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rainbowfic2014-08-02 04:55 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2014-08-02 04:55 pm
Amaranth #9, Seafoam #17
Could I get a color tag for Seafoam, please?
Name:kay_brooke
Story: The Eighth Saimar
Colors: Amaranth #9 (dragon's blood), Seafoam #17 (fish tank)
Styles/Supplies: Frame, Seed Beads, Graffiti (Skindiving)
Word Count: 461
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Dorath watches the courtyard.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM. Last Amaranth.
Sometimes the little courtyard danced with flowers, hydrangeas and roses and daisies in every color. Sometimes it was lit up in little pinpricks of light, whirling around each other in the middle of a city that hadn’t seen fireflies in years. Sometimes the air seemed murky and blue, almost like gathering twilight or maybe being underwater, and sometimes Dorath thought she could see creatures in it, the silver flash of eels or the glint of goldfish, as if the whole city had been brought to rest at the bottom of the distant sea.
Or if not the whole city, then the little courtyard.
Courtyard was too grand a name for it, really; it was just the space between the houses and shops that pressed on each side, too shaded for anything to grow and too uninteresting for even children to hide in.
Except for one.
Dorath knew her for the apothecary’s daughter. The courtyard was theirs if it was anyone’s; the back of the shop opened to it and often the apothecary had used it to store extra ingredients that wouldn’t fit into the shop. The apothecary had never mentioned his daughter by name, but Dorath saw her every time she went into the shop for her healing salves, her head always bowed as if in prayer or shame, arranging bottles on the shelves or hanging bunches of dried herbs from the rafters. The way she held herself made Dorath wonder if the apothecary was unkind, but she never personally heard a sharp word from the man.
And she watched, from her high window across from the courtyard, as the apothecary’s daughter stole away and made fantastical visions come to life.
Dorath knew what the apothecary’s daughter was: Jasmar, a word that still sent a spike of fear and alertness through her, even though the Jasmara had won the war and they were no longer illegal. One now even sat upon the council and advised the Brey. Dorath had never hated them even when to be one was punishable by death, but she had heard terrifying stories and there was still something not quite right about the ways they could trick nature into behaving contrary to itself.
She wondered if the apothecary knew about his daughter. She wondered if he still felt that old fear, and if that was why his daughter always made herself as small as possible around him. If that was why she hid in the courtyard.
Dorath wondered if her father watched her, too, from the back window of his shop, and what he thought if she did.
Dorath knew she would never interfere one way or the other. The girl made such beautiful visions with her mind, and Dorath was content just to watch.
Name:
kay_brookeStory: The Eighth Saimar
Colors: Amaranth #9 (dragon's blood), Seafoam #17 (fish tank)
Styles/Supplies: Frame, Seed Beads, Graffiti (Skindiving)
Word Count: 461
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Dorath watches the courtyard.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM. Last Amaranth.
Sometimes the little courtyard danced with flowers, hydrangeas and roses and daisies in every color. Sometimes it was lit up in little pinpricks of light, whirling around each other in the middle of a city that hadn’t seen fireflies in years. Sometimes the air seemed murky and blue, almost like gathering twilight or maybe being underwater, and sometimes Dorath thought she could see creatures in it, the silver flash of eels or the glint of goldfish, as if the whole city had been brought to rest at the bottom of the distant sea.
Or if not the whole city, then the little courtyard.
Courtyard was too grand a name for it, really; it was just the space between the houses and shops that pressed on each side, too shaded for anything to grow and too uninteresting for even children to hide in.
Except for one.
Dorath knew her for the apothecary’s daughter. The courtyard was theirs if it was anyone’s; the back of the shop opened to it and often the apothecary had used it to store extra ingredients that wouldn’t fit into the shop. The apothecary had never mentioned his daughter by name, but Dorath saw her every time she went into the shop for her healing salves, her head always bowed as if in prayer or shame, arranging bottles on the shelves or hanging bunches of dried herbs from the rafters. The way she held herself made Dorath wonder if the apothecary was unkind, but she never personally heard a sharp word from the man.
And she watched, from her high window across from the courtyard, as the apothecary’s daughter stole away and made fantastical visions come to life.
Dorath knew what the apothecary’s daughter was: Jasmar, a word that still sent a spike of fear and alertness through her, even though the Jasmara had won the war and they were no longer illegal. One now even sat upon the council and advised the Brey. Dorath had never hated them even when to be one was punishable by death, but she had heard terrifying stories and there was still something not quite right about the ways they could trick nature into behaving contrary to itself.
She wondered if the apothecary knew about his daughter. She wondered if he still felt that old fear, and if that was why his daughter always made herself as small as possible around him. If that was why she hid in the courtyard.
Dorath wondered if her father watched her, too, from the back window of his shop, and what he thought if she did.
Dorath knew she would never interfere one way or the other. The girl made such beautiful visions with her mind, and Dorath was content just to watch.
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eta: whoops, Miguel is not my mod hat.
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Though I do wonder why Dorath doesn't just talk to the girl. I guess that old fear keeps her from doing so?
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Thanks for reading!
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