I'm sorry there were spelling mistakes and a few things unclear with the edition when the .doc document was transformed into ff's format. I've fixed everything (I think) :D
-(So, you can skip this if you want to)-
Ok, hey there! How are you? I've been damn vanished from ff lately sorry.
Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy this little work. The idea just flew into my mind and refused to leave until it had produced all those thoughts on Gil's feelings inside my brains. And I realy missed writing.
So, this may suck, I haven't written in a while, but I'd be blessed if you spent 10 minutes to read through it and gave me any opinions you may have, they'd be priceless for me.
So, to the topic: This is just my… something like a point of view on how Gil must feel after everything happened during Retrace 74 (Aham, SPOILERS INSIDE). Basically my idea was: (I insist, I'll spoil it for you, stop now or you'll hate me in half a page) "Gil, just going about Oz in his head, hopping between his forever promise, the rejection of Zai and his latest, ultimate betrayal." Somehow a few things I've recently learned about crowns and ravens and the image of an inconstant rain slipped in.
I insist, I don't even know how to summarize this but please read and tell me, I really hope you'll like/enjoy it, I put effort to it, promise!
I should stop writing eternal Author's notes.
And yeah, the title has to do with T. Swift + The Civil Wars's –listen to them, they're quite cool- song for The Hunger Games, one or two lines from there just felt very suitable for this situation…
-(Now you may start reading)-
Btw, sorry, I couldn't help adding some footnotes, you can skip them anyway, they're not necessary to understand the whole thing (nor anywhere near that).
…
Just close your eyesA sad, almost invisible drizzle had begun. Gilbert just stood there, on his knees, widely observing but unable to see at the same time; only feeling the heavy droplets on his skin…
• - Well done…
However though, his ears could still hear every sound, conceiving a strange echo all around him, as water decided whether she would or not dare transform into a downpour, or at least rate as proper rain.
• - No matter how much time has gone by, I'm still…
He didn't get cold. Somehow his skin felt a million degrees colder than any rain that might fall. He didn't move, just stood there, eventually acknowledging shapes like fingers, burning fingers which traveled his cheeks, feeling hotter that hell for a second or two.
Even after that, his skin was marble, un-burnt and static.
• - Your one and only master.
"No". The human raven would have died to croak the word out of his beak. But he couldn't. It was trapped in his head as in a labyrinth of 14 doors.*2
• - Well done Gilbert. Go rest now, just close your eyes.
A shallow, more superficial side of him wanted to cry. To curse and scream in horror until his throat broke to pieces and his insides bled. He wanted to follow Leo, to follow Glen, and shoot him down on that very place, tear him apart as with a puzzle then surely die, leaving said tribute to his surviving master.
Oh how he wanted to break down and drown on the oceans of agony knocking at his sense's doors. But he couldn't.
• - Well done…
Yes, well done Gilbert. Well done raven, crow, obsidian creature*3. His golden coins snapped open again to the doubtful sprinkle as it kept on changing its intensity, forming a grey mist-like sheet all over the horizon, which intensified the dawn light's mischievousness.
It felt like the weather came from inside his minds by that moment.
He'd shot Oz. He'd done it under the command of Glen's imperative, Leo's lips had voiced it. He was his true and only master. And Jack agreed, nothing could belong to Oz. Or to Gilbert. They were there puppets on this checkered board and there was no way to cut the strings other than death.
Trembling hands run through sopping messed up strands of Ivory hairs and found themselves easily locked as the lightest of rain's graced them, shyly, cowardly. A crow came out and surrounded the area, foolishly jumping here and there, apparently wandering.
They'd been used as toys, cut and painted and fit to others' wishes. Just bodies to complete the actions and wishes of those gone away. They were connected, plugged and tied to evil chains, each time more rusty and clunky. As he'd said, they were marionettes, mannequins.
The only difference was they were alive.
Oz was alive, he knew it. He could not tell how, and it didn't matter. Perhaps it was the same thing which had kept him plugged to those imprisoning chains of Glen's, that was now letting him know whether his so-called master's actins had been conclusive or not. The same thing which had kept him alive all those years and bonded him as easily with Raven the chain, besides owning the most darkened and condensed of ambitions. After all, who could know the master better that his long-lasting servant?
Some would say a libertus*4.
No matter what it was, he knew it. His master was alive, whatever Glen or Leo or the whole house of the Baskervilles' said, and he would find him. And set him free.
His hands fell limply to his sides, as wider rivers started to trail his sleeves, his wrists, his neck his hand-heels, drenching clothes at an admirable pace. He stood up and lifted his burnt chin to the sky feeling blessed by the flaming cold touch. Crows kept on gathering around him, black pepper grains haphazardly displayed over the once bright green lawn.
Leo, Glen, Barma, even Break perhaps, they all believed he belonged to the head of the Baskervilles. Even Oz did. By now the least his sunlight would be feeling was a pure, unnamable hatred towards him; and he deserved it. But that was not the end of it, no. As long as his master was alive, there was no end to it. Once again he'd betrayed his master, for the third time in a row*
Maybe then, he could die peacefully, and sing.*6
He now had Glen's trust, even if as a last yes, that was a good gun.
But his master wouldn't be safe forever.
Water started soaking him completely, sliding through his face.
All of a sudden, thunder struck as the real downpour begun. A big black raven dived in suddenly, without any of his usual jump-backs*7, catching one of the smaller crows rapidly on his wounding claws, he flew away, all in an instant.
Wide golden eyes disappeared at that very moment; towards the destiny they had just sealed for themselves.
Lightning took in right then, as a full orchestra of croaks, crows and thunder played its deathly symphony. Many children wouldn't sleep that night, but one, of gold and emerald, Gilbert would make sure did.
…
Footnotes: YOU CAN VERY WELL SKIP THIS, I'M SORRY THEY'RE SO LONG!
So, yeah, couldn't help bothering with the "*"s:
*1: Yes, ravens don't actually sing, they croak. You can either think this as an ultimate rare event where a raven somehow sung and try to imagine how it sounded (I prefer this choice, specially because, being able to produce over 100 sounds, I believe this birds which I personally adore should be able to play some secret kind of music, but I'm some kind of a weir romantic, u don't need to share) or (also a good option) as a poetic license, a metaphor… Well, it's your job as readers to get whatever you want out of my words so just be free, I simple wanted to make that freedom clear or something (A)
*2: For many, 7 and its double, 14, represent infinity. This si kkind of my humblest tribute to ne witer who certainly knew the secret characteristics attributed to this numbers: Jorge Luis Borges, and particularly to his tale "La casa de Asterión" (The House of Asterion). Really, read him, he's amazing.
*3: This word always reminds me to something I read when I was a little child (say, 7, 8 years old?). Have you ever seen a reproduction of the Aztec Calendar Stone (or rather the Aztec Stone of the Sun)? I have one hanging from a wall at home. Once, while we were studying the native American empires at school, my mother suggested I took it for my classmates to see and gave me a small book-like pile of papers which explained its different images and so. Something I remember very well about it is that the face in the middle is the solar god Tonatiuh represented withing the symbol of movement, and with several representations that prove the belief that there should be sacrifices offered to him so that the sun's cycle would go on. One of them is it's tongue, which is represented by an obsidian blade/knife, meaning he's thirsty for blood from sacrifices. So, this whole story is just to tell how I relate the word to sacrifice and, dunno how to explain it, obscure, rather dark issues?
Besides I think obsidian's colour matches that of raven's beter than most other tones of black.
For a third –minor- explanation, there's a DC Comics villain/superhero called obsidian. The fact he alternates between good and evil sounded quite accurate for this story too (A).
(Yeah, this foot note is excessively ong, I know. I'm sorry! I've been reading/analyzing the Aeneid for my classic literature class and this ind of stuff got into my head deeply x.x)
*4: Latin for "freedman". I study Latin and they invented said condition so I felt like honouring that fact.
*5: Just in case I'm not very clear, I count 3 out of: Joining the Nightray family, not telling Oz who he reallywas once he came back from the Abyss, and now. You could count more, or less, or the same. Personally, I don't think this are real betrayals, (ok, perhaps the last one was, but I still have faith in the fact things will work out –fangirling 'till the end, ya know?) but Gil does seem to consider them as so, therefore…
*6: More or less the same as *2
*7: Jump-backs are reactions that crows and ravens do in times of caution, possibly testing for a reaction from the possible food source. (source = . )
Ok, so I won't bother anymore about that, I'm just a little annoying enough to make footnotes (and it's fun to add superscript, I must admit :P).
-END OF FOOTNOTES, YAY!-
I'm obsessively thankful to whoever reads, and PLEASE feel free and invited to review any opinions you hacve on it, I'd be glad to hear. I felt so much like writing this, although it's quite purely an experiment, bu the idea kept flooding my mind. I think it's the first only-two-pages-but-more-than-200-words story I've ever written, I tend to produce either things too short or two long (which I never finish and therefore never publish excepting one or two). So, once again, please tell me! Wether it is about the story, the writing, what u think will happen after last retraces, g, I'm always glad to hear/read
I'm not quite sure about the ending, btw. I mean I felt like it should end there but at the same time it doesn't seem complete. Dunno.
-Thanks for reading!