shadowsong26 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2014-08-06 10:10 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2014-08-06 10:10 pm
Alice Blue #17, Aqua #14
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Mist
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Alice Blue #17. it's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards, Aqua #14. Mist
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (Lillith Fair II (this one)), photography, miniature, eraser (Murder AU), feathers, chalk, glitter ("We all have something to hide, some dark place inside us we don't want the world to see. So we pretend that everything's okay, wrapping ourselves in rainbows. That's all for the best, because some of these places are darker than others.." – Michael C. Hall, in Dexter)
Word Count: 100
Rating: R
Characters: Nida
Warnings: References to murder and guilt over committing one
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
It's cool in the garden, cool and misty,
and she dreams that her husband's hand is
on her shoulder, in her hair,
his head resting on her shoulder,
watching the dew glisten on the flowers.
He's not there.
She knows he's not there.
He died a year ago, she buried him,
she killed him and she buried him.
It's only a dream, she knows it's only a dream.
But she clings to the moment,
to the dream of his hands on her,
his love cocooning her
the way it used to, because,
More than anything, she wishes it was real.
Story: Mist
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Alice Blue #17. it's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards, Aqua #14. Mist
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (Lillith Fair II (this one)), photography, miniature, eraser (Murder AU), feathers, chalk, glitter ("We all have something to hide, some dark place inside us we don't want the world to see. So we pretend that everything's okay, wrapping ourselves in rainbows. That's all for the best, because some of these places are darker than others.." – Michael C. Hall, in Dexter)
Word Count: 100
Rating: R
Characters: Nida
Warnings: References to murder and guilt over committing one
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
It's cool in the garden, cool and misty,
and she dreams that her husband's hand is
on her shoulder, in her hair,
his head resting on her shoulder,
watching the dew glisten on the flowers.
He's not there.
She knows he's not there.
He died a year ago, she buried him,
she killed him and she buried him.
It's only a dream, she knows it's only a dream.
But she clings to the moment,
to the dream of his hands on her,
his love cocooning her
the way it used to, because,
More than anything, she wishes it was real.
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