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deemelody - Saturday, March 27, 1999, 4:22 PM --------------------------------------------- Vine arrives at the Circle at True Midnight...about one am. She takes a deep breath, beginning to set up the black candles and the altar. A burnt pinecone. A medusa. The secret tools no one ever sees come out now. Around you, the night is cool and quiet. Vine draws out what she calls her Darkrite Blade, a gift from Jeremy. The blade itself is black, and the handle red. The Resonance is eerie...she has killed over twenty-five people with it in the last year alone, and their deaths still sing along its edge. She wards the place against intrusion: Life, Correspondance, Mind, Forces are all brought to bear. Should anyone or anything approach, they will not notice her. In the night, the wards come easily at your call, springing into being around your ritual to protect you from the prying eyes that should not see. Vine slices into her forearm with the black blade, bleeding along the ground in a circle as she calls them. The candles remain unlit, there as mere focus points. The Circle called, she goes to the center and sits.. bringing out from her pouch the true focus of the night's rite. Hair, from Tracy, collected from his brush when she brushed his hair so many times. Vine smooths the hair out in her lap, untangling its fine strands. She senses the life pattern within it, then sends her awareness out, out, seeking that pattern, and the mind the goes along with it. She will observe, first, before striking. You know where to find him...that is easy...He is sound asleep, curled up with Iris - a beautific smile on his face. It is easy to send your awareness there - out to his bedroom, to where he rests. Vine's own lips curve in what could be a sweet smile. Triumph. No touching Iris, for now..pregnant, any changes would be too easily noticed. Tonight's mission is simple: to leave a back door in his mind, one deep in his subconcious. A door she can use on subsequent dark moons to affect him, to make slow change, to bring about his own Fall. Like a blade between sheets of paper, she attempts to slide into his mind undreamed, unannounced. Tracy is deep in sleep, involved in some dream of his own. You get a glimpse of a boy...but then it is gone. Like a knife you can slip around his sleeping mind and dig out the deeper layers underneath. Vine will Dream that with him later. For now, create the door, and its trigger. A phrase not often heard, a phrase only her mind can set off. She casts through her mind for ideas, and one comes up: Time to Dream the Peaceful Darkness. She chants it over and over into his deepest self, as far down from the conscious mind as she can reach. The conscious mind seems involved in something and it doesnt notice and the subsconscious stirs vageuly as this outside force intrudes on it. Vine soothes, gently, stroking the subconscious down. She reminds it of the peaceful feeling of having hair brushed, reminds it of hugs, reminds it that she is a friend, she cares for him... Lazily, the subconscious settles, *Melody?* It seems to ask. *Okay....* Vine urges the subconscious to rest, to dream of peace. Laboriously she works at planting the suggestion that she was never here, that she is not even a dream. She works to make this one of the many experiences every night the mind never even touches on waking. You pull back a moment and watch and look....and there...you find a way. You lightly touch and encourage the base emotions for Iris...for the baby...and...Tracy is off...distracted by that, wrapped in those powerful emotions while you set your trap. It is not, as yet, a very powerful trap - it may take some work, next time, to convince it to open - but it is there. Vine is content with that. She slowly withdraws, and will work more on Tracy next Dark Moon, when once more it will be time for him to Dream the Peaceful Darkness. For now, she is happy to have any kind of back door. Vine gathers up her tools and dismisses the Circle, long robe sleeves hiding the bdried blood on her arm as she leaves the Circle. And you leave, into the quiet of the night. Unobserved.
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