Disclaimer: Don't own any of the healing items/ summons/ jobs, those are Squaresofts. This is non-profit fun.
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"Come back at dead of night and speak to
me,
You are too much a stranger here-
Come as you used to be,
And have no fear,
My dear."
"Ah no, that may not be,
To come so near
Is not for you and me."
"O tell me but one thing, for I must know
Or perish of the uncertainty-
Whisper it to me here,
That you are happy so
And we shall meet again." "Ah no,
My very dear.
I may not answer you,
Nor if I answered could you hear."
-The Two Societies, by John Hall Wheelock
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Slow with sleep, his eyes opened, the blurred
haze gradually dissipating into clarity. He watched the figure
sleeping next to him; a slight smile graced his lips. The glow of
the morning sun drifting into the room from the lazily closed
blinds where particles of dust danced in the light as it
illuminated her porcelain face. In perfect modesty she had drawn
the white sheets about her bosom, though her graceful arms rested
outside of that barrier. The peaceful sound of her breathing
lulled him into tranquil state, warm thoughts working into his
mind dispelling the unpleasant feelings brought up by obscure
nightmares.
Her long golden waves bundled like a mane about her face, shining
with the light from the sun. He noticed a few wispy strains had
fallen into her face, carefully he reached out and pulled them
away. She obviously was very tired, and he did not want to
disturb the serenity having her like this created. Yet his hand,
with a mind of it's own, did not pull away from her, but
instead ran lightly over the soft tresses to her bare shoulder.
There he gingerly traced along the warm skin with his finger
tips.
She took in a deep breath, languidly her eyes opened meeting his
own, and slowly her face transformed with a warm smile.
"Morning" The smile widened with the lovingly
caressed whisper.
"Morning" he said huskily with a smile of his
own, he let his hand rest on her shoulder only stroking her skin
affectionately with his thumb.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked softly, she was simply
stunning to him.
His eyes closed briefly as he shook his head. The smile changed
into a boyish smirk when his eyes reopened, "But I woke up
well."
She let out a light, airy giggle, her teeth flashing in a
delightful smile that made his heart dance. His hand trailed up
to cup her cheek, gently silencing her without meaning too. She
bent her head into his palm, rubbing her cheek against his
callused fingers, simply loving his touch. Her beautiful emerald
eyes rolled up to his tender gaze, twinkling and smiling like
warm sunshine.
"This was how it was supposed to be, huh?"
Her sweetly asked question caught him off guard. A bitter taste
entered his mouth, he swallowed hard to wash it away, but it
didn't leave.
"Yeahit was." The pained words fell slowly from
his mouth.
She only smiled more, radiantly glowing in beauty from the
morning sun, "Oh Ashen" she said in a scolding
yet comforting tone, looking into him with those eyes. Shifting
closer to him, she laid her head on his bare chest, wrapping her
arms around his firm waist. He likewise embraced her, one hand
caressing the soft skin of her back while the other intertwined
in her hair. He breathed in her scent deeply, closing his eyes at
the warmth of her body against his.
Opening his heavy lids once more he noticed that the surroundings
had changed and the only thing on his chest was his own hand.
This was reality, his harsh cruel reality. And Aleura would not
be here to make it all better; he was alone.
~***~
Ashen awoke again, this time from intangible dark images. His red
eyes trailed the odd room that lacked any familiarity, wondering
among many things how he could allow himself to fall to sleep in
such a uncertain place.
The walls were made of dark colored stone, oddly shaped painted
characters covered both the walls and ceiling. It was dimly lit
with flickering light, a fire and a few lamps he deduced. All the
bits of sparse furniture were home made with wood and bits of
scrap metal, with feathers, burlap, or animal pelts for
decoration. Even he was resting on a feather stuffed bed with a
burlap sack for a pillow and a deer skin blanket. A pungent aroma
filled his nostrils; incense, not like the monastery's sweet
jasmine incense, but a harsh odor. And smoke, like that of a
cigarette but heavier because it lingered nearer to him.
Ashen attempted to sit up and succeeded, though he was sore and
stiff. Glancing down he noted he was still in his clothes though
they were even more tattered, dirty, and blood stained then he
last remembered them being. His leather jacket in the same shape,
hung on the wood and metal bedpost.
"Ah! You've finally decided to wake up, have you?"
Ashen's eyes shot to the left, where the aged nasally voice
came from.
There beside the bed, on a floating ball of scrap metal that
sparked a little at each looping tube connected to it, threading
strings of smoke by use of a nargile attached to the ball was a
little old man. He was half Ashen's size and clothed in a
balled and threadbare hooded robe. His long stringy white and
gray hair was twice the length of the similar colored beard and
mustache occupying the area below his nose, around his chin, and
down. His pale wrinkled face was obscured by the beady black
goggles that covered his eyes and rested on his big nose.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," the sarcastic
tone was muffled by the agizlik in his mouth.
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AN: Hiya all! *waves * Well another week
another chapter. Okay I actually have things to say this week.
First the poem is an interesting story; it was a serendipitous
moment I tell you (you as in you who are reading this, not you as
in an individualwow I sound crazy).
I was in the library of my college, ditching my class, when the instructor comes walking down the stairs. Call it a jerk reaction, but I ducked into forest of bookshelves to hide from her would be questioning gaze. I finally stop when I found how deep into this literary forest I was. With nothing better to do I skim the book covers, it seems I was in the poetry section. I figure, hey, I could use another poem for Ghost.' So I pick up some random book of poems and the first page I open it to had the poem stated above. It really fit so perfectly, so I had to put it in.
Second thing I have to talk on, VOCAB! Okay for those who don't know a Nargile is a hookah, if you've seen Alice in Wonderland (the animated Disney movie) then it's what Mr. Catapillar is smoking from. It's like a big water pipe with a tube and mouthpiece that you smoke dark Iranian tobacco from (if you're a good respectful person). Each piece of a hookah has a different name and the Agizlik is the mouthpiece. Ehehe, I had to do research for this online, has this WHOLE rules thing to just smoking from a hookah. So I tried to follow the rules as best I could to make it look like the character knows what he's doing, but also not to offend professional smokers who use a hookah often. Please forgive me, I know he has the sacred nargile above ground, don't kill me?
Anywho, that's all thanks for
reading this week's chapter, don't forget to review!
See you next week I hope.
