Saying Adieu
Apr. 20th, 2008 09:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Saying Adieu
Fandom/original: Giselle (ballet)
Characters: Hilarion
Rating: PG-13ish for angst and death
The rustle of a skirt.
I looked up. It was nothing. There was never a thing. I had visited her grave every night for a month, and there was never a thing except the signs of Berthe’s frequent visits in the day. No one would ever wonder if Giselle had been loved by the condition of her grave, that was certain. Even though it was out here in the woods, damn them.
Was that a…
It should have been in the churchyard. Suicide. It was ridiculous. Any fool could see it was murder. Loys – Albrecht. He might have at least had the decency to…
…nothing.
After all those tears, those melodramatic sobs at her feet. Not a word. Damn him. It wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t lied, lied about everything. From his name to his damned kisses. His clothes to the way he looked at her. Not my fault. His. Always his.
I get to my feet, raising the lantern. I know these woods. I’ve been cautious. No wolves hunt this part of them, no boar, no bears. It’s quiet. Dead quiet as the moon rises between the autumn’s dying trees.
I never shed a tear. Couldn’t. The moment she fell, there was just an empty, hot space in my chest where something had broken. But I knew I’d keep going. Keep hunting in the day, keep visiting her at night. Not all of us could indulge grief like the prince. Not all of us could swoop about in black but still marry the damned countess.
Dead quiet.
I think… I think I half hoped he’d come, some night. With his sword and his self-righteous, deceitful love. With the accusations dripping from those aristocratic lips.
There are flashes of white in the trees. I should never have let it get so late.
Before Loys came, she used to smile at me, sometimes. To talk to me when I came to check on her mother. Those two women, all alone. Someone should have taken care of them. Someone should have.
Music. God, what sort of music is that?
I talk to her, out here alone. Apologize. Tell her I miss her. I know she can’t hear me, but even so. It’s something. I can’t just leave the flowers and go. It wouldn’t seem right.
They were supposed to be an old wives’ tale. Something to keep the young girls in line. Not this. Not…
I can’t decide whether he had a plan, for eventually leaving her behind, or if he intended to lead her on forever. Sneaking away from his wife to his little village cabin, explaining the trips away with his easy lies. Would he have married as both, Loys and Albrecht? Did he believe his own pack of lies?
I dance. I dance as I’ve never danced before. And lord help me, in each of their faces, I look for her.
Would she have ever loved me, if not for Loys? With her sweet, giving, weak heart? It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t. It doesn’t.
My legs. I’ve run miles, before. I spend my days traveling on foot. I dance in the village. But I can’t even feel my legs, now, burning long passed into numbness. They only hold half the time. I stumble and she sneers, their queen. Sneers like Loys used to, at my gifts to her. That mocking, superior look. I know it well. His look on a face that could be hers, but isn’t.
I was happy once. I know I must have been happy.
No air. God, I can’t breathe. Each breath is a shallow lick of fire.
Maybe I came out here to see the Willis. Or to see Albrecht come and run me through. Or to catch pneumonia. I couldn’t even say, now.
My heart. It beats double the beat of the music. Falters. One… two…
She wouldn’t care. How can I?
Fandom/original: Giselle (ballet)
Characters: Hilarion
Rating: PG-13ish for angst and death
The rustle of a skirt.
I looked up. It was nothing. There was never a thing. I had visited her grave every night for a month, and there was never a thing except the signs of Berthe’s frequent visits in the day. No one would ever wonder if Giselle had been loved by the condition of her grave, that was certain. Even though it was out here in the woods, damn them.
Was that a…
It should have been in the churchyard. Suicide. It was ridiculous. Any fool could see it was murder. Loys – Albrecht. He might have at least had the decency to…
…nothing.
After all those tears, those melodramatic sobs at her feet. Not a word. Damn him. It wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t lied, lied about everything. From his name to his damned kisses. His clothes to the way he looked at her. Not my fault. His. Always his.
I get to my feet, raising the lantern. I know these woods. I’ve been cautious. No wolves hunt this part of them, no boar, no bears. It’s quiet. Dead quiet as the moon rises between the autumn’s dying trees.
I never shed a tear. Couldn’t. The moment she fell, there was just an empty, hot space in my chest where something had broken. But I knew I’d keep going. Keep hunting in the day, keep visiting her at night. Not all of us could indulge grief like the prince. Not all of us could swoop about in black but still marry the damned countess.
Dead quiet.
I think… I think I half hoped he’d come, some night. With his sword and his self-righteous, deceitful love. With the accusations dripping from those aristocratic lips.
There are flashes of white in the trees. I should never have let it get so late.
Before Loys came, she used to smile at me, sometimes. To talk to me when I came to check on her mother. Those two women, all alone. Someone should have taken care of them. Someone should have.
Music. God, what sort of music is that?
I talk to her, out here alone. Apologize. Tell her I miss her. I know she can’t hear me, but even so. It’s something. I can’t just leave the flowers and go. It wouldn’t seem right.
They were supposed to be an old wives’ tale. Something to keep the young girls in line. Not this. Not…
I can’t decide whether he had a plan, for eventually leaving her behind, or if he intended to lead her on forever. Sneaking away from his wife to his little village cabin, explaining the trips away with his easy lies. Would he have married as both, Loys and Albrecht? Did he believe his own pack of lies?
I dance. I dance as I’ve never danced before. And lord help me, in each of their faces, I look for her.
Would she have ever loved me, if not for Loys? With her sweet, giving, weak heart? It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t. It doesn’t.
My legs. I’ve run miles, before. I spend my days traveling on foot. I dance in the village. But I can’t even feel my legs, now, burning long passed into numbness. They only hold half the time. I stumble and she sneers, their queen. Sneers like Loys used to, at my gifts to her. That mocking, superior look. I know it well. His look on a face that could be hers, but isn’t.
I was happy once. I know I must have been happy.
No air. God, I can’t breathe. Each breath is a shallow lick of fire.
Maybe I came out here to see the Willis. Or to see Albrecht come and run me through. Or to catch pneumonia. I couldn’t even say, now.
My heart. It beats double the beat of the music. Falters. One… two…
She wouldn’t care. How can I?
