15 min fic - word 24
Jul. 23rd, 2007 08:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: What more is there to have?
Fandom/original: Original
Characters: Emilia...and her twin? (also, very briefly, Nicolas Willoughby)
Rating: G, I should think
Word count: 423
Haunted. That was the word, really, that best described it. How the things were left unsaid, how there were words lying behind the words that did make it out. The dreams she had that resulted in wet stains upon her pillow when she woke, and how Nicolas would soundlessly wrap an arm around her without understanding that it didn’t help.
She rode through the forest, alone, after a fashion. As much as she ever was – as much as she always was. The day reminded her of another she’d spent in this country, bright and fresh and deceptively perfect. That day had ended badly for all of them, like so many days lately. But today, she knew, she would not be disturbed. The small mercies.
It was strange, the things that came back to her when she wasn’t looking for them. Small things that drew her attention, while she ignored the larger patterns. She was lost in thought when a man stepped on to the path in front of her horse, his pistol drawn. It was with a dreamlike clarity that she saw herself send a rope of power at him to knock him out of the way, felt his fear as a side effect on the back of her tongue. It barely broke her train of memory, throwing the man carelessly out of the way, and she knew that this wasn’t right. It wasn’t how things had been.
And so, more for a gesture to the person she used to be than anything, she dismounted, several yards away. She was apparently unarmed, but the man, getting to his feet, looked terrified. With a small sigh, in a voice she only half-recognized, she said “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head vehemently, backing away. She held out her hand and another small jolt of power leapt to him, this one healing his bruises. “There. That should do. Now go away and stop bothering solitary ladies who are just minding their own business.”
As he disappeared into the woods, she turned back to her horse, a small twinge of regret almost making her want to follow him and apologize. But she tucked the urge away, and urged her horse forward. Some part of her wanted to think her once-lover would have been sad, to see what she’d become. But the greater part of her knew that he simply would not care. And she wished, before he’d gone, that he’d taught her that last trick of disappearing into selfish apathy. Because her hate kept turning into love, when her back was turned, and his ghost never went away.
Fandom/original: Original
Characters: Emilia...and her twin? (also, very briefly, Nicolas Willoughby)
Rating: G, I should think
Word count: 423
Haunted. That was the word, really, that best described it. How the things were left unsaid, how there were words lying behind the words that did make it out. The dreams she had that resulted in wet stains upon her pillow when she woke, and how Nicolas would soundlessly wrap an arm around her without understanding that it didn’t help.
She rode through the forest, alone, after a fashion. As much as she ever was – as much as she always was. The day reminded her of another she’d spent in this country, bright and fresh and deceptively perfect. That day had ended badly for all of them, like so many days lately. But today, she knew, she would not be disturbed. The small mercies.
It was strange, the things that came back to her when she wasn’t looking for them. Small things that drew her attention, while she ignored the larger patterns. She was lost in thought when a man stepped on to the path in front of her horse, his pistol drawn. It was with a dreamlike clarity that she saw herself send a rope of power at him to knock him out of the way, felt his fear as a side effect on the back of her tongue. It barely broke her train of memory, throwing the man carelessly out of the way, and she knew that this wasn’t right. It wasn’t how things had been.
And so, more for a gesture to the person she used to be than anything, she dismounted, several yards away. She was apparently unarmed, but the man, getting to his feet, looked terrified. With a small sigh, in a voice she only half-recognized, she said “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head vehemently, backing away. She held out her hand and another small jolt of power leapt to him, this one healing his bruises. “There. That should do. Now go away and stop bothering solitary ladies who are just minding their own business.”
As he disappeared into the woods, she turned back to her horse, a small twinge of regret almost making her want to follow him and apologize. But she tucked the urge away, and urged her horse forward. Some part of her wanted to think her once-lover would have been sad, to see what she’d become. But the greater part of her knew that he simply would not care. And she wished, before he’d gone, that he’d taught her that last trick of disappearing into selfish apathy. Because her hate kept turning into love, when her back was turned, and his ghost never went away.
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no subject
Date: 2007-07-24 04:26 am (UTC)Riku: A toast the ghosts we carry upon our shoulders. Funny how heavy they prove they be.
*smacks him*