Tell me your birthstone, and I’ll tell you about your past life
credit to- cold__cocoon
Garnet: In your past life, you were a deer with antlers like a gnarled pine tree. A boy shot you with an arrow as you pranced through the king’s enchanted forest.
Amethyst: You were a boy who wore the skins of a magical deer on the day you were beheaded for the crime of poaching.
Bloodstone: You were an executioner who followed orders to cut off a child’s head.
Diamond: You were a witch who avenged your murdered son. You skinned and gutted the executioner, roasted him over a spit fire, and arranged him on a silver platter with an apple in his mouth. You served the cooked man to your feline familiars.
Emerald: You were a priest who captured a witch and burned her at the stake for murder and sorcery.
Moonstone: You were a black cat. You watched your witch mistress being set aflame. You told the goblin king what you had witnessed.
Ruby: You were a goblin king who lived in a giant red-capped mushroom and who sat upon a throne made of bird beaks. You wept to hear of your beloved’s fiery death. You climbed upon the back of an owl, and flew out in pursuit of justice.
Peridot: You were an owl who clawed out the eyes of a priest with your steely talons and replaced them with glittering white moonstones.
Sapphire: You were a vulture who feasted upon the corpse of a priest. You carried his bejeweled skull over the clouds towards your nest, but somewhere along the way, you dropped it.
Tourmaline: You were a melancholy queen who found a skull bedecked with gemstones, and recognized it as belonging to your lover, the priest. In a mournful rage, you threw it at the enormous wall of bones that separated the ocean from your terrestrial kingdom.
Topaz: You were a watchman in the lighthouse, the one who first saw the bone wall shatter and the ocean’s waters rush inland. You rang the enormous brass bell to alert the king, who threw you into the floods and took your place in the lantern room.
Turquoise: In your past life, you were a mad king who lived in a lighthouse made of unicorn’s horns. You spent your days writing royal commands on little flakes of skin you peeled from your stomach, folding them up into tiny airplanes, and flinging them out over the ocean, where they floated on the surface for a few days before being found by a passing mermaid or clever octopus. The creature would read the written command for a moment, shrug, and then toss it to the ocean floor.
In the end, there was only you in the world, because your kingdom was covered in seawater, and everyone’s algae-covered skeletons slept in the briny deep, eternally dreaming of being mermaids and octopuses who find little notes written on skin-paper.
The final note you wrote said this:
Where did it all go wrong?”