Author: Kerowyn
Title: The Color of Fine Cognac
Author's Notes: First of all, thanks go out to blackgrl71 for the prompt which this drabble sprang from. Amazing thanks also go out to kvetchnik , who is solely responsible for the last paragraph coming into being. Without your awesome lone ranger-ness I would never have figured out the direction for paragraph five.
Author Note #2: As with most of my drabbles, if you find anything like weird syntax or horrible typos, please let me know so that I can fix it. Otherwise, it just gets embarrassing. And as usual, constructive feedback is always always appreciated.
Disclaimer: Devil Wears Prada belongs to their respective owners. This is not for profit so please don't sue.
Summary: Mirandy. Its a story about history and soul mates and finally finding the one person in the universe who completes you.
The Color of Fine Cognac
The first time, it happened on a day of chaos. The Carnivale bled across the streets in gleaming sequins and you posed as a dancing minstrel so that you may escape your father's confines. She was beautiful, with hair like fine ebony and skin softer than gossamer. You met amidst falling streamers loosed by jesters, and as you looked into eyes the color of dark cognac, you realized, inexplicably, that all was lost.
The second time, you were a dashing samurai with an unnaturally good eye for horses. She was a beautiful serving girl with gossamer skin and ebony hair like silk. You met in autumn, amidst falling blossoms blown free from the cherry trees, but could not marry in Spring as you'd planned. You were sent off to war for your nation, and never made it back.
The third time, you were married to the Captain of the USS Mariner. You'd said "yes" to his proposal having given up on finding her this time round. It made spotting her across the dance floor at the gubernatorial ball that much harder. Her ebony hair was pinned up, and her skin shone like gossamer under the ballroom lights. Your eyes met between the fall of celebratory balloons, and you lost yourself in eyes the color of dark cognac. She was gone again in the next breath. You did not pursue her.
The fourth time, you vowed to wait for her no matter the span. Unlike last time, you did not marry. Instead, you went to college, became the first female lawyer in your county, and eventually strong-armed your way to a judgeship. Yet with all your successes, you never found the one thing you'd been waiting for.
The fifth time, you almost didn't recognize her. She was frumpy and ill-kempt-- nothing like the glorious creature she might have been. Had you known better, you might have been miffed that, having been so late as to be absent the last time around, she couldn't have taken the effort to look a little better today.
It isn't until you are falling apart under the pressure of the divorce, your children and your very own grief, that you feel skin softer than gossamer surround you. For countless hours-seconds-minutes, her arms are the only things holding you together; And when you finally look up, you are only vaguely surprised to find eyes exactly the dark of aged cognac looking back at you. Burying your face in the fall of Andrea's fine, ebony hair, you realize you've finally found home.