[Requiem] 100 years

[frothy-bunny.livejournal.com]

 So Inspired by annwfyn and her alternate reality stuff I figured I'd post some of my old stuff, and when I finish it my what they would have been stuff so for now here is a requiem piece I did a month or so ago when I was still in a fic writing mood (Apologies in advance for using other PC's but I don't believe I abused them :P )

It was one hundred years to the day that Father Montoya had lain down to sleep. Lucy sat writing in a large leather bound volume about the week, what was new in the world, what was new in kindred society. She sketched a picture of a face, a face that none of the elders who lay around her would ever have known, or would never know now. She finished the entry and closed the book. She picked up the white cat that circled round her ankles. She checked her over, and smiled. she’d have the kittens any day now, and she’d give away all but 1, who in years to come would mother a whole new litter of kittens and the circle would continue. She began to take her hair down from the braids she kept it in when the covenant gathered and slipped the white ritual dress off her shoulders and slipped into jeans and a t-shirt there in the chamber where she kept them.

It had been about 10 years after Father Gabriel had gone to sleep, when Leviticus had needed to join him, and not long after that when she lost Evan to the same sleep. She hadn’t looked after them all at that point, but as their circles began to go to sleep, she began to look after more and more of them. El had joined them, as had Alan and Andrew and more recently Io too had come to her and she had let him sleep in the chamber, secured away deep in the temple. Each had little alcoves now where she spent her evenings when she wasn’t engulfed in ritual or humanity, painting and carving pictures to the gods and goddesses of each specific worship. She had become quite good at art over the century, and while some within kindred society still looked on her as a neonate very few realised how strong she had become. She had controlled her beast and her blood, never becoming too potent and always keeping herself grounded in humanity. It would have been easy to slip, to allow the beast to take charge or to become powerful. She had worked hard on becoming the paragon of the path she picked all that time ago and she had done well.

She walked into each of the alcoves and checked on her charges. Some of them would start to wake soon and she needed to make sure she was there. It was important, as was the keeping of the journals, her memories of them as they had been, the paths they had walked and the exploits they had carried out. She got to the final Alcove, and picked up a paintbrush. There was no one resting in here, not yet. She uncovered the paints and began to paint a pomegranate onto a tree in a scene which depicted her with the goddess Persephone in the spring time.