Post by Tamari on Jun 8, 2012 8:24:46 GMT 10
Title: Brutus
Summary: She couldn't have wanted this, not this (but she's been working toward it from the very beginning, hasn't she?).
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Dark themes and implied death.
Author's Notes: Sort of AU, but set in future!Tortall so there's no way to be positive.
A 3 am! fic.
She sits on the hill.
It is dark and the wind whips her face with unfeeling slaps and no, she can't think about whether it's dust in her eyes or-
She sinks low, lower to the ground until she is the grass, the dirt, the scattered wood and- no, she can't, she can't.
There are no clothes on her body, no hair on her head, no lips to speak no eyes to see nothing nothing nothing or maybe there's something but she doesn't know and it doesn't matter.
They've left by now, she's sure, unless they're waiting at the bottom of the hill to watch her anguish as it goes on and on and on and she opens her mouth to scream but there is nothing.
She doesn't remember lying down but she is and she pulls at the grass like she can pull him back to her- no, no, she can't, he can't be-
He wouldn't-
Tears that she is not crying leak through the torn skin of her hands and glisten on the grass and she feels the wind whip her again, harder now, but she can't fall any further and it's not dust in her eyes, is it?
"Forever," she says with her lips so low that she can taste the tear-mingled grit. "Forever and ever and ever," and the words fall with the tears that are not hers and keep spilling into the ground of the hill and again and again (and ever and ever).
She's come so far and this is what she wanted- no, no, never this, not this, but oh she did. If only she'd known, if only, maybe she wouldn't have thrown everything away for nothing nothing nothing or maybe she still would've but she will never know.
If they knew just who sheis was (because she's not Vania now, she can't be)- but no, no, it makes no difference because it's too late and it's her fault and it really is this time because she's the one who reported it.
She can't think about that.
She can't think about anything and blood from the cuts on her hands seeps into the tears and it's all a mess, she's a mess, and it'snot her fault Geoffrey's dead.
She spends the night there as time dances with the wind, mocking her again and again (forever, Vania) and no one disturbs her.
Not on Traitor's Hill.
Summary: She couldn't have wanted this, not this (but she's been working toward it from the very beginning, hasn't she?).
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Dark themes and implied death.
Author's Notes: Sort of AU, but set in future!Tortall so there's no way to be positive.
A 3 am! fic.
-:-
She sits on the hill.
It is dark and the wind whips her face with unfeeling slaps and no, she can't think about whether it's dust in her eyes or-
She sinks low, lower to the ground until she is the grass, the dirt, the scattered wood and- no, she can't, she can't.
There are no clothes on her body, no hair on her head, no lips to speak no eyes to see nothing nothing nothing or maybe there's something but she doesn't know and it doesn't matter.
They've left by now, she's sure, unless they're waiting at the bottom of the hill to watch her anguish as it goes on and on and on and she opens her mouth to scream but there is nothing.
She doesn't remember lying down but she is and she pulls at the grass like she can pull him back to her- no, no, she can't, he can't be-
He wouldn't-
Tears that she is not crying leak through the torn skin of her hands and glisten on the grass and she feels the wind whip her again, harder now, but she can't fall any further and it's not dust in her eyes, is it?
"Forever," she says with her lips so low that she can taste the tear-mingled grit. "Forever and ever and ever," and the words fall with the tears that are not hers and keep spilling into the ground of the hill and again and again (and ever and ever).
She's come so far and this is what she wanted- no, no, never this, not this, but oh she did. If only she'd known, if only, maybe she wouldn't have thrown everything away for nothing nothing nothing or maybe she still would've but she will never know.
If they knew just who she
She can't think about that.
She can't think about anything and blood from the cuts on her hands seeps into the tears and it's all a mess, she's a mess, and it's
She spends the night there as time dances with the wind, mocking her again and again (forever, Vania) and no one disturbs her.
Not on Traitor's Hill.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!