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version 3 plot preview.
IP: 95.149.90.232
Posted on December 24, 2009 at 01:32:30 PM by georgia

The ball seems to be going well. Not that Anneliese would know – being a bird, she hasn’t got a whole lot of experience in the date ’n’ dance field. Slowly, the scans the area with her beady golden eyes, scrutinising every couple and lone figure and carefully observing the few she’s familiar with. Shaman has changed since Anna was last free: there are many new faces, and he recognizable ones are older and – perhaps – wearier. They’ve been through a lot. From her ground position (it’s the most discrete – if she were higher, she’d be more noticeable) she can’t see everyone, so her eyes keep falling on the same people, like that brunette in the annoyingly eye-catching bright pink dress. The phoenix does a double-take. “Poppy?” she asks incredulously, not quite sure if she should believe her eyes. “That’s the name, don’t wear it out,” the teenager flops down on the ground (dirtying her pretty dress) next to Anneliese and begins absently flicking pebbles across the earth. “Who’re you?” “Anneliese. Aura’s familiar.” “I thought Aura was dead?” “She is, but I’m a phoenix. When I die, I am reborn from my own ashes.” If discovering the dead divine’s familiar comes as a surprise to Poppy, she doesn’t show it. In truth, the thousand year old girl has seen and heard far stranger things in her time than immortal birds, so Anneliese’s appearance isn’t overly exciting. The same cannot be said for the latter, who is still gazing at the former in a kind of numb shock. Anna has never met Poppy – Aura had stopped visiting her long before she obtained her familiar – but she knows her through her fairy’s memories. Aura had last seen Poppy when the latter was only about seven or eight years old, which is why it had taken the phoenix so long to recognise her. “Was Aura my mother?” Poppy asks suddenly, but without hope. After a thousand and seventeen years of beating around the bush, she’s not confident of a straight answer, and is surprised when she gets one. “I don’t know – Aura had secrets, even from me. But she thought of you often.” “I’m not like her.” “No, but in her final form – the one she had before she died – she had your eyes.” Poppy daren’t get her hopes up. This has happened before, and not all that long ago. She’d been so sure that Mallos had been her father – he’d shown an interest in her from an early age when all of the other original fairies had, by and large, ignored her. To find out that it wasn’t him had been a blow, because despite his reputation in Shaman as an evil tyrant, he at least had cared for her; discovering that someone else was her parent meant that that someone else was a someone who couldn’t care less. The honour of having Aura’s name on her birth certificate is hollow if Aura never gave a damn when she was alive. And she isn’t like her – not in the slightest. Where Aura was sympathetic, quiet and wise, Poppy is brash, loud and self-centred. The original fairies can and do frequently change their appearance, but Poppy doesn’t remember Aura ever looking like her in any form she took. As much as it kills Poppy to admit it, she’s more likely to be related to Lorraine – the resident bimbo of divinity – or Gwythr, the self-righteous hothead. “I don’t think Aura’s my mother,” Poppy mutters dully; “she was far too sensible to pull a stunt like that. Whoever made me was someone who didn’t mind messing with people’s lives.” “You’re right,” agrees the phoenix, “it’s not the type of thing Aura would have done, impregnating a man for the hell of it. I just think she regretted never taking the time to get to know you. When Caspian came back, it reminded her of everything she’d left behind – and Mallos’ coming only worsened that. She wasn’t happy here in Shaman – she kept casting around to find something to fill her life, and kept falling on you. I think that’s why she fell so easily for Mallos, because he appealed to the part of her that felt empty.” “You talk about her like she’s still here.” “She is. If I believed Aura was gone forever, I’d go mad.” Poppy frowns at the phoenix, who grins back, a wicked twinkle in her eye. Is she saying what Poppy thinks she’s saying? No, surely not – after what happened with Mallos, there’s no way Anneliese would risk such a thing. And yet... something about the phoenix’s facial expression forces Poppy to beg the question: “You’re going to bring her back?” “I’m going to try. Will you help me?” Without realising what she’s agreeing to, the Eurasian girl nods mutely. Before them, the people of Shaman continue to dance the night away.

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