Post by Rachy on May 3, 2010 19:32:26 GMT 10
Title: Sacrifice
Rating: PG-13, Character Death
Prompt: #2: Walk The Line
Category: 250 words.
Word count: 250 words
Summary: Henna makes the ultimate sacrifice.
A hand grips hers tightly, as tight as a weak hand can hold. She has not enough strength, to turn and look, but the magic whispering through her veins, searching for an anchor is unfamiliar. The hand is soft and smooth where pocks do not mar it, and she shivers, knowing that the stranger helping her is doing so, when they could be fighting themselves against the blue marks and fever coating their skin. She begins to cough as the magic takes hold, to splutter and heave weakly, jerking in the bed. Another hand, cold with sweat helps her to weakly sit up, and she gazes through shadowed eyes at Dedicate Henna.
Henna’s skin is paler then her own, and the marks of the pox have faded, but her skin burns where it is not icy, and she feels through her own limited magic, linked through the scant contact of their skin, that Henna’s magic is trailing away into her. She tugs her hand weakly through the grip Henna has, but Henna doesn’t let go. She catches her gaze as she tries to speak, her voice hoarse and only able to splutter in coughs, to beg her to stop. She wonders if the dedicate knows, and by the compassion in her eyes she thinks she does. She remembers reciting that a dedicate should help anyone as much as they can within their power. She knows that what Henna is sacrificing herself for her. She doesn’t believe she’s worth the price.
Rating: PG-13, Character Death
Prompt: #2: Walk The Line
Category: 250 words.
Word count: 250 words
Summary: Henna makes the ultimate sacrifice.
A hand grips hers tightly, as tight as a weak hand can hold. She has not enough strength, to turn and look, but the magic whispering through her veins, searching for an anchor is unfamiliar. The hand is soft and smooth where pocks do not mar it, and she shivers, knowing that the stranger helping her is doing so, when they could be fighting themselves against the blue marks and fever coating their skin. She begins to cough as the magic takes hold, to splutter and heave weakly, jerking in the bed. Another hand, cold with sweat helps her to weakly sit up, and she gazes through shadowed eyes at Dedicate Henna.
Henna’s skin is paler then her own, and the marks of the pox have faded, but her skin burns where it is not icy, and she feels through her own limited magic, linked through the scant contact of their skin, that Henna’s magic is trailing away into her. She tugs her hand weakly through the grip Henna has, but Henna doesn’t let go. She catches her gaze as she tries to speak, her voice hoarse and only able to splutter in coughs, to beg her to stop. She wonders if the dedicate knows, and by the compassion in her eyes she thinks she does. She remembers reciting that a dedicate should help anyone as much as they can within their power. She knows that what Henna is sacrificing herself for her. She doesn’t believe she’s worth the price.
That's true unselfishness.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!