the androgynous keeper of plushfrogs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crossfortune) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2015-06-15 01:19 pm
crossfortune) wrote in rainbowfic2015-06-15 01:19 pm
live in shadows die in sunlight
Name: Mischa
Story: as if words could be undone
Colors: octarine (I hope we are not going to have any of this 'foul fiend' business again), halloween orange (be wicked and lovely and don't live in fear), verdigris (mildew)
Supplies and Styles: canvas
Word Count: 367
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: N/A, I think
Summary: Sevda dies: Mikha lives.
Notes: ...once again, I forgot to get a tag for this story. Oops.
If she lives through this, Sevda swears up and down to be more careful: she has a job to do, helping keep this city stable is dangerous, but she can’t do it if she’s dead. She’s spent her whole life in shadows, the shadows by the sea, but even the shadows weren’t enough to hide her this time. Not against cultists: she doesn’t particularly believe in the Seven, or the teachings of the church, but she believes very firmly in the necessity of stabbing cultists. Like she stabs pirates that set a foot too far out of line, or really anything else that threatens what passes for law in her home.
Like this? This was necessary. And now she’s probably going to die for it, and the only ones who will remember her name are her brothers and sisters of the shadows who do the same work she does. Hah. Live in the shadows, die in sunlight.
The book she stole from a dead man bounces painfully against her side as she runs, her braids whipping back to hit her face, awkward as she runs: but there’s nowhere for her to run, and nowhere to go, and her pursuers are gaining on her. There’s too many of them for her to take in a fight, especially not with whatever dark and creepy magic they have. She doesn’t know what’s in the book, she hasn’t gotten a chance to look in it - too busy running- but whatever it is, if they want it so badly
“Little thief,” their leader hisses. “Give us the book. Give us the book if you want to live.”
It isn’t a choice, not really. She’s spent her whole life in shadows, quick with knives, trying to help keep her home safe. No, she won’t live through this, but it’ll be worth it: instead, she throws the book over the side, drops it into the harbor below. Dark magic book or not, water ruins ink so very easily, and she turns back to face them, seeing her death in their leader’s eyes.
Her smile is sharp, as she draws her daggers: she’ll take as many of them with her as she can. “Come, then.”
Story: as if words could be undone
Colors: octarine (I hope we are not going to have any of this 'foul fiend' business again), halloween orange (be wicked and lovely and don't live in fear), verdigris (mildew)
Supplies and Styles: canvas
Word Count: 367
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: N/A, I think
Summary: Sevda dies: Mikha lives.
Notes: ...once again, I forgot to get a tag for this story. Oops.
If she lives through this, Sevda swears up and down to be more careful: she has a job to do, helping keep this city stable is dangerous, but she can’t do it if she’s dead. She’s spent her whole life in shadows, the shadows by the sea, but even the shadows weren’t enough to hide her this time. Not against cultists: she doesn’t particularly believe in the Seven, or the teachings of the church, but she believes very firmly in the necessity of stabbing cultists. Like she stabs pirates that set a foot too far out of line, or really anything else that threatens what passes for law in her home.
Like this? This was necessary. And now she’s probably going to die for it, and the only ones who will remember her name are her brothers and sisters of the shadows who do the same work she does. Hah. Live in the shadows, die in sunlight.
The book she stole from a dead man bounces painfully against her side as she runs, her braids whipping back to hit her face, awkward as she runs: but there’s nowhere for her to run, and nowhere to go, and her pursuers are gaining on her. There’s too many of them for her to take in a fight, especially not with whatever dark and creepy magic they have. She doesn’t know what’s in the book, she hasn’t gotten a chance to look in it - too busy running- but whatever it is, if they want it so badly
“Little thief,” their leader hisses. “Give us the book. Give us the book if you want to live.”
It isn’t a choice, not really. She’s spent her whole life in shadows, quick with knives, trying to help keep her home safe. No, she won’t live through this, but it’ll be worth it: instead, she throws the book over the side, drops it into the harbor below. Dark magic book or not, water ruins ink so very easily, and she turns back to face them, seeing her death in their leader’s eyes.
Her smile is sharp, as she draws her daggers: she’ll take as many of them with her as she can. “Come, then.”