REID CONOR MONOGHAN III
AGE: 17
OCCUPATION: Prince
POWERS: Compulsion
HOME: Galdare, Mir Dorain
TRAITS: Anxious, pensive, reserved
NEEDS: Validation, to be seen, freedom
EXCERPT:
Reid kneeled down, his knees pressing into the new-fallen snow. Cold seeped through the thin fabric of his trousers, chilling his skin. The world hushed around him, even the sounds of the birds falling quiet. And above it all, the sense that someone was listening—that any words he spoke would truly be heard by the Dáine Mir.
“Hello,” he whispered to the rock, feeling foolish and yet somehow peaceful. “I don’t do this often—ever, really, so I apologize if it’s not how it’s supposed to be.” He cringed retroactively, hating how court etiquette slipped into his words. He was talking to a rock, not an ambassador. “Anyway. I’m sorry I never prayed to you before, or thanked you, or anything.”
He’d never spoken this long to anyone except Saraya. Still, he found the words coming easier and easier, pouring out of his mouth the longer he spoke. “My father always told me that mages were bad. I never liked being one. I never used my magic, either, which....I suppose you would know. Or not.” He paused, contemplating. “I don’t really know how all of this works.”
Stupid. He sounded so stupid. He rested his head against the rock, the Dáine Mir’s name digging into his forehead. Maybe it would leave an impression. “I’m sorry that I’ve shunned your gift for so long. I still...I still struggle with it,” he got out, his lashes fluttering against the cold stone, pieces of snow getting caught among them. “I don’t know if I’ll always struggle with it. But I hope you’re not really slipping, like everyone here seems to think. I hope you’re okay, and that the world isn’t ending. And I hope I won’t be ashamed for much longer.”