Ficlet: Jigsaw
Jan. 20th, 2010 12:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Jigsaw
Fandom/original: Original
Rating: PG
A/N: Prompted by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rougen: "Look, don't touch." This wasn't what I intended to write.
She had flashes.
Nothing she could pin down, of course. It could always just be stress. But even so, there were…
The morning was chilly. She stepped out of the apartment building, scarf over her nose and mouth. No one gave her a second glance. The trains rumbled under the pavement beneath her feet, and she reveled in the feeling of being out. The sly, delicious pleasure of…
There was no reason she should be so discontented. Her work was progressing reasonably, if not fantastically well. Things with Nicolas were… strained, but decent. The others were clearly not telling her the full story as to what had happened while she was ill, but that could be dealt with.
If anything, there was a heightened sense of something, almost…
She couldn’t help but smile. George was becoming more and more a man each day. She watched him talking to the glass merchant, and marveled. Not that he looked like his father, though he did. Very much so. But the marvel was that he was a capable, independent young man. She wondered when it had…
She was certain that if given the proper time and resources, she could piece together the fragments. But she had the sinking feeling that, somehow, there were more pieces than the puzzle required. And it left her feeling oddly…
She was terrified. Almost shaking with it. She watched him sleep, more unconscious than truly resting. In this state because he took it into his head to be the gods-damned dashing hero. For her. Or was it? For himself – no, that was unfair. So much was unfair, though. So much…
Stella Willoughby wasn’t sure whether she was a coward, or whether she was brilliant, for not reaching for the pieces. Not attempting to snap them into place. Perhaps, at the end of it, she was both.
Fandom/original: Original
Rating: PG
A/N: Prompted by
rougen: "Look, don't touch." This wasn't what I intended to write.She had flashes.
Nothing she could pin down, of course. It could always just be stress. But even so, there were…
The morning was chilly. She stepped out of the apartment building, scarf over her nose and mouth. No one gave her a second glance. The trains rumbled under the pavement beneath her feet, and she reveled in the feeling of being out. The sly, delicious pleasure of…
There was no reason she should be so discontented. Her work was progressing reasonably, if not fantastically well. Things with Nicolas were… strained, but decent. The others were clearly not telling her the full story as to what had happened while she was ill, but that could be dealt with.
If anything, there was a heightened sense of something, almost…
She couldn’t help but smile. George was becoming more and more a man each day. She watched him talking to the glass merchant, and marveled. Not that he looked like his father, though he did. Very much so. But the marvel was that he was a capable, independent young man. She wondered when it had…
She was certain that if given the proper time and resources, she could piece together the fragments. But she had the sinking feeling that, somehow, there were more pieces than the puzzle required. And it left her feeling oddly…
She was terrified. Almost shaking with it. She watched him sleep, more unconscious than truly resting. In this state because he took it into his head to be the gods-damned dashing hero. For her. Or was it? For himself – no, that was unfair. So much was unfair, though. So much…
Stella Willoughby wasn’t sure whether she was a coward, or whether she was brilliant, for not reaching for the pieces. Not attempting to snap them into place. Perhaps, at the end of it, she was both.
