cuimhinliom: (Swallow truth)
She stares at the question for a long, long time and fights the urge to just type "Apparently? Sorcerers."

That could be misread, and she doesn't want that. Doesn't want to cause trouble by misinterpretation. Not "The Sorcerer." The mere thought was a trifle terrifying. But his kind.

But how to sum them up? Midir. Michael. Looking back: Eric (a flinch at that thought, those memories, pushed quickly away because relationships with Sorcerers were not always good. Sometimes they were even worse.). Jason (a smile flickering over her lips at the memory of her wild child, the screaming fights softened by the way his eyes lit up when he looked at her and the fact that he tended to keep the worst of the cruelty aimed in a direction other than her). Bobby, even, looking back had the seeds of what could grown into Sorcery if not...caught, held, saved before then. She'd tried, but she'd only been seventeen then, and not understanding of the memories and urges that flooded her, and then they hadn't spoken in years. Very different men. Very different jobs and social status and abilities. Different likes. Different dislikes. Different favorite foods and flavors of ice cream. But the seeds of similarity ran through them all.

She thinks of those she keeps being drawn to here. New friends. New adversaries. Men who know what they are, embrace it, and smile, as their eyes dance and lead her toward what she's supposed to be, teaching her by their very deference. Possibilities had fate not stepped in. Men she knows she could love in a different place and time.

"Silly man, insisting on me being a Queen with a Court." An amused smile, pleased though, and maybe a little blush. A almost hysterical giggle at the memory of one of his suggestions. That needed to be quashed.

Sorcerers every one of them.

And yet...to say that is what she looks for seems insane. But finally she writes it anyway, because it is the truth.


Someone charismatic. Intelligent. Powerful. Enigmatic. Manipulative. Aware of their own tragedy and flaws. Able to see the seeds of destruction and what they're capable of and yet most of them striving to be something more. Needing to be loved. Petted. Told it is going to be okay.

She's been slacking in that duty lately, but her two insist it is their time to take care of her for once.

Charming. Able to seduce with a glance. Devastating when they focus that energy in your direction.

A shiver runs down her spine, heat flushing her cheeks as she remembers purring voices and gentle touches.

Of course, in the next moment, they make you want to borrow the Lady's frying pan to hit them upside the head with it.

Occasionally, they are five. They play horsey for three year-olds and race real horses across the fields and engage in tickle fights. You never know if they'll let you win or not. It depends on their mood.

They have a lot of moods.

Fiercely possessive and protective. Growly at any others who invade their territory, even as they try so hard not to lay down rules they know they can't follow in reciprocation. At the end of the day, you know there will be hard times. Fights. Misunderstandings and you'll think it's the end, but somehow you hold on and you persevere or you're torn apart while trying. But there's nothing else to do.

Because I am who I am. And they are who they are. And that's how the story goes.

A wry smile at the screen, and then she hits "Update Journal."

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Keelia Gallagher / Étáin

January 2010

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