[Weekly Prompt] The Locket

Arianwyn let out a sad sigh, and dejectedly laid her head down on the wooden table. The irregular grains of wood dug into her cheek, and she quickly found the way pose bent her neck to be less than comfortable, but it still felt somehow right to remain there in her somewhat dramatic frustration. Her eyes set upon the delicate locket before her with the heavy-heartedness of someone who knew what she had to do but hated the very thought. She shut her eyes, a futile attempt to push her conflicted emotions from her mind.

To be a silversmith was to be an artisan, and, well, she was a natural silversmith. An artificer at heart; her craft literally ran in her blood. Her creations were her everything, the culmination of honing her magic with years of practice and a result of significant careful, dexterous work. Each of her best works had cemented itself in her life as a prized possession; a mark of her skill as a mage and of her great accomplishment. She had always been, well, materialistic, and creating the objects she valued so highly did not help with her tendency to overvalue trinkets and treasures. Perhaps she valued things too greatly, but it wasn't exactly like she had a family she was neglecting. Having dead parents was as good an excuse as any to devote a bit too much time and attention to curating a collection of fine wares.

This locket—craft of finest silver, inlaid with elegant filigree, attached to a delicate silver chain—was her greatest creation yet. It had been painstaking work to fully separate the elemental argentum from contaminant metals, requiring the utmost focus to extract from the ore all that was not silver. Each link of the chain had to be shaped one at a time, even if the size was too small to be seen with the naked eye. The sheen of the locket's oval body reflected brilliantly in even dim light, as though it contained some glowing stone within, but it was a mere trick of the light carefully crafted into the smooth surface. A hinge allowed the small piece of jewelry to open, leaving a small space for a picture inside. It was empty. Arianwyn had crafted the locket without considering what image it would display and, when she finally finished her craft, she realized she had no photographs worthy of its brilliance.

It wasn't fair. Arianwyn had always focused first and foremost at perfecting her magic, consistently increasing the finesse and sensitivity of her skills throughout her schooling. She had excelled and graduated faster than most anyone else due to her mastery of arcana and academics alike. The consequences had never seemed great enough to slow down, until they built and grew and compounded over time. When she found she couldn't so much as bend silver without getting a nosebleed or passing out, she realized she needed to stop.

So, she consulted with the scholars of Namarast, who advised her that the best treatment for magic-induced illness was a long break from magic to allow one's body to recover. That clearly wasn't an option for one as impulsive as she was, so Arianwyn sought answers from elsewhere: the patrons. She had consulted with the ever benevolent Grace, but learned that even the most generous of forces had a cost. Grace might decide to help her recover her body so it could better handle her arcana, but Arianwyn needed to make a sacrifice: she must show her dedication to recovery and destroy a creation. Nothing in life was free, not even for Arianwyn.

Though she had hated to realize it, Arianwyn knew she needed to sacrifice the locket. It was her prized creation; the greatest culmination of her magical skill and dedication. Destroying it would break her heart just thinking of all the time spent in vain. Yet, she was terrified of failing this task. She needed help with her magic, or it was going to kill her. She knew well that, at the rate she was training, she was at risk of seriously injuring her body, perhaps permanently. The cost of her magic was only growing greater. Like a muscle continuously stressed without a moment's rest would eventually snap, her magical ability was reaching a breaking point. She needed to make her sacrifice and begin to heal, or she was going to lose the skill which she valued most in the world.

Arianwyn did not need to open her eyes to crumple the locket in her fist. The delicate, soft metal gave with only the tiniest push of her magic, folding in on itself and bucking to the pressure of her fingers. She did not stop at crushing the locket but instead worked the metal until it lost its sheen, and once again became a small, round silver ore. Her creation, gone forever. The hours put into it were lost; the chain links she had worked so hard to shape lost to the wrinkled ball of silver. A sacrifice made, despite the tears that slipped down her cheeks at what she had done to her greatest creation.

She just prayed that Grace would see her heartbreak and choose to aid her.