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glyficTitle: They made her who she is
Author:malurette
Fandom: Discworld
Characters: Tiffany Aching, Granny Aching, Granny Weatherwax
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Pratchett's
Author’s note: ESL author with no beta-reader – if you spot any mistakes please do correct me?
Prompt: «Midnight» forladiesbingo
Spoilers:
Word count: 500
***
Tiffany knows that the blues and greens she used to wear as a young girl will fade quite soon. She dreads the day it gets all grey. Her own Granny wore whatever she liked, whatever fits and kept her warm those long nights up in the hills on the Chalk. Everyone knew that Granny Aching did sheep magic, everyone from around there that it; though other witches did not know her, and she didn’t need a pointy hat to prove her worth.
Tiffany could follow her footsteps and keep wearing her peasant garb, but... she promised, long ago,
I shall wear midnight
When I’m old I shall wear midnight
Not yet but I will.
And a proper steading asks for a proper decorum. Granny Weatherwax, now, wore black. Used black, not triumphant black. Tiffany heard tales of Black Alyss and they depicted exactly what she does not want to be.
Also remembering how her own granny wore she liked, whatever she happened to have: it was mostly wool, of course, with varying use of dyes. (But never frills.)
She heard of queen Magrat and she sees how Baroness Letitia is doing—a witch who cannot wear the hat because of another job, and yet a witch nonetheless. Petulia wears greys and browns, by the way. Being a pig witch, caring for farm animals on top of humans, is often messy and she can’t afford to be glamorous—yet peasants still pay her the proper respect.
And soon enough the time comes. Black it is, proper black… but she keeps a few stars shining, the silver horse and the golden hare. She won’t overdo it with occult trinkets like Petulia did when they were young! She was never one to. But these mementos just as much as the pointy hat are tokens of who she is, of what she does and she won’t give them up.
Plus, well, Midnight doesn’t mean the darkest hour.
Sure there are times where storms rage through the night and clouds block all light, but most of the time even at midnight the twinkle of the stars, the glow of the moon, and even man-made fires, are there to guide lost sheep. And even during the worse thunderstorms, too, there’s lightning now and then. Not the best source of light but light nevertheless. Yes she still remembers Thunder and Lightning with fondness, how could she forget Granny’s old familiar. She’s not one to forget. She’s old enough to wear black now but she’s not old old.
And so, her pair of gold and silver pendants accents the black of her dress.
Granny Weatherwax shaped who she is as much as Granny Aching, more than Miss Treason whom she did her apprenticeship with. She acknowledges everything that every one of them brought her, taught her. And she recognizes still that she’s also, first and foremost, her own person—that’s important too. That her own experiences, her own personality shape her and she allows herself to be, well, herself.
Author:
maluretteFandom: Discworld
Characters: Tiffany Aching, Granny Aching, Granny Weatherwax
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Pratchett's
Author’s note: ESL author with no beta-reader – if you spot any mistakes please do correct me?
Prompt: «Midnight» for
ladiesbingoSpoilers:
Word count: 500
Tiffany knows that the blues and greens she used to wear as a young girl will fade quite soon. She dreads the day it gets all grey. Her own Granny wore whatever she liked, whatever fits and kept her warm those long nights up in the hills on the Chalk. Everyone knew that Granny Aching did sheep magic, everyone from around there that it; though other witches did not know her, and she didn’t need a pointy hat to prove her worth.
Tiffany could follow her footsteps and keep wearing her peasant garb, but... she promised, long ago,
I shall wear midnight
When I’m old I shall wear midnight
Not yet but I will.
And a proper steading asks for a proper decorum. Granny Weatherwax, now, wore black. Used black, not triumphant black. Tiffany heard tales of Black Alyss and they depicted exactly what she does not want to be.
Also remembering how her own granny wore she liked, whatever she happened to have: it was mostly wool, of course, with varying use of dyes. (But never frills.)
She heard of queen Magrat and she sees how Baroness Letitia is doing—a witch who cannot wear the hat because of another job, and yet a witch nonetheless. Petulia wears greys and browns, by the way. Being a pig witch, caring for farm animals on top of humans, is often messy and she can’t afford to be glamorous—yet peasants still pay her the proper respect.
And soon enough the time comes. Black it is, proper black… but she keeps a few stars shining, the silver horse and the golden hare. She won’t overdo it with occult trinkets like Petulia did when they were young! She was never one to. But these mementos just as much as the pointy hat are tokens of who she is, of what she does and she won’t give them up.
Plus, well, Midnight doesn’t mean the darkest hour.
Sure there are times where storms rage through the night and clouds block all light, but most of the time even at midnight the twinkle of the stars, the glow of the moon, and even man-made fires, are there to guide lost sheep. And even during the worse thunderstorms, too, there’s lightning now and then. Not the best source of light but light nevertheless. Yes she still remembers Thunder and Lightning with fondness, how could she forget Granny’s old familiar. She’s not one to forget. She’s old enough to wear black now but she’s not old old.
And so, her pair of gold and silver pendants accents the black of her dress.
Granny Weatherwax shaped who she is as much as Granny Aching, more than Miss Treason whom she did her apprenticeship with. She acknowledges everything that every one of them brought her, taught her. And she recognizes still that she’s also, first and foremost, her own person—that’s important too. That her own experiences, her own personality shape her and she allows herself to be, well, herself.
