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Description
Anouk told me once that we humans have been thinking of magic, what we call magic, all wrong.
We think that magic is huge, explosive and grand, being able to bring our loved ones from the dead, to set a house alight just by thought or, like one of our most famous magicians, turn water to wine. It is a great presentation of strength and power.
Thats wrong.
She told me once, that power, magic, Lim, whatever you name it, is like a tree.
The trunk is the lifeforce, the unadulterated pow! that fires us. We cannot control this, we would die.
The boughs of this tree are the great elements; fire, water, earth, air, light and darkness. It is from these boughs, that our powers come from in branches, pyrotechnics, Telekenises, the power to move earth. There are few that can hold these powers and their lives are often worn down by them, they live less, their minds often broken.
We humans, as a whole cannot reach up and take these branches, it is too high and too dangerous. All we do, is take the twigs, infetismal pieces of wood that litter the floor. These little powers, ones that pychiatrists often mistake as common sense, imagination or just madness, are all we can take, all our minds can handle.
We are just children, playing with sticks underneath the Arbor.

This picture shows Jack, a darkling and a snitchflint.
Jack and Bertie are mine.
The snitchflint is not, sadly

Description
Anouk told me once that we humans have been thinking of magic, what we call magic, all wrong.
We think that magic is huge, explosive and grand, being able to bring our loved ones from the dead, to set a house alight just by thought or, like one of our most famous magicians, turn water to wine. It is a great presentation of strength and power.
Thats wrong.
She told me once, that power, magic, Lim, whatever you name it, is like a tree.
The trunk is the lifeforce, the unadulterated pow! that fires us. We cannot control this, we would die.
The boughs of this tree are the great elements; fire, water, earth, air, light and darkness. It is from these boughs, that our powers come from in branches, pyrotechnics, Telekenises, the power to move earth. There are few that can hold these powers and their lives are often worn down by them, they live less, their minds often broken.
We humans, as a whole cannot reach up and take these branches, it is too high and too dangerous. All we do, is take the twigs, infetismal pieces of wood that litter the floor. These little powers, ones that pychiatrists often mistake as common sense, imagination or just madness, are all we can take, all our minds can handle.
We are just children, playing with sticks underneath the Arbor.

This picture shows Jack, a darkling and a snitchflint.
Jack and Bertie are mine.
The snitchflint is not, sadly