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rainbowfic2013-05-12 11:47 pm
malapropism) wrote in rainbowfic2013-05-12 11:47 pm
Closure
Title: Closure
Canon: The Lethean Glamour
Colors: Alice Blue 7 (begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop), Mouse Grey 15 (just around the riverbend), Celestial Blue 7 (heavenly choir)
Styles and Materials: Canvas (a fortnight before the start of the story), Paint-by-numbers (Isana: Holly's favorite music)
Word Count: 692
Characters: Holly
Summary: Holly has made a ritual of writing a letter to her mother each year. This time, though, it feels different.
Dear Mom, Holly wrote, and paused, staring hard at her small, claustrophobic characters. Her ink was bleeding tiny black feathers around her words, and it was only two words, but they were already the wrong ones. Joanna Asher had not been something as simple as dear to Holly in very long, burdensome years. Carefully, she folded the letter inside a nearby open book, making certain the ink would not stain the pages - she'd been meaning to find a proper bookmark for that one, anyway, and she'd accidentally become intrigued by the novella she'd been using instead. Tearing out a fresh page from her journal, Holly began anew.
Most Holy Mother, Holly began, and took a moment to enjoy the breath of self-satisfaction that gasped into her chest before realizing that her salutation was, in one way or another, exactly all she had to say. Her face cracked into a frown as her nostrils prickled with bitter stingings; and Holly was no novice in the ways of bitter stingings, but this was caught in her eyes and her lungs and that shocked a laugh out of her. Time had taught her to accept Helene and Largessa's brand and that awful, crawling dread she felt every day when she looked in the mirror she couldn't help but notice that her face was almost a perfect reflection of the one she would die with, but fifteen years later and she was still mad that her mommy had abandoned her for the love of her gods. She supposed this should have made her even more miserable, but it was good. It was comforting. Her mind was a timeshare, but it was still hers.
I hope your seat is everything you dreamed it would be, Holly wrote. It wasn't a lie. I'm not kidding. It better be, or I'm going to be very angry very loudly at a lot of people it's very unwise to be angry at at any decibel. So if it's not, please make it be everything you dreamed it would be. It's hard enough being loudly angry at no one in particular; I don't think I'd like to be specifically angry.
I've been thinking a lot lately about the time I spent with you on my eighth birthday. It's probably nostalgia. I'm old enough for that now. I caught myself yelling at kids loitering outside the Library the other day; I think that's the first sign that your life is over, isn't it? I've only days before I start talking about the good old days when life was a succession of awful snowy hills that had to be crossed both ways because things like left, right, and sense hadn't been invented yet. It was hotter than the black fires of Dis and I wasn't talking to you out of spite for dragging me out of bed so early. You said less than I did in the end. I used to think that was the day you decided I was nothing to you. I don't think it was anymore. I don't really blame you for not saying goodbye, you know. I'm your daughter. I'm the same kind of coward as you!
"A little obvious, maybe," Holly sighed, reclining in her chair contemplatively. Time couldn't be counted among her luxuries; the postmen would arrive in the morning, and when they came along again Holly would not be around to take advantage of their services.
I hope the gods recognize your service for as long as you please and no more. Maybe it's time I made something my life, too. If I'm to live in your shadow, I may as well make it a nice shadow. Well, let's leave it at that. Jenny Ballard's string band is in town, and I'd kill to hear them play some faerie reels.
Signing her name felt like signing her life over, but it was swiftly done and over with, and posting the letter was a world's weight off Holly's shoulders. She wondered if it read as much like a farewell as it had felt like writing it, but not for very long. The prospect of reels was a very serious matter, after all.
Canon: The Lethean Glamour
Colors: Alice Blue 7 (begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop), Mouse Grey 15 (just around the riverbend), Celestial Blue 7 (heavenly choir)
Styles and Materials: Canvas (a fortnight before the start of the story), Paint-by-numbers (Isana: Holly's favorite music)
Word Count: 692
Characters: Holly
Summary: Holly has made a ritual of writing a letter to her mother each year. This time, though, it feels different.
Dear Mom, Holly wrote, and paused, staring hard at her small, claustrophobic characters. Her ink was bleeding tiny black feathers around her words, and it was only two words, but they were already the wrong ones. Joanna Asher had not been something as simple as dear to Holly in very long, burdensome years. Carefully, she folded the letter inside a nearby open book, making certain the ink would not stain the pages - she'd been meaning to find a proper bookmark for that one, anyway, and she'd accidentally become intrigued by the novella she'd been using instead. Tearing out a fresh page from her journal, Holly began anew.
Most Holy Mother, Holly began, and took a moment to enjoy the breath of self-satisfaction that gasped into her chest before realizing that her salutation was, in one way or another, exactly all she had to say. Her face cracked into a frown as her nostrils prickled with bitter stingings; and Holly was no novice in the ways of bitter stingings, but this was caught in her eyes and her lungs and that shocked a laugh out of her. Time had taught her to accept Helene and Largessa's brand and that awful, crawling dread she felt every day when she looked in the mirror she couldn't help but notice that her face was almost a perfect reflection of the one she would die with, but fifteen years later and she was still mad that her mommy had abandoned her for the love of her gods. She supposed this should have made her even more miserable, but it was good. It was comforting. Her mind was a timeshare, but it was still hers.
I hope your seat is everything you dreamed it would be, Holly wrote. It wasn't a lie. I'm not kidding. It better be, or I'm going to be very angry very loudly at a lot of people it's very unwise to be angry at at any decibel. So if it's not, please make it be everything you dreamed it would be. It's hard enough being loudly angry at no one in particular; I don't think I'd like to be specifically angry.
I've been thinking a lot lately about the time I spent with you on my eighth birthday. It's probably nostalgia. I'm old enough for that now. I caught myself yelling at kids loitering outside the Library the other day; I think that's the first sign that your life is over, isn't it? I've only days before I start talking about the good old days when life was a succession of awful snowy hills that had to be crossed both ways because things like left, right, and sense hadn't been invented yet. It was hotter than the black fires of Dis and I wasn't talking to you out of spite for dragging me out of bed so early. You said less than I did in the end. I used to think that was the day you decided I was nothing to you. I don't think it was anymore. I don't really blame you for not saying goodbye, you know. I'm your daughter. I'm the same kind of coward as you!
"A little obvious, maybe," Holly sighed, reclining in her chair contemplatively. Time couldn't be counted among her luxuries; the postmen would arrive in the morning, and when they came along again Holly would not be around to take advantage of their services.
I hope the gods recognize your service for as long as you please and no more. Maybe it's time I made something my life, too. If I'm to live in your shadow, I may as well make it a nice shadow. Well, let's leave it at that. Jenny Ballard's string band is in town, and I'd kill to hear them play some faerie reels.
Signing her name felt like signing her life over, but it was swiftly done and over with, and posting the letter was a world's weight off Holly's shoulders. She wondered if it read as much like a farewell as it had felt like writing it, but not for very long. The prospect of reels was a very serious matter, after all.