckling from a bottle of pink-tinged milk; fae blood was mixed into the milk. The child suckled happily, though, no more than a few hours old. She never knew the taste of proper milk - oh no, this little girl was stolen away, her mother a witch.

"What issues are of such importance that the Craft cannot fix, Bethesil?"

The other woman uttered the words; practically growling them. "The Craft can fix all. Especially if I raise her as my legacy, Bethesil. Her mother is dead - and so, by the magic in my veins, I claim her - not as my ward, but my child." The other woman seemed quite... upset? Or was it shocked? By her companion's words.

"Alexandri - you know... the girl could reject your blood. She could die if you claim her. She most likely will. Claimings never go well, Alexandri. Don't you remember Alessandre?" The woman murmured the name, glancing aside. "That girl was as beautiful as the night, her pale, pale skin and those beautiful green eyes - even she, the perfect child, was not strong enough to survive my claim."

Alexandri, she was a younger woman, shifted and shook her head as she stroked the red-haired babe's forehead. "This one will not die, Bethesil. This one, this one is so... very strong. She was born with the caul - and her mother's life is her life."

The elderly witch, her white hair shining fairly bright in the dimly lit fire in the fireplace, took a step away from the infant. "You mean she was born with the veil? And she was stillborn...?" She fell silent, staring at the child for a few moments. "She may be strong enough to be claimed, then."

[Hexa]

"Don't cry," whispered the teenager, as she bounced the little babe. The infant was the only one crying, squalling - the others knew to be quiet. Aida was having quite the time trying to quiet the child. Perhaps the girl sensed the evil being drawn near as a result of the rituals, or perhaps the child was simply crying. Children did that.

No matter the reason, it was important that the infant stop crying.

The crying would not only attract the attention of the witches, but also of the daemons they were summoning. It was why the children were sent away - not because the witches did not want them sacrificed - many of them were being pruned to be the perfect sacrifice - but because it was not time for them to be sacrified; yet.

The witches had already taken one of the older children, Tomas. He had turned eleven today. Nobody had asked what was happening, though. Perhaps it was just a known thing.

Hexa, writhing in Aida's arms, screeching and squalling and just downright unhappy, was now flailing her arms around. The girl herself was almost an amusement to the other children, if not for the danger she could bring.

One of Aida's hands lifted up, hovering in the small child's face. She whispered a little spell - so simple a toddler could do it - and a small white flame circle about in her palm. It was in the shape of a horse.

The entire group hushed - hush, hush, shush. The infant was gurgling and reaching to chase after the circling horse with her little hands.