Tweet of the Day: How to Use Stream of Consciousness
Caldicot, Sir Fynwyn, Domain of Wales, 9 May, 00:08 hrs GMT
Eight minutes after midnight. Tomorrow was already here. Tomorrow meant pomp, pageantry and the hope of entire nations. Tomorrow I would being Gwen MacLir and return to being The Lady.
What a loaded term.
The Lady St. Joan of Arc.
The Shield Maiden of England.
The Princess of Wales.
The Bearer of Excalibur.
The Champion of Nations.
How in the bloody hell did I end up all of those things?
My bloody fault, of course. I wanted to stop one insanity and ended up mixed up in another. At least Owen would be there. He wanted to protect me, and I have to confess I am half a mind of letting him. Truth be told, I needed him, still do. He made his mistake, so did I, and we both payed for it. I lost my brother to the madness of the world and with Owen I could loose myself too.
Won’t tell him that, it will go his pretty little head.
I ran my fingers though the delicate illuminated lines of my copy of the Lindisfarne Gospel. The vikings sacked the original monastery, but my people, the people of the blood, kept the art. To think there was a time where God and Magic illuminated each other. A brief moment where we walked in the open, shared our gifts and preserved arts both magical and mundane. This copy dated from the seventeenth century, a whisper of the past.
When I learned languages, explored histories, lived so many lives. Back then I fancied myself a scholar of languages and peoples: Old Norse, Old English, Latin, Lowland Scots, Gaelic, Welsh both Old and Modern. Letters were my life and the lives of those before were my stories.
But we came out hiding and the world erupted anew.
Tonight, a sleepless peace. A lonely peace.
Tomorrow, I will pull the sword from the stone.
Tomorrow, I will plunge myself into fire.
Tomorrow, The Lady Returns.