Title: Blood and Chocolate
Author: Drusilla (webmistress@blackroses.com.kg)
Site: Sweet Hereafter (http://cityofhellville.com/sweet)
Disclaimer: Dawn is not mine. Wish she was. [tear]
Author's note: So I'm crazy. Sue me.
BLOOD AND CHOCOLATE
//
She had killed her, the other day. Killed the girl with the wild blue eyes and the sweep of chocolate hair that maddened her so. Her image had made her quake, and tremble, and scream with the innocence and beauty of the girl's delicate features, carved in such a way-- such a perfect sort of way that her face gleamed, always, in brilliance.
She remembered the girl's angered screams, the beauty of the infinite betrayal. And she had smiled when her last breath was lost in tears, and when the sun crept slowly across the horizon, and she sat there, her face empty of all the passion that had held her, the girl's spirit drifting away into ether from whence it came as the yellow of the girl's namesake grew larger and larger until the sky became intoxicated with its color.
She could recall the calmness in her, the silence that had wrapped itself about her aura and entangled itself with the very vine from which grew the bud of hatred in her heart. The vine which had held her prisoner for those years until now, forever twisting with its possessive greed of blood and blood, until, finally, it was the silence that had cut it. Sliced it and hacked at it, until there was no more.
And there was nothing else either. Her hair fell, still silent, across her face and a cautious pale hand moved to brush it away. Chocolate hair, as they called it, and her eyes held no sparkle of old days, none of the blue-eyed radiance she used to show. She turned and it was not a turn of emotional quality, and her movements held nothing of her old passion. The wind swept against her features and it was a dead face that was revealed, even as she tread back up the steps in the fluidity of her state.
There was no murder done there that day. And she never realized the magnificent truth of what had been done, or that it was her own spirit that had, after all, been killed.
//end.
Author: Drusilla (webmistress@blackroses.com.kg)
Site: Sweet Hereafter (http://cityofhellville.com/sweet)
Disclaimer: Dawn is not mine. Wish she was. [tear]
Author's note: So I'm crazy. Sue me.
BLOOD AND CHOCOLATE
//
She had killed her, the other day. Killed the girl with the wild blue eyes and the sweep of chocolate hair that maddened her so. Her image had made her quake, and tremble, and scream with the innocence and beauty of the girl's delicate features, carved in such a way-- such a perfect sort of way that her face gleamed, always, in brilliance.
She remembered the girl's angered screams, the beauty of the infinite betrayal. And she had smiled when her last breath was lost in tears, and when the sun crept slowly across the horizon, and she sat there, her face empty of all the passion that had held her, the girl's spirit drifting away into ether from whence it came as the yellow of the girl's namesake grew larger and larger until the sky became intoxicated with its color.
She could recall the calmness in her, the silence that had wrapped itself about her aura and entangled itself with the very vine from which grew the bud of hatred in her heart. The vine which had held her prisoner for those years until now, forever twisting with its possessive greed of blood and blood, until, finally, it was the silence that had cut it. Sliced it and hacked at it, until there was no more.
And there was nothing else either. Her hair fell, still silent, across her face and a cautious pale hand moved to brush it away. Chocolate hair, as they called it, and her eyes held no sparkle of old days, none of the blue-eyed radiance she used to show. She turned and it was not a turn of emotional quality, and her movements held nothing of her old passion. The wind swept against her features and it was a dead face that was revealed, even as she tread back up the steps in the fluidity of her state.
There was no murder done there that day. And she never realized the magnificent truth of what had been done, or that it was her own spirit that had, after all, been killed.
//end.