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rainbowfic2025-11-09 02:55 pm
paradoxcase) wrote in rainbowfic2025-11-09 02:55 pm
Warm Heart #9 [The Fulcrum]
Name: A Dream of Past Misunderstandings
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Warm Heart #9: Confusion
Styles and Supplies: Canvas, Chiaroscuro, Life Drawing, Oils (I am a reliquary of almosts), Tempera (Got The Lovers from Daily Tarot Draw: "Lovers represents love and relationship, soul mates, physical attractions and choices to be made. It represents being with the people who make you feel whole. The Lovers can also indicate a need to balance your own needs with the needs of others. This is not always an easy task, but it is one that is worth striving for.")
Word Count: 832
Rating: T
Warnings: Brief Non-Graphic Violence
Characters: Setsiana, Qhoroali, Cyaru
In-Universe Date: Night of 1912.4.1.2
Summary: Setsiana has another strange dream.
Notes: Some of the supplies are maybe not immediately apparent in this one right now, but I promise they are all related.
The next night brought another strange dream. She recognized where she was, though; it was Cyaru’s village that they had visited in the Sohanke timeline. Qhoroali was with her, but she did not seem to recognize the place. She looked around in confusion. “Where did we wind up? This doesn’t look like Clérzyund.”
Setsiana opened her mouth to remind her of where they were, but as sometimes happened in these dreams of late, she wound up saying something completely different: “I don’t know.” As she said it, she realized they were not speaking QuCheanya; they were speaking in Qhoroali’s version of Vrelian. It now sounded much less awful to her ears, after having spoken it around the city quite frequently since she’d returned to the 20th century.
Suddenly there were shouts, in Cyaru’s language, and a group of men began to run towards them. Qhoroali tensed, and grabbed Setsiana’s arm, as if to steady herself. Setsiana thought to look down at the clothing they were wearing; they were both wearing nurefyes, hers in the more traditional form, and Qhoroali’s in her strange modified style. A spike of fear went through her. The people here would see them as the ghosts, the priestesses that abducted the girls.
Sure enough, the men who arrived clobbered them to the ground. Setsiana tried to tell them that they were friends in QuCheanya, but just like when she’d been attacked here in the waking world, she couldn’t seem to remember the words. Qhoroali simply looked at them with wide eyes, as if she could not understand their language, and put up her hands to show that they were empty and harmless. The men carried both of them off, and brought them into the long hall where they had come before.
Their hands and feet were bound, and they were left to sit with their backs to the wall, Qhoroali looking tense and rhythmically rubbing her palm with her thumb, as she had done in the bookstore in 2434. There were more raised voices, and eventually the old man arrived, with Cyaru in tow. No flicker of recognition passed across either of their faces as Cyaru knelt in front of Qhoroali, and the old man backed off to lean on one of the tables.
This dream must be about a time before Qhoroali knew anyone here. Was this the first time that Qhoroali had time traveled to this timeline?
Cyaru pointed at himself and said “Cyaru,” or something that at least sounded very similar. Then he pointed at Qhoroali.
“Hrouli,” she said, in her version of Vrelian.
Cyaru drew shapes in the dust, common items, animals, concepts, and actions, and they exchanged vocabulary for a bit. For some reason, he seemed to be completely ignoring Setsiana. Come to that, why was she even here? She obviously hadn’t been here in real life, she hadn’t known Qhoroali at this point in her life. But she wasn’t a ghost, simply watching the dream play out; she had been tackled, and captured, carried and bound, and Qhoroali had spoken to her and grabbed her arm. Was she a stand-in for someone else? Liselye, maybe? That was the only possibility that occurred to her, and this was her dream, right? So that’s what it must be.
The dream seemed to shift, slightly; the building they were in became indistinct, and the old man disappeared entirely. It was now just Setsiana and Qhoroali and Cyaru, in the center of a fuzzy ball of muted colors and sourceless light. The language exchange ceased, and instead, Cyaru began saying full sentences in his language, in a softer, gentler tone of voice, and cupped Qhoroali’s cheek in his hand.
“It’s fine,” said Qhoroali in her Vrelian, in a wavering tone of voice that indicated it was not fine. “I can do it, for you. Everyone else can do it, so I should also be able to. I should do it. It’s what we’re meant to do. I will.”
Cyaru shook his head and said something else, and it seemed sad; disappointed.
“I will,” said Qhoroali again. “Just… not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
Cyaru sat there for a minute, looking at her, and then rose, and turned away. As he did so, he filtered away into the hazy surroundings, leaving Qhoroali alone with Setsiana.
Qhoroali turned her face towards Setsiana, acknowledging her for the first time since she’d grabbed her arm the beginning of the dream. She moved her hand, grasping Setsiana’s, and Setsiana saw that their bindings had disappeared. “Not this again,” Qhoroali said, in QuCheanya this time. “Not this again. I can’t do this again, with you, too.” Her expression was pained, and sad, and just a little bit frightened, in the way of someone who has spent a long time living in fear.
The dream faded, the soft colors and light diminishing into blackness, and then being replaced by the rays of sunlight filtering in through the cracks in the window shutter in Setsiana’s room.
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Warm Heart #9: Confusion
Styles and Supplies: Canvas, Chiaroscuro, Life Drawing, Oils (I am a reliquary of almosts), Tempera (Got The Lovers from Daily Tarot Draw: "Lovers represents love and relationship, soul mates, physical attractions and choices to be made. It represents being with the people who make you feel whole. The Lovers can also indicate a need to balance your own needs with the needs of others. This is not always an easy task, but it is one that is worth striving for.")
Word Count: 832
Rating: T
Warnings: Brief Non-Graphic Violence
Characters: Setsiana, Qhoroali, Cyaru
In-Universe Date: Night of 1912.4.1.2
Summary: Setsiana has another strange dream.
Notes: Some of the supplies are maybe not immediately apparent in this one right now, but I promise they are all related.
The next night brought another strange dream. She recognized where she was, though; it was Cyaru’s village that they had visited in the Sohanke timeline. Qhoroali was with her, but she did not seem to recognize the place. She looked around in confusion. “Where did we wind up? This doesn’t look like Clérzyund.”
Setsiana opened her mouth to remind her of where they were, but as sometimes happened in these dreams of late, she wound up saying something completely different: “I don’t know.” As she said it, she realized they were not speaking QuCheanya; they were speaking in Qhoroali’s version of Vrelian. It now sounded much less awful to her ears, after having spoken it around the city quite frequently since she’d returned to the 20th century.
Suddenly there were shouts, in Cyaru’s language, and a group of men began to run towards them. Qhoroali tensed, and grabbed Setsiana’s arm, as if to steady herself. Setsiana thought to look down at the clothing they were wearing; they were both wearing nurefyes, hers in the more traditional form, and Qhoroali’s in her strange modified style. A spike of fear went through her. The people here would see them as the ghosts, the priestesses that abducted the girls.
Sure enough, the men who arrived clobbered them to the ground. Setsiana tried to tell them that they were friends in QuCheanya, but just like when she’d been attacked here in the waking world, she couldn’t seem to remember the words. Qhoroali simply looked at them with wide eyes, as if she could not understand their language, and put up her hands to show that they were empty and harmless. The men carried both of them off, and brought them into the long hall where they had come before.
Their hands and feet were bound, and they were left to sit with their backs to the wall, Qhoroali looking tense and rhythmically rubbing her palm with her thumb, as she had done in the bookstore in 2434. There were more raised voices, and eventually the old man arrived, with Cyaru in tow. No flicker of recognition passed across either of their faces as Cyaru knelt in front of Qhoroali, and the old man backed off to lean on one of the tables.
This dream must be about a time before Qhoroali knew anyone here. Was this the first time that Qhoroali had time traveled to this timeline?
Cyaru pointed at himself and said “Cyaru,” or something that at least sounded very similar. Then he pointed at Qhoroali.
“Hrouli,” she said, in her version of Vrelian.
Cyaru drew shapes in the dust, common items, animals, concepts, and actions, and they exchanged vocabulary for a bit. For some reason, he seemed to be completely ignoring Setsiana. Come to that, why was she even here? She obviously hadn’t been here in real life, she hadn’t known Qhoroali at this point in her life. But she wasn’t a ghost, simply watching the dream play out; she had been tackled, and captured, carried and bound, and Qhoroali had spoken to her and grabbed her arm. Was she a stand-in for someone else? Liselye, maybe? That was the only possibility that occurred to her, and this was her dream, right? So that’s what it must be.
The dream seemed to shift, slightly; the building they were in became indistinct, and the old man disappeared entirely. It was now just Setsiana and Qhoroali and Cyaru, in the center of a fuzzy ball of muted colors and sourceless light. The language exchange ceased, and instead, Cyaru began saying full sentences in his language, in a softer, gentler tone of voice, and cupped Qhoroali’s cheek in his hand.
“It’s fine,” said Qhoroali in her Vrelian, in a wavering tone of voice that indicated it was not fine. “I can do it, for you. Everyone else can do it, so I should also be able to. I should do it. It’s what we’re meant to do. I will.”
Cyaru shook his head and said something else, and it seemed sad; disappointed.
“I will,” said Qhoroali again. “Just… not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
Cyaru sat there for a minute, looking at her, and then rose, and turned away. As he did so, he filtered away into the hazy surroundings, leaving Qhoroali alone with Setsiana.
Qhoroali turned her face towards Setsiana, acknowledging her for the first time since she’d grabbed her arm the beginning of the dream. She moved her hand, grasping Setsiana’s, and Setsiana saw that their bindings had disappeared. “Not this again,” Qhoroali said, in QuCheanya this time. “Not this again. I can’t do this again, with you, too.” Her expression was pained, and sad, and just a little bit frightened, in the way of someone who has spent a long time living in fear.
The dream faded, the soft colors and light diminishing into blackness, and then being replaced by the rays of sunlight filtering in through the cracks in the window shutter in Setsiana’s room.
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Thanks for reading! I'm sort of curious what you think she means at this stage - I don't think it should really become clear until later, but I'm interested in how it comes across now.
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Oh, that's ok, thanks for indulging me, I was just curious what you were thinking. I usually read books like that, too, although when I liveblog stuff I tend to figure stuff out well in advance of when it happens, for some reason.