Post by wordy on Jul 31, 2012 14:16:32 GMT 10
Title: Paper dreams
Rating: PG
Team: Emelan
Prompt: care packages
Word count: 457
Summary: Death changes things. Sometimes, it changes everything.
Notes: A bit more depressing than I intended…
Through the gap in the curtains, Sandry can make out the burnt glow of the sun as it lingers over the harbour. Sunrise or sunset, she doesn’t know; the outside world seems to have shrunk away from her, become less real, less necessary. With pale fingers, she twitches the curtains closed and returns to her desk, sinking into the armchair with a soft exhalation.
There is so much to take care of—letters and reports and tidying and things—that it takes all of her courage to get out of bed (again and again) each morning. The weight of it all presses down on her; there is no room, amongst all the urgency of death, for her.
Perhaps she should be pleased that there is no time to mourn. But all of this makes her unbearably weary.
Erdogun will arrive, soon, knocking at the door to her room and entering without instruction. He is the steadfast anchor in her storm of scattered thoughts, and without the necessity of work that he brings, she isn’t sure what she would do. Take to wandering the citadel like a ghost, perhaps. And even that makes her tired.
Though she had tried to take control, at first, the task had quickly overwhelmed her. It was too much. It was all too much. Shutting herself away from Summersea had been a calculated choice, something to force action from her, a decision. Yet the work piled up and no matter how many times she told herself that she was focused and unfeeling and that later would be time enough for grief, her mind was less obliging than that.
The paper crane on her desk is the only bright point in her dreary mornings. Its colour is as blue as the ocean she could see from her window (if she wanted to) and as blue as her eyes. Between her fingers, the wings feel delicate and thin; she can imagine how many folds it took, careful hands at the creases, bringing the lifeless to life. There are countless other gifts and trinkets that she has received, but only the crane seems safe, small and comforting without the risk of answers or feelings. It reminds her of Winding Circle, of home and everyone who completes her.
Maybe tomorrow she will open the curtains wide, and bring out her other things from the darkness of the wardrobe. She will braid her hair properly and tie it with a ribbon.
Erdogun’s knock comes at the door. Sandry lets the crane flutter from her hand, back to the desktop. A warmness clutches at her heart when he enters, fondness and hope. Tomorrow will be another today, she knows, but soon she will be strong enough to meet it.
Rating: PG
Team: Emelan
Prompt: care packages
Word count: 457
Summary: Death changes things. Sometimes, it changes everything.
Notes: A bit more depressing than I intended…
Through the gap in the curtains, Sandry can make out the burnt glow of the sun as it lingers over the harbour. Sunrise or sunset, she doesn’t know; the outside world seems to have shrunk away from her, become less real, less necessary. With pale fingers, she twitches the curtains closed and returns to her desk, sinking into the armchair with a soft exhalation.
There is so much to take care of—letters and reports and tidying and things—that it takes all of her courage to get out of bed (again and again) each morning. The weight of it all presses down on her; there is no room, amongst all the urgency of death, for her.
Perhaps she should be pleased that there is no time to mourn. But all of this makes her unbearably weary.
Erdogun will arrive, soon, knocking at the door to her room and entering without instruction. He is the steadfast anchor in her storm of scattered thoughts, and without the necessity of work that he brings, she isn’t sure what she would do. Take to wandering the citadel like a ghost, perhaps. And even that makes her tired.
Though she had tried to take control, at first, the task had quickly overwhelmed her. It was too much. It was all too much. Shutting herself away from Summersea had been a calculated choice, something to force action from her, a decision. Yet the work piled up and no matter how many times she told herself that she was focused and unfeeling and that later would be time enough for grief, her mind was less obliging than that.
The paper crane on her desk is the only bright point in her dreary mornings. Its colour is as blue as the ocean she could see from her window (if she wanted to) and as blue as her eyes. Between her fingers, the wings feel delicate and thin; she can imagine how many folds it took, careful hands at the creases, bringing the lifeless to life. There are countless other gifts and trinkets that she has received, but only the crane seems safe, small and comforting without the risk of answers or feelings. It reminds her of Winding Circle, of home and everyone who completes her.
Maybe tomorrow she will open the curtains wide, and bring out her other things from the darkness of the wardrobe. She will braid her hair properly and tie it with a ribbon.
Erdogun’s knock comes at the door. Sandry lets the crane flutter from her hand, back to the desktop. A warmness clutches at her heart when he enters, fondness and hope. Tomorrow will be another today, she knows, but soon she will be strong enough to meet it.