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rainbowfic2013-02-14 01:49 am
crossfortune) wrote in rainbowfic2013-02-14 01:49 am
Entry tags:
cages
Name: Mischa
Story: i never promised you a rose garden
Colors: dove gray (how am I supposed to live without you?)
Supplies and Styles: none.
Word Count: 774
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: suicidal ideation, and a promise for assisted suicide
Summary: I'll break your cage. I promised you that I would.
They had both lost so much, Tristan reflects as he strokes his companion's long black hair, listening to the younger man (older? he isn't sure, and never was) cough wetly, making little pained sounds of distress. Myca doesn't even try to hide the blood anymore, as spasms wrack his frail frame, and sometimes Tristan thinks he can hear the dull thuds of the swords, invisible and eternal, as they strike home. Rose witch pierced by thorns, eternal and unyielding: he'd first heard the story years before, of a demon's undying curse, of the fair princess who would never change and never die, heart broken and pierced by swords.
He, thinking himself too grown for pretty fairy stories, thought it a metaphor, back then, for things he could never have, even as he reached in vain for a throne not allowed him and for power denied him. Be careful what you wished for: never wish for power, never wish for immortality, his mother cautioned him, even as he wanted them all (never sell your soul). But the world was both smaller and larger than even he at thirteen had thought, and at thirty, over a decade banished, while seeking cursed magical princesses to rescue in order to force them to help him with his ambitions, he'd met the truth behind the legend, and the truth was both greater and lesser than what he had believed.
Outside, it's raining, and for a moment, Tristan wants to put his fist through the window. This miserable country isn't home and never will be, and he snarls remembering what had brought him to this pass and the desire for revenge that outlasts even the death of the people whose fault it was. He will have it and everything he lost back, no matter what he has to do, no matter the cost, and who he has to hurt. He's sold his soul already: he almost doesn't have anything else left to lose.
Instead of putting his fist through glass, he runs his other arm around Myca's shoulders, strokes his hair and holds him as the pained little sobs give way to broken, creepy giggling. It's unsettling, of course it is, Myca's propensity for random mad giggling that breaks the elegant, calm facade is disturbing. It always has been, for as long as he's known him, but Tristan can understand why. No, not understand, not truly, but it's nothing he can fault.
"What are you thinking about?" Tristan asks.
"About how unfair the world is," Myca says, and coughs, blood bright against ivory skin. "From one prison to another: is that all life is, a series of cages? How the gods laugh," his voice is like a music box in a too-wide room, and he giggles again, broken and lost, and Tristan takes his pierced hands, so small in his own but he can feel the power in them: magic that hadn't and wouldn't be enough to save Myca, no matter all his power, unable to free himself, but power enough to bring down a society or shatter a world.
Myca might have been happier sleeping the world and his pain away, but Tristan needs him awake and alive, until his goals are accomplished, until he has his revenge and his old station back. He's hurt so many people in the pursuit of this goals that hurting one more, even fragile Myca who has been so loyal, who manages to warm his frozen heart even a little, doesn't hurt him any more.
But he intends on keeping his promise, no matter how long it will take: he will keep his promise eventually. Oathbreaker, lawbreaker, and kinslayer though he might be, Tristan's never made promises lightly and always keeps his promises. He promised Myca that he'd help find a way to break his curse, and he will once his goals are accomplished. A temporary pain, no more, he is selfish but not so much as to condemn Myca to an eternity of suffering with no surcease. But what is another six months, a year, of delay to Myca who has suffered so long already that a little longer will not make a difference?
"I'll break your cage," Tristan says, roughly, more roughly than he intends, because breaking Myca's cage means he'll die, and cold as his heart is, hardened by loss there's that small warmth that grieves at the thought of losing his loyal companion, an inevitable, promised end. "I promised you that I would."
"When?"
"Soon," Tristan whispers, through lying lips, and Myca smiles at him through iron blood, "Soon," and strokes black hair, even though both of them know he's lying.
Story: i never promised you a rose garden
Colors: dove gray (how am I supposed to live without you?)
Supplies and Styles: none.
Word Count: 774
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: suicidal ideation, and a promise for assisted suicide
Summary: I'll break your cage. I promised you that I would.
They had both lost so much, Tristan reflects as he strokes his companion's long black hair, listening to the younger man (older? he isn't sure, and never was) cough wetly, making little pained sounds of distress. Myca doesn't even try to hide the blood anymore, as spasms wrack his frail frame, and sometimes Tristan thinks he can hear the dull thuds of the swords, invisible and eternal, as they strike home. Rose witch pierced by thorns, eternal and unyielding: he'd first heard the story years before, of a demon's undying curse, of the fair princess who would never change and never die, heart broken and pierced by swords.
He, thinking himself too grown for pretty fairy stories, thought it a metaphor, back then, for things he could never have, even as he reached in vain for a throne not allowed him and for power denied him. Be careful what you wished for: never wish for power, never wish for immortality, his mother cautioned him, even as he wanted them all (never sell your soul). But the world was both smaller and larger than even he at thirteen had thought, and at thirty, over a decade banished, while seeking cursed magical princesses to rescue in order to force them to help him with his ambitions, he'd met the truth behind the legend, and the truth was both greater and lesser than what he had believed.
Outside, it's raining, and for a moment, Tristan wants to put his fist through the window. This miserable country isn't home and never will be, and he snarls remembering what had brought him to this pass and the desire for revenge that outlasts even the death of the people whose fault it was. He will have it and everything he lost back, no matter what he has to do, no matter the cost, and who he has to hurt. He's sold his soul already: he almost doesn't have anything else left to lose.
Instead of putting his fist through glass, he runs his other arm around Myca's shoulders, strokes his hair and holds him as the pained little sobs give way to broken, creepy giggling. It's unsettling, of course it is, Myca's propensity for random mad giggling that breaks the elegant, calm facade is disturbing. It always has been, for as long as he's known him, but Tristan can understand why. No, not understand, not truly, but it's nothing he can fault.
"What are you thinking about?" Tristan asks.
"About how unfair the world is," Myca says, and coughs, blood bright against ivory skin. "From one prison to another: is that all life is, a series of cages? How the gods laugh," his voice is like a music box in a too-wide room, and he giggles again, broken and lost, and Tristan takes his pierced hands, so small in his own but he can feel the power in them: magic that hadn't and wouldn't be enough to save Myca, no matter all his power, unable to free himself, but power enough to bring down a society or shatter a world.
Myca might have been happier sleeping the world and his pain away, but Tristan needs him awake and alive, until his goals are accomplished, until he has his revenge and his old station back. He's hurt so many people in the pursuit of this goals that hurting one more, even fragile Myca who has been so loyal, who manages to warm his frozen heart even a little, doesn't hurt him any more.
But he intends on keeping his promise, no matter how long it will take: he will keep his promise eventually. Oathbreaker, lawbreaker, and kinslayer though he might be, Tristan's never made promises lightly and always keeps his promises. He promised Myca that he'd help find a way to break his curse, and he will once his goals are accomplished. A temporary pain, no more, he is selfish but not so much as to condemn Myca to an eternity of suffering with no surcease. But what is another six months, a year, of delay to Myca who has suffered so long already that a little longer will not make a difference?
"I'll break your cage," Tristan says, roughly, more roughly than he intends, because breaking Myca's cage means he'll die, and cold as his heart is, hardened by loss there's that small warmth that grieves at the thought of losing his loyal companion, an inevitable, promised end. "I promised you that I would."
"When?"
"Soon," Tristan whispers, through lying lips, and Myca smiles at him through iron blood, "Soon," and strokes black hair, even though both of them know he's lying.
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Could I possibly get a tag for my other story verse? (fragments of stars falling, which...is probably too long, too.)
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