05-22-2016, 11:09 PM
It is particularly good sense when entering a witch's den.
There is, to put it no other fine way - activity - as soon as Nicholas, Pen and Andrés reach the threshold of Kiara's door. Those among them with the sensitivity for it will feel the sudden rustling and trembling of spiritual anguish. There were things alive in this apartment, other than the Verbena and her cat. They were awakened. Alert -- and dissatisfied with the new company.
Two potted spider-ferns bracketed the doorway to the pagan's home, stood on small narrow stands they thrummed with energy (and delivered the clear sense of watchfulness) and seemed to nearly vibrate with tension as the Mages drew up.
Kiara?
The door spilled light into an airy space; the entrance hall (if it could really be called such given its short span) opened up into a joint living and kitchen area with large windows that overlooked the side of another building and gave a tantalizing glimpse of traffic floors below. There were more plants inside; in fact; they seemed positively abundant. In one corner of the living room, a small altar sat with a cloth draped over it; incense burning in a holder.
There was a small ceremonial knife lay beside it; bundles of herbs wrapped in twine and a small cushion on the floor before the altar itself.
The entire space resonated with the brunette's energy; it bloomed from the plants on windowsills and growing in tiny trays on her kitchen sill. The cat they'd glimpsed sitting in the doorway was now perched on a sofa.
"Here," came a reply, the bare rustle of fabric and clink of jewelry and the Verbena appeared, wiping down her hands on her jeans. She was barefoot, the pagan; her dark hair damp. "Bring him inside." She hastened to close the door behind them and gently swept her fingers over one of the spider ferns. "You can set him down on the sofa."
There is, to put it no other fine way - activity - as soon as Nicholas, Pen and Andrés reach the threshold of Kiara's door. Those among them with the sensitivity for it will feel the sudden rustling and trembling of spiritual anguish. There were things alive in this apartment, other than the Verbena and her cat. They were awakened. Alert -- and dissatisfied with the new company.
Two potted spider-ferns bracketed the doorway to the pagan's home, stood on small narrow stands they thrummed with energy (and delivered the clear sense of watchfulness) and seemed to nearly vibrate with tension as the Mages drew up.
Kiara?
The door spilled light into an airy space; the entrance hall (if it could really be called such given its short span) opened up into a joint living and kitchen area with large windows that overlooked the side of another building and gave a tantalizing glimpse of traffic floors below. There were more plants inside; in fact; they seemed positively abundant. In one corner of the living room, a small altar sat with a cloth draped over it; incense burning in a holder.
There was a small ceremonial knife lay beside it; bundles of herbs wrapped in twine and a small cushion on the floor before the altar itself.
The entire space resonated with the brunette's energy; it bloomed from the plants on windowsills and growing in tiny trays on her kitchen sill. The cat they'd glimpsed sitting in the doorway was now perched on a sofa.
"Here," came a reply, the bare rustle of fabric and clink of jewelry and the Verbena appeared, wiping down her hands on her jeans. She was barefoot, the pagan; her dark hair damp. "Bring him inside." She hastened to close the door behind them and gently swept her fingers over one of the spider ferns. "You can set him down on the sofa."