DREAM OF ME
They lay together, head to head, in the heavy darkness, hands clasped against the oppressions of the Outside World, smiles glimmering on both faces; She closed her eyes, but hers remained open. There was a kind of sensuality, she had discovered, in watching a person sleep, and She was no different. The movement of Her abdomen with every breath, slowing gradually more and more as sleep crept upon Her. Sleep was so very much like death, a peaceful, quiet death, where you simply lay down and shut your eyes and let it come sweeping down across your being like a shadow-winged hawk, like the eagle that came to steal the liver of Prometheus. Their fingers wound tightly together, a lifeline in the black of night, she watched Her as She slept. Perfect lips slightly parted to allow the ebb and flow of air in Her lungs, like tide. The dark lashes fluttered briefly against pale skin bathed in moonlight, then stilled.
The adoring gaze they had exchanged minutes before seemed so false compared to this. Intimacy was trust and trust was allowing the other to see you, every tiny little cracked and skewed piece of you, each idiosyncrasy, without the veils of expression and everyday.
To put one's trust entirely into another. To her this seemed foolish. For everyone failed, eventually, and for you to trust a failure was like suicide. It dragged you down with them into the mire of loss and pain and what would be the point of that when it could be so easily avoided?
Near-luminous green shifted in the dim as the quiet rustle of cotton against silk touched her ears; she drew up her smile in preparation for Her, never ever ever present Her with anything less, this was the rule. But the eyes remained closed. Only the lips moved, spilling forth words that she immediately embraced even before she fully knew what was being said.
"Do you ever dream?"
The voice, soft, husky and not quite deep, shivered along her spine as it was meant to do, but the words brought with them an odd pang that made her hesitate, her smile wavering ever so slightly. It was this half-expression of blankness that was caught upon her face as She opened Her eyes, tilting Her head back slightly and letting Her hair spill in every direction, now watching her with that same innocent air She wore like a second skin.
Breath caught and held for only the briefest of instances, and then she was smiling once more, fully into Her childlike eyes.
"Do I... dream?" The words needed to be repeated, not just for clarity but to give her time to consider. Dream? What would be the point to that? Fabrications of the brain were all dreams were, a re-jumbling of the ordinary into something that seemed mystical to the young and foolish. That was something she was above, by now. It simply wasn't necessary to dream; therefore, she did not.
"Of course I dream." The words slithered easily off her tongue and through her lips and she felt nothing. This was normal. It actually rather surprised her that She had not caught on; it was really such a simple puzzle. Then again, the young and uninitiated had a nasty habit of trying to jam square pegs into round holes; this was not the fault of the pegs or the holes, and as such she was not to blame for such follies.
"...What do you dream about?" Persistent, She was pushing. That was against the rules, She should have known that, but for the moment she allowed Her the slip and merely released a soft laugh, carefully calculated to proceed her reply.
"Why, the usual things one dreams about, I should think." The faintest tinge of condescending bereavement in that utterance, a hint of "you should know better than to ask such ridiculous things". The waltz fell off-tempo when such intimacies were exchanged.
All fell down when trust came into the equation.
There was silence from Her side, for several heartbeats, and then She said, "Oh" in a quiet voice that was more a sigh than a word, and She closed Her eyes again. The relieved exhalation she was tempted to give was held carefully in check. For a moment there had been a shift in balance, and the Karmic scales had tipped oh-so-slightly in the wrong direction, and for the briefest of universal moments she had experienced the unthinkable.
Fear.
That soft, persistent rustle again, that quietly husking voice, now chained by near-sleep and something that might have been sadness:
"Do you... ever dream about me?"
Ludicrous, the very idea. To keep the image of Her so close, she would have to care, to care she would need to trust, and trust was weakness and death; not the cessation of life but the end of the Game, and that could not be allowed. There was no such desire in her to end the Game. It was not her place to decide. That belonged to the Game Master, who held all the puppet strings in His skillful fingers, and far be it from her to tangle His playthings. It would simply be unnatural.
Like drawing a magic sword from an unyielding bosom.
The smile traced her face; she reached up with her free hand to caress Her face tenderly, voice dropping into the low tones of ultimate falsehood.
"Of course I do." The words seemed to release something in Her, and She sighed softly and relaxed beneath her careful ministrations. For a moment she imagined she could feel the death of sleep stealing over Her.
"Every night."
~FIN~
NOTE: I blame Tori Amos. "Cornflake Girl" and "Never Seen Blue" in quick succession, both with Utena skins.
They lay together, head to head, in the heavy darkness, hands clasped against the oppressions of the Outside World, smiles glimmering on both faces; She closed her eyes, but hers remained open. There was a kind of sensuality, she had discovered, in watching a person sleep, and She was no different. The movement of Her abdomen with every breath, slowing gradually more and more as sleep crept upon Her. Sleep was so very much like death, a peaceful, quiet death, where you simply lay down and shut your eyes and let it come sweeping down across your being like a shadow-winged hawk, like the eagle that came to steal the liver of Prometheus. Their fingers wound tightly together, a lifeline in the black of night, she watched Her as She slept. Perfect lips slightly parted to allow the ebb and flow of air in Her lungs, like tide. The dark lashes fluttered briefly against pale skin bathed in moonlight, then stilled.
The adoring gaze they had exchanged minutes before seemed so false compared to this. Intimacy was trust and trust was allowing the other to see you, every tiny little cracked and skewed piece of you, each idiosyncrasy, without the veils of expression and everyday.
To put one's trust entirely into another. To her this seemed foolish. For everyone failed, eventually, and for you to trust a failure was like suicide. It dragged you down with them into the mire of loss and pain and what would be the point of that when it could be so easily avoided?
Near-luminous green shifted in the dim as the quiet rustle of cotton against silk touched her ears; she drew up her smile in preparation for Her, never ever ever present Her with anything less, this was the rule. But the eyes remained closed. Only the lips moved, spilling forth words that she immediately embraced even before she fully knew what was being said.
"Do you ever dream?"
The voice, soft, husky and not quite deep, shivered along her spine as it was meant to do, but the words brought with them an odd pang that made her hesitate, her smile wavering ever so slightly. It was this half-expression of blankness that was caught upon her face as She opened Her eyes, tilting Her head back slightly and letting Her hair spill in every direction, now watching her with that same innocent air She wore like a second skin.
Breath caught and held for only the briefest of instances, and then she was smiling once more, fully into Her childlike eyes.
"Do I... dream?" The words needed to be repeated, not just for clarity but to give her time to consider. Dream? What would be the point to that? Fabrications of the brain were all dreams were, a re-jumbling of the ordinary into something that seemed mystical to the young and foolish. That was something she was above, by now. It simply wasn't necessary to dream; therefore, she did not.
"Of course I dream." The words slithered easily off her tongue and through her lips and she felt nothing. This was normal. It actually rather surprised her that She had not caught on; it was really such a simple puzzle. Then again, the young and uninitiated had a nasty habit of trying to jam square pegs into round holes; this was not the fault of the pegs or the holes, and as such she was not to blame for such follies.
"...What do you dream about?" Persistent, She was pushing. That was against the rules, She should have known that, but for the moment she allowed Her the slip and merely released a soft laugh, carefully calculated to proceed her reply.
"Why, the usual things one dreams about, I should think." The faintest tinge of condescending bereavement in that utterance, a hint of "you should know better than to ask such ridiculous things". The waltz fell off-tempo when such intimacies were exchanged.
All fell down when trust came into the equation.
There was silence from Her side, for several heartbeats, and then She said, "Oh" in a quiet voice that was more a sigh than a word, and She closed Her eyes again. The relieved exhalation she was tempted to give was held carefully in check. For a moment there had been a shift in balance, and the Karmic scales had tipped oh-so-slightly in the wrong direction, and for the briefest of universal moments she had experienced the unthinkable.
Fear.
That soft, persistent rustle again, that quietly husking voice, now chained by near-sleep and something that might have been sadness:
"Do you... ever dream about me?"
Ludicrous, the very idea. To keep the image of Her so close, she would have to care, to care she would need to trust, and trust was weakness and death; not the cessation of life but the end of the Game, and that could not be allowed. There was no such desire in her to end the Game. It was not her place to decide. That belonged to the Game Master, who held all the puppet strings in His skillful fingers, and far be it from her to tangle His playthings. It would simply be unnatural.
Like drawing a magic sword from an unyielding bosom.
The smile traced her face; she reached up with her free hand to caress Her face tenderly, voice dropping into the low tones of ultimate falsehood.
"Of course I do." The words seemed to release something in Her, and She sighed softly and relaxed beneath her careful ministrations. For a moment she imagined she could feel the death of sleep stealing over Her.
"Every night."
~FIN~
NOTE: I blame Tori Amos. "Cornflake Girl" and "Never Seen Blue" in quick succession, both with Utena skins.