A/N: Still not mine. Still not making any money.
The prompt was "Yes is a pleasant country" and it was originally going to be a drabble, but… well, I realised about half way through that it would have broken my heart tokeep it down to 100 words, so I made it a ficlet. Thanks to Blue Yeti for making me break up my long sentences.
Frozen
Her face was pale, she was sure.
(Pale as death, pale as frozen flesh.)
"And…" she asked, forcing the words out through nerveless lips, "and… what about Timmy?"
Her words were but a breath, but a whisper in the vaulted entrance hall of Fowl Manor, swallowed up by the echos of generations past, staring down at her from the walls out of cold blue eyes.
(Cold, like the Arctic Ocean; blue, like the frozen blood of a drowned man; cold, blue, like the staring gaze of a blue eyed corpse.)
Butler tried to break it gently, eyes red with his own loss, but she already knew the answer, and she didn't want to hear it.
She clutched her ears, trying to stop the words from getting in, but they were already inside her mind. They hammered against her skull, trying to get out, trying to get in, like insects scratching in her brain; they were trying to make her believe it – and it wasn't true, it wasn't true, it couldn't be true!
(No, no, no,no,nonononononoNONONONO!)
"GET OUT!" she shrieked, beating at her ears. Hanks of hair tore from its elaborate coif as she thrashed at the air around her, trying to stop them from getting to her. The confused iron grip on her arms tightened as she struggled against it. "Go away! I can hear you, I can hear you, I can HEAR YOU!"
And then Timmy was there, he was there, in his fine suit and the blue silk tie she had bought him for their wedding day – and his blue eyes weren't cold, they were laughing – and his skin wasn't frozen pale, it was flushed with joy – and he didn't say no, he said I do, I do, I do…
(Yes!)
Angeline fell.
