Ficlet: The Fugitive
May. 19th, 2009 12:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: The Fugitive
Fandom/original: original
Rating: G
A/N: A very short one in response to the prompt "salvation," from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rougen.
She didn't know what she'd been looking for. What she'd been trying to achieve. It wasn't as if she could start a new life. It wasn't as if she could get away.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his afterimage, burned on to the inside of her eyelids. Though she slept little, she couldn't separate natural dreams from the echoes of his handiwork when she did. She'd hidden in barns, sometimes, caves now and then. She'd made good time, but she didn't know where she was going. No wonder he'd let her escape.
She'd tried ignoring it. Squashing down her talent, with the hopes it'd take the memories of him with it. She'd tried doing things that normal young women did. Dressing like them, speaking like them. She'd kissed Ben Williamson; it hadn't been unpleasant. But it hadn't changed anything either.
The last thing she wanted to do was to admit she couldn't save herself.
Sometimes she would forget for a time. A few hours while she was at the market. An afternoon with the brothers, down by the lake. A warm evening, lying out on the barn's roof.
But then she would close her eyes.
If she was lucky, she might make up for some of the harm she'd done. She might contribute to his downfall; she might give the resistance a fighting chance.
Clara might be redeemed. But she would never be saved.
Fandom/original: original
Rating: G
A/N: A very short one in response to the prompt "salvation," from
rougen.She didn't know what she'd been looking for. What she'd been trying to achieve. It wasn't as if she could start a new life. It wasn't as if she could get away.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his afterimage, burned on to the inside of her eyelids. Though she slept little, she couldn't separate natural dreams from the echoes of his handiwork when she did. She'd hidden in barns, sometimes, caves now and then. She'd made good time, but she didn't know where she was going. No wonder he'd let her escape.
She'd tried ignoring it. Squashing down her talent, with the hopes it'd take the memories of him with it. She'd tried doing things that normal young women did. Dressing like them, speaking like them. She'd kissed Ben Williamson; it hadn't been unpleasant. But it hadn't changed anything either.
The last thing she wanted to do was to admit she couldn't save herself.
Sometimes she would forget for a time. A few hours while she was at the market. An afternoon with the brothers, down by the lake. A warm evening, lying out on the barn's roof.
But then she would close her eyes.
If she was lucky, she might make up for some of the harm she'd done. She might contribute to his downfall; she might give the resistance a fighting chance.
Clara might be redeemed. But she would never be saved.
