Post by stardustrial on Apr 9, 2013 5:56:20 GMT 10
Title: Divine
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 408
Pairing: Kalasin/Kaddar
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Kalasin worries the gods have failed her. Warnings for miscarriage and mental instability.
It is the year of the drought.
When she is with child, Kaddar is the first person that Kalasin tells. Her eyes shine brightly, but she won’t let the tears spill.
When Kalasin loses the child in a desperate dry night of blood and failed crops and cracked skin, Kaddar is still the first person she tells.
“I have one prophet that says this and the droughts are a punishment from the gods.” Kalasin’s hands are so cracked that sluggish blood pools at the base of her fingernails. “I have another prophet that tells me we are the gods chosen rulers.” She buries her face in her cracked hands. “Oh gods, Kaddar! If the gods have chosen us, then why is there so much suffering?”
Kaddar folds Kalasin’s hands in her own. “A messiah can be a monster too. And the gods are not nice; they are not humane. The divine will eat humanity from the inside out.” He looks at her, and smiles. It is the saddest thing she has ever seen. “I think you know that better than anyone, Kalasin.”
It is the year of the failed crops.
Kaddar rests with his head on Kalasin’s belly (soon to be filled with the seed of Kaddar’s second-but-first-to-live child) while the sounds of a bread riot in the streets lift up to the palace. There are dark circles under both of their eyes. Kaddar’s hands are ink stained and cracked and old.
Kalasin is not crying. The year before has taught her to conserve water. She simply grips Kaddar’s hand tightly, and prays for peace and bread.
It is the year the silk market fails.
Kalasin won’t let the child sleep anywhere but her rooms. Kaddar begins to hate it, but he spends so many of her nights at the foot of Kalasin’s great four poster bed while their child almost suffocates under the silk covers.
“Do the gods hate me?” she whispers into the darkness, and Kaddar responds, quietly and sleepily, from a cotton pallet on the floor. “No, my love. You are the god’s chosen – both flesh and not-flesh, a woman who is light and dark and blood and spit, all at once, now and forever."
It is the year Tusaine removes its foreign support.
“Am I mad?” asks Kalasin, slowly.
“No, my lady, of course not,” Kaddar responds, but he thinks that Kalasin is both half-mad and the sanest person that he has ever met.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 408
Pairing: Kalasin/Kaddar
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Kalasin worries the gods have failed her. Warnings for miscarriage and mental instability.
It is the year of the drought.
When she is with child, Kaddar is the first person that Kalasin tells. Her eyes shine brightly, but she won’t let the tears spill.
When Kalasin loses the child in a desperate dry night of blood and failed crops and cracked skin, Kaddar is still the first person she tells.
“I have one prophet that says this and the droughts are a punishment from the gods.” Kalasin’s hands are so cracked that sluggish blood pools at the base of her fingernails. “I have another prophet that tells me we are the gods chosen rulers.” She buries her face in her cracked hands. “Oh gods, Kaddar! If the gods have chosen us, then why is there so much suffering?”
Kaddar folds Kalasin’s hands in her own. “A messiah can be a monster too. And the gods are not nice; they are not humane. The divine will eat humanity from the inside out.” He looks at her, and smiles. It is the saddest thing she has ever seen. “I think you know that better than anyone, Kalasin.”
It is the year of the failed crops.
Kaddar rests with his head on Kalasin’s belly (soon to be filled with the seed of Kaddar’s second-but-first-to-live child) while the sounds of a bread riot in the streets lift up to the palace. There are dark circles under both of their eyes. Kaddar’s hands are ink stained and cracked and old.
Kalasin is not crying. The year before has taught her to conserve water. She simply grips Kaddar’s hand tightly, and prays for peace and bread.
It is the year the silk market fails.
Kalasin won’t let the child sleep anywhere but her rooms. Kaddar begins to hate it, but he spends so many of her nights at the foot of Kalasin’s great four poster bed while their child almost suffocates under the silk covers.
“Do the gods hate me?” she whispers into the darkness, and Kaddar responds, quietly and sleepily, from a cotton pallet on the floor. “No, my love. You are the god’s chosen – both flesh and not-flesh, a woman who is light and dark and blood and spit, all at once, now and forever."
It is the year Tusaine removes its foreign support.
“Am I mad?” asks Kalasin, slowly.
“No, my lady, of course not,” Kaddar responds, but he thinks that Kalasin is both half-mad and the sanest person that he has ever met.