Title: Sonata in my Hands
Series: Dark Star Chronicles
Author: Andia
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama/Angst
Characters: Andia
Disclaimer: They're not mine, sniffle
*sniffsniff* The *Hoshimi* isn't mine either (thankfully).
Warnings: Some f/f content, brief mentions of drug use (not Andi-chan),
and um...That's it.
Summary: A wish of one willing to sacrifice everything.
Sonata in my Hands
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I was little I would spend hours playing with my sister's hair.
It was long and smooth as rain clouds against the skin of my
hands. It was one of the prettiest things I had ever seen. I would
comb it out and braid it, or put it up in buns. Sometimes I just ran
my fingers through it so I could feel the silver strands sliding
through them.
Casimalia liked it when I touched her. Our parents were not people given
to open displays of affection and we both felt the lack. So we turned
to each other for the sort of family love that we had trouble
finding. We were very close because of that, she and I. Where one of
us was the other was sure to be nearby.
We often fell asleep together, cuddled close to keep each other safe
from the sad ghosts that were all that was left of the lonely people.
We played hopscotch games in a world bleached pale and strange by
the sun. She would make me hot chocolate the way they make it in
Mexico, so rich and thick it might well stand up without the aid of
the mug. I made her messy riceballs for her lunches. She helped me
with my homework. Our lives were twined together.
I miss that. It hurts to see my sister bound the way she is. I know
that this is not good for her, and I know that she knows that. I
know that she wishes for freedom above all else. The difference
between us is that I'm willing to do something about it.
Casimlia is bound by what she considers to be her duty. She believes
that she cannot abandon it or she will cease to be herself. I know
better. There is no duty, save that which you freely and consciously
choose. How then can my sister possibly be bound? How can she
have a duty? She has never been allowed to make her own choices,
or follow her own wishes.
I will set my sister free, no matter what I have to do, or who I have
to help. Even if it means bringing the end of the world. Even if it
means binding myself to Kahima. Casimalia's freedom is worth it.
These people I support and care for are dangerous to me. Especially
the Hoshimi, he is too unpredictable to be trusted. I fully expect that
he will be the death of me. But he won't kill me yet. At the moment
I am still far too useful to him for him to get rid of me.
What I am doing is dangerous, I know that. I choose this freely,
unlike my sister. I do this for her, even if she doesn't understand.
There is a sort of beauty in that, is there not?
I have always loved beauty, in whatever form I can find it. There are
so very many kinds and shapes of beauty you could no more find
them all then you could find all of the stars. And yet I try.
There is the beauty of sunrises watched on cold mornings all wrapped
in blankets till only your nose can be seen. There is the beauty of
your sister's hair spread across your palms. There is the hard, fierce
beauty of nightclubs where names mean nothing and all that is asked
is a dance. There is the slow, sweet beauty of flesh sliding against
flesh in dusky silence. There is the beauty of fire blossoming
against the neon night. There is the beauty of the strength needed to
stay at the side of a loved one dying in pain, as well. And of course
there is the beauty of loving someone so much that you are willing
to do what is right for them, no matter how much it much it hurts
you both.
I often wish to find someone who will see beauty in me. That is not
my Wish, but it is a wish of mine. My dreams are often full of the
fulfillment of that wish, of gentle hands in my hair and a soft mouth
on my neck, sweet, sincere whispers tickling the outer shell of my
ear. *loveyou, you're so very beautiful, stay with me, i'll stay with
you* In the dream I cannot tell whether it is a man or a woman who
speaks, but it doesn't matter. It never has.
I have the misfortune of being drawn to anyone who will give me love,
or even the semblance of love. I crave affection, love, touch, as
surely as a heroin addict craves the next hit. It doesn't matter who's
offering it to me. I don't care if they're male or female, young or
old, all that matters is that they offer me love.
There was a girl once, with wild dark brown hair and eyes that always
seemed to hide a piece of her. I used to see her in clubs, whirling
and writhing under the dim blue lights, losing herself completely in
the music. And perhaps drugs too, I think now, looking back on it.
But I didn't know that then, and never mind it anyway it doesn't
matter, what matters is that she was so beautiful it hurt.
She danced with me once, her hair tossing as she moved with and
against me. Her eyes were fever bright and far away, as if she was
looking at something I couldn't see. Her hands moved like captured
doves, restless, desperate, trapped. She was looking for a way out of
her delirium, looking for someone to lift her up that ladder she
couldn't seem to climb. She was lost in her own darkness.
And of course all that only made her beautiful. There's something
deeply compelling about that kind of desperation and pain.
Something that steps beyond the ugly tawdriness that's usually
associated with the underside of the city's world.
When she kissed me a wall deep inside me broke and the shreds of
thought that said that I shouldn't do this, that we were too much
alike, she and I, all went spinning off somewhere far away where they
couldn't bother me. So I kissed back, letting her cling to my
shoulders and mold into me. Just two flames, that's all we were, and
she was hotter then I, burning ice hot against my skin. It seemed as
if she was trying to melt into my flesh, become a part of me so she
didn't have to be a part of her anymore.
We clung to each other like that for the longest time, drunk on
pleasure and the rush of the dance. I don't know how long that
lasted, time meant nothing while we stood there. But at last she
pulled away and smiled, sadness and a faint trace of love
glimmering in those depthless eyes.
"Best stay away from me," She said, "I am a dangerous angel." She
rose up on the tips of her toes and brushed her lips across my brow.
And then she was gone, disappeared into the crowd as if she had
never been standing within my arms.
Dangerous angel, she said, I am a dangerous angel. I didn't care. I
wanted to see more of that glimmer in her eyes. Besides, I am a
dangerous angel as well. I am no different from her really, except
that I have a purpose to keep guiding me out of the darkness. I have
to free my sister.
Casimalia loves me enough to do anything for me. She would die to save
me, or live to keep my heart alive, or even, if she had to make the
choice, kill another to preserve my life. I return that love, and
because of it I am able to do whatever I have to. Even if,
ultimately, I have to kill my sister, or bring about her death to set
her free I will be able to do it, because I love her.
Do not misunderstand me, I do not relish the thought of killing
Casimalia. Quite the opposite in fact. The very idea that I might be the
reason for those beloved eyes going dark and empty makes me feel
cold and hollowed out. I *hate* that things might come to that. But
if I had to choose between a world where Casimalia was alive and
chained to her visions, and a world where she was dead, but free, I
would choose the second.
You see, death would only end my sister's life, not destroy who she
is. If this sort of endless seeing continues then she will no longer
be the person who is my sister, she will be someone else, a battered
and empty someone else. I could not bear to watch that happen. I
love her too much to be able to let her be destroyed that way.
This then is my wish, that you, Casimalia, might be free. Please forgive
me for what I do, my sister. I love you.
Series: Dark Star Chronicles
Author: Andia
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama/Angst
Characters: Andia
Disclaimer: They're not mine, sniffle
*sniffsniff* The *Hoshimi* isn't mine either (thankfully).
Warnings: Some f/f content, brief mentions of drug use (not Andi-chan),
and um...That's it.
Summary: A wish of one willing to sacrifice everything.
Sonata in my Hands
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I was little I would spend hours playing with my sister's hair.
It was long and smooth as rain clouds against the skin of my
hands. It was one of the prettiest things I had ever seen. I would
comb it out and braid it, or put it up in buns. Sometimes I just ran
my fingers through it so I could feel the silver strands sliding
through them.
Casimalia liked it when I touched her. Our parents were not people given
to open displays of affection and we both felt the lack. So we turned
to each other for the sort of family love that we had trouble
finding. We were very close because of that, she and I. Where one of
us was the other was sure to be nearby.
We often fell asleep together, cuddled close to keep each other safe
from the sad ghosts that were all that was left of the lonely people.
We played hopscotch games in a world bleached pale and strange by
the sun. She would make me hot chocolate the way they make it in
Mexico, so rich and thick it might well stand up without the aid of
the mug. I made her messy riceballs for her lunches. She helped me
with my homework. Our lives were twined together.
I miss that. It hurts to see my sister bound the way she is. I know
that this is not good for her, and I know that she knows that. I
know that she wishes for freedom above all else. The difference
between us is that I'm willing to do something about it.
Casimlia is bound by what she considers to be her duty. She believes
that she cannot abandon it or she will cease to be herself. I know
better. There is no duty, save that which you freely and consciously
choose. How then can my sister possibly be bound? How can she
have a duty? She has never been allowed to make her own choices,
or follow her own wishes.
I will set my sister free, no matter what I have to do, or who I have
to help. Even if it means bringing the end of the world. Even if it
means binding myself to Kahima. Casimalia's freedom is worth it.
These people I support and care for are dangerous to me. Especially
the Hoshimi, he is too unpredictable to be trusted. I fully expect that
he will be the death of me. But he won't kill me yet. At the moment
I am still far too useful to him for him to get rid of me.
What I am doing is dangerous, I know that. I choose this freely,
unlike my sister. I do this for her, even if she doesn't understand.
There is a sort of beauty in that, is there not?
I have always loved beauty, in whatever form I can find it. There are
so very many kinds and shapes of beauty you could no more find
them all then you could find all of the stars. And yet I try.
There is the beauty of sunrises watched on cold mornings all wrapped
in blankets till only your nose can be seen. There is the beauty of
your sister's hair spread across your palms. There is the hard, fierce
beauty of nightclubs where names mean nothing and all that is asked
is a dance. There is the slow, sweet beauty of flesh sliding against
flesh in dusky silence. There is the beauty of fire blossoming
against the neon night. There is the beauty of the strength needed to
stay at the side of a loved one dying in pain, as well. And of course
there is the beauty of loving someone so much that you are willing
to do what is right for them, no matter how much it much it hurts
you both.
I often wish to find someone who will see beauty in me. That is not
my Wish, but it is a wish of mine. My dreams are often full of the
fulfillment of that wish, of gentle hands in my hair and a soft mouth
on my neck, sweet, sincere whispers tickling the outer shell of my
ear. *loveyou, you're so very beautiful, stay with me, i'll stay with
you* In the dream I cannot tell whether it is a man or a woman who
speaks, but it doesn't matter. It never has.
I have the misfortune of being drawn to anyone who will give me love,
or even the semblance of love. I crave affection, love, touch, as
surely as a heroin addict craves the next hit. It doesn't matter who's
offering it to me. I don't care if they're male or female, young or
old, all that matters is that they offer me love.
There was a girl once, with wild dark brown hair and eyes that always
seemed to hide a piece of her. I used to see her in clubs, whirling
and writhing under the dim blue lights, losing herself completely in
the music. And perhaps drugs too, I think now, looking back on it.
But I didn't know that then, and never mind it anyway it doesn't
matter, what matters is that she was so beautiful it hurt.
She danced with me once, her hair tossing as she moved with and
against me. Her eyes were fever bright and far away, as if she was
looking at something I couldn't see. Her hands moved like captured
doves, restless, desperate, trapped. She was looking for a way out of
her delirium, looking for someone to lift her up that ladder she
couldn't seem to climb. She was lost in her own darkness.
And of course all that only made her beautiful. There's something
deeply compelling about that kind of desperation and pain.
Something that steps beyond the ugly tawdriness that's usually
associated with the underside of the city's world.
When she kissed me a wall deep inside me broke and the shreds of
thought that said that I shouldn't do this, that we were too much
alike, she and I, all went spinning off somewhere far away where they
couldn't bother me. So I kissed back, letting her cling to my
shoulders and mold into me. Just two flames, that's all we were, and
she was hotter then I, burning ice hot against my skin. It seemed as
if she was trying to melt into my flesh, become a part of me so she
didn't have to be a part of her anymore.
We clung to each other like that for the longest time, drunk on
pleasure and the rush of the dance. I don't know how long that
lasted, time meant nothing while we stood there. But at last she
pulled away and smiled, sadness and a faint trace of love
glimmering in those depthless eyes.
"Best stay away from me," She said, "I am a dangerous angel." She
rose up on the tips of her toes and brushed her lips across my brow.
And then she was gone, disappeared into the crowd as if she had
never been standing within my arms.
Dangerous angel, she said, I am a dangerous angel. I didn't care. I
wanted to see more of that glimmer in her eyes. Besides, I am a
dangerous angel as well. I am no different from her really, except
that I have a purpose to keep guiding me out of the darkness. I have
to free my sister.
Casimalia loves me enough to do anything for me. She would die to save
me, or live to keep my heart alive, or even, if she had to make the
choice, kill another to preserve my life. I return that love, and
because of it I am able to do whatever I have to. Even if,
ultimately, I have to kill my sister, or bring about her death to set
her free I will be able to do it, because I love her.
Do not misunderstand me, I do not relish the thought of killing
Casimalia. Quite the opposite in fact. The very idea that I might be the
reason for those beloved eyes going dark and empty makes me feel
cold and hollowed out. I *hate* that things might come to that. But
if I had to choose between a world where Casimalia was alive and
chained to her visions, and a world where she was dead, but free, I
would choose the second.
You see, death would only end my sister's life, not destroy who she
is. If this sort of endless seeing continues then she will no longer
be the person who is my sister, she will be someone else, a battered
and empty someone else. I could not bear to watch that happen. I
love her too much to be able to let her be destroyed that way.
This then is my wish, that you, Casimalia, might be free. Please forgive
me for what I do, my sister. I love you.