Darkness in New Orleans

Calm and Calamity Before the Storm

A storm is coming.

The town prepares itself. Windows shuttered and boarded over. Shelters readied. The stores barely able to keep their shelves stocked as everyone scrambles to fill their own, in case the worst happens.

A storm is coming.

We rush to prepare, ourselves, for something rumbling on the horizon — less the rain, thunder, and gales, more the sense of doom encroaching on our daily lives. Something is on it's way, something that will bring death if it catches us. We know it, in the pit of our guts, but we don't know what brings it. The mages who forsake tradition in favor of denial, the bizarre whims of the fae, or something else? It's hard to prepare for what you don't understand, even if you know it comes.

A storm is coming.

Out on the levies, we see them. Or, I see them. Glistening webs strung protectively at the water's edge. Spiders hurrying to Weave their webs and maintain the carefully built nest that is their city, even as the storm Wyldly tears at it. On the horizon it bears down, and these carefully Patterned webs will be swept away as easily as those built in the material realm.

A storm is coming.

We're given the ultimatum we dread being made. But too late, we realize that it wasn't our choice to make. Too late, we realize that the younger Weaver sister has to make her own choices. Too late, we realize that we may have to give in.

Too late.

The storm is here.

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