I woke up a while ago thinking about a character, and a scene involving that character. She is the eldest of a set of triplets. Female triplets keep turning up among the Kind (as in “kindred”), echos of the triple goddess. One set of triplets I’ve drawn from the Gaelic Morrigan. Another set has evolved from the Norse Norns. But the particular triplets I was thinking about when I woke up were patched together from the Slavic star twins, the Zorya: Zorya Utrennyaya, the Morning Star, the opener of the gates; and Zorya Vechernyaya—the Evening Star, the closer of the gates, who are the daughters of the sun god Dažbog. The third sister was the brainchild of Neil Gaiman, who apparently is hardwired into the Jungian collective unconscious. He somehow knew the twins should have been triplets, and added Zorya Polunochnaya—the Midnight Star. It was my character based on her that I was thinking of, whose companion is half eagle, and whose son is half wolf. She is a Cassandra like figure who is able to see the possible futures that branch off from each moment. Her gift is so strong that she cannot not see, and her world is a schizophrenic mishmash of the real and the possible. One of the other characters describes her: “She’s constantly weaving back and forth across the veil between the worlds. It’s like trying to carry on a conversation with somebody who’s talking on the phone to somebody else at the same time. After a while you realize there’s a rhythm to it and you begin to figure out when she’s not talking to you.” Naturally, she lives high up in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania.
The darker variation on the “triple goddess” maiden-mother-crone/new moon-full moon-old moon/Artemis-Demeter-Hekate trope, is what you might call the Kali variation (although Kali is not associated with the moon): old-moon, dark moon, new moon. The dark moon that eats the old moon and gives birth to the new moon. That would be the moon trope that goes with my dark Zorya. Her sisters are light haired with pale eyes and pale complexions, but her hair is a night black mass of ringlets. Her eyes are so dark it is difficult to tell which is iris and which is pupil. I was hunting up some Gypsy music to put me inside the roaring whirlwind of fire and darkness where she lives when I found this:
I don’t know what’s scarier: How young these guys are, or how good they are.