Jade knows she's forgetting something.
Years ago, not long after her release from training and her ascension into Witch-hood, she would have been inclined to consult her enchantments. Her master had taught her a wide variety of enchantments to suit a plethora of needs. Having had taken notice of how predisposed his trainee was to absentmindedness, the elderly wizard placed an emphasis on memory charms. Jade had been fond of reminder rings; cute and functional as they were. However, Jade had abandoned them only a few years out of training in her search for independence. Now, though, she somewhat wished she had possessed the foresight to make herself a memory enchantment.
As of late, Jade had dreamed of clouds painted midnight black and aubergine. Amidst the ghosting tendrils of dark mist, she always saw shattered glass reflecting dull Skaian light and multi-color splatters against murky, unidentifiable surfaces. Afterwards, the witch always awoke to her heart tattooing its impression against her ribcage and a sticky sweat trailing down the pathway of her spine. She was never entirely sure what her dreams were alluding to--Jade was no seer herself, after all--but she knew they breathed of something sinister.
When Jade had left the moon of Prospit for the planet itself, she had intended to seek out council, or perhaps, finally, accomplish some of her newly assigned duties as a member of the rebel forces. Instead, both eluded her. She had made for the residences of several of her rebel comrades, but had either not been able to reach them, or, had lost her nerve. What was she supposed to say, anyhow? That she had been having bad dreams? There were more important things to fret over, surely. So, instead, the witch had found herself wandering the low district and worrying her lower lip between her teeth. She wasn't conspicuous, at the moment (enchantments worked wonders), but lingering wasn't likely to bring her any good fortune. The higher blooded trolls were in foul tempers, lately. She could defend herself, but the Witch of the Green Sun striking out against a troll would never look good in the press, no matter how well that was worded.
No doubt what laws she and the Queen had been planning would only make tensions worsen.
Rubbing her fingers, hard, along her scalp, Jade casts a look over her surroundings. Mostly, there are short, yellow stalls strung with golden overhangs, and off in the distance beyond them, the apartments. Those beings surrounding her are a scattered collection of trolls and carapaces milling about and minding their own day-to-day lives. Jade wonders how these people would react to the new laws, once they found out about them. How the rebellion, when it would strike, would change their lives. She doesn't ever remember asking much about their lives, now that she thinks about it. More so, it had been a lot more observing. What if she asked someone--someone unbiased by being acquainted with her?
But who…?