30Kisses Theme Ficlets
Robin/Raven
By Kysra
Theme #26 (if only I could make you mine): Obscure
She wakes with back arched, a gasp lodging in her throat, and the ghost of his grin fading behind her eyes.
The room is dark, the light of a single beeswax candle illuminating nothing save the curve of a withered cheek and the silver and gold strands of a bowed head.
"Azar?" Her voice is high and young, the heart in her chest fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird. Her breath is deep and uneven as the realization comes that she is only twelve or thirteen where only moments ago she had been a woman celebrating her wedding night.
There is a foul odor in the air tempered by the faint scent of honeysuckle before gentle hands find her own too-small ones, before the rustle and undulation of a soft body settling next to her on the wide hammock.
"What did you see, Little Bird?" The voice is deep and raspy with weariness, but it is beautiful to her ears. She has not heard this voice for many years. She has not seen these eyes or felt these hands for too long. Tears prickle and are born down her cheeks and across her lips. Her tongue tastes the salty moisture and revels in it.
"You died . . . and I left." It is a whisper in the seeming darkness, and she paints the scene in her head a brighter pallette. In a matter of days - in a matter of hours . . .
Her caretaker falters and sighs, raising callused hands to trace delicate features and brush away tears that should not be.
"And did you find what you seek?" Memory returns with the inquiry - the trial and the result. In the course of one night she has lived into her future, and only seconds after waking, she begins to forget . . .
Brows drawn and tears coming more frequent, she bends to rest her forehead against the High Priestess's shoulder. "I do not know. There was a boy . . . I think."
No, she thinks in an older, calmer voice, not a boy, a Man full of Wonder. Red and green and yellow - vibrant and aggressive against a backdrop of pure pitch - swirls and plays across her closed eyelids as she tries to remember and tastes kisses on her tongue.
"Did he give you hope, Raven? Does he protect you from yourself?"
She cannot answer as the knowledge comes that the memory of his eyes are gone, that she cannot recall names and places once familiar and held close to her heart. "He is gone, and so am I. It is of no consequence."
There is a cold space within her chest where they once were, and each breath erases one more experience of her dream life. "How long have I –"
"Four days."
One day for every year she was caught up in the beautiful dream of self-discovery, friendship, love, and triumph.
"I remember my father." She speaks low as not to invoke his active presence. In her mind, it has been one year since she was freed from his influence and imminent danger. "We defeated him."
Azar simply nods and pulls her small body closer, running bony fingers through the now-long violet hair. "You miss them. Not just the boy."
"He was my husband. They were my friends."
The old woman simply rocks and holds and hums soothingly as she bites down upon the inside flesh of one cheek to stem the flow of tears and coax away the sob pressing at her palate. They were mine.
"They were mine." And she clutches at the woman who has cared for her since birth as reality settles its weight upon her shoulders in the form of an obscure verb in past tense - were.