The morning after my mother’s pyre was lit and her funeral was over, the world continued.
The sun shone. The birds sang, and the flowers opened just as they had the day before. Everything seemed as it should be.
Like any four-year-old child, I awoke that morning thinking that the day before had all been a horrible nightmare. I remember calling out for my mother in a strange room, in a strange place feeling absolutely terrified. There was nothing familiar or comforting there and so it only added to my trepidation. But when Morginenne came through the doorway rather than my mother, I became all too aware that what had happened was all too real.
“What is it, child?” Morgienne swept into the room, her blue robes trailing behind her, her dark hair still unplaited, hanging in waves well past her waist. She brushed the matted curls from my forehead and brushed away a tear that had welled over at the corner of my eye.
“I want my mother,” I said drawing in a ragged breath, trying to keep further tears at bay, “where is she? I want to go home.”
Morgienne’s face twitched slightly and she nodded, continuing to stroke my hair soothingly,”Yes, my child, I know that you do. But your mother is gone. She has gone to be with the Goddess, and where she is now you cannot follow.”
I looked at her quizzically, remembering my mother speaking many times of the Goddess. “But Mama said that the Goddess is everywhere in all things. How come I cannot see Mama or the Goddess?”
“If you close your eyes and listen very hard, Frances, You will be able to hear the Goddess and your mother as well. You can hear her in the whisper of the wind and the song of the sparrow as well as smell their perfume upon the wind. And when you whisper your prayers to the Goddess, know that your mother is there, too.” Morgienne drew me into her arms and embraced me. “Now fret no more, child. It is a beautiful morning and the Goddess are just outside your room and waiting to remind you that they are both here.”
And as if on cue a sparrow sat on a branch outside of my window and began singing.
Muse: Fanny Fae / Faelyn
Fandom: Original Character / Folklore / Mythology
Word Count: 386
cross posted to theatrical_muse
ver the course of time there have been many songs that have I could have applied to my life. Surely there has been much music since I was born . It wasn’t until recently that I had heard a song on the radio that probably more than any other encompassed my life, with all of the love and frustrations, the failures and the triumphs, too. When one is effectively an immortal you tend to look at things just a bit differently. 
t had snowed for the first time just two nights before Christmas. Everything around the Chateaux was blanketed in white, the trees hung with ice and snow. A shroud of mist made everything glow with an ethereal blue-white light. 
Life Belongs to Sekhmet 