![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
akonken.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
writing_shadows(![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sl4irl did his take, and hopefully now castorlion will too. But this is mine.)
It was such a lovely evening, the summer heat fading as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Lorica - a modern Shakespeare, she thought suddenly, and wondered why she'd never considered him that before; it was such an apt description - would be able to say something about the colours, the breeze, the scent of the flowers. He was so good at these things; far better than her clumsy attempts. But with him she never felt inadequate. He filled her soul instead of taking from it, and for that she was ever grateful.
She should tell him she loved him, now that she knew.
Rose adjusted a tablecloth, smiling happily. It was so nice being able to work to make his party special. She felt honoured to contribute. She was excited and nervous. Everyone had worked so hard. Would someone start a fight? Would someone attack Lorica?
The thought barely had time to run through her head when he came through the door with Snaggle in his arms. Both were badly burned and Snaggle was bleeding heavily. Her heart stopped, she was sure of it.
Time stopped.
It started again.
Snaggle was pushed toward her, Lorica breathlessly asking for her help. She felt rooted to the spot, but reached a hand out, Spring flowing through her, strengthening her and using that strength to heal.
Snaggle smiled. What was he smiling for? How could he smile when Lorica was hurt? Rose reached out to the man she loved too, clutching at him desperately, but the Contract didn't work. His wounds were too grievous. He stood there stoically as he smouldered, his mouth a grim line. Rose wanted to scream at him, at Snaggle, at the world. Not again. Not again.
Not again.
Instead she gave them each an amaranthine, as if that would put an end to the whole matter - healing the event, not just the injury - and got a rag to mop up the blood. By the time everything was clean, Snaggle and Lorica were giving each other grim looks, as if they wanted to talk but couldn't with her there.
If that's what they wanted, she would go.
She would wait.
Next time she would be there. She would be there. If he was going to have to die, it would be with her by his side.
No more being left alone.
It wasn't until the next day that she realised she hadn't told him she loved him.
sl4irl did his take, and hopefully now castorlion will too. But this is mine.)It was such a lovely evening, the summer heat fading as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Lorica - a modern Shakespeare, she thought suddenly, and wondered why she'd never considered him that before; it was such an apt description - would be able to say something about the colours, the breeze, the scent of the flowers. He was so good at these things; far better than her clumsy attempts. But with him she never felt inadequate. He filled her soul instead of taking from it, and for that she was ever grateful.
She should tell him she loved him, now that she knew.
Rose adjusted a tablecloth, smiling happily. It was so nice being able to work to make his party special. She felt honoured to contribute. She was excited and nervous. Everyone had worked so hard. Would someone start a fight? Would someone attack Lorica?
The thought barely had time to run through her head when he came through the door with Snaggle in his arms. Both were badly burned and Snaggle was bleeding heavily. Her heart stopped, she was sure of it.
Time stopped.
It started again.
Snaggle was pushed toward her, Lorica breathlessly asking for her help. She felt rooted to the spot, but reached a hand out, Spring flowing through her, strengthening her and using that strength to heal.
Snaggle smiled. What was he smiling for? How could he smile when Lorica was hurt? Rose reached out to the man she loved too, clutching at him desperately, but the Contract didn't work. His wounds were too grievous. He stood there stoically as he smouldered, his mouth a grim line. Rose wanted to scream at him, at Snaggle, at the world. Not again. Not again.
Not again.
Instead she gave them each an amaranthine, as if that would put an end to the whole matter - healing the event, not just the injury - and got a rag to mop up the blood. By the time everything was clean, Snaggle and Lorica were giving each other grim looks, as if they wanted to talk but couldn't with her there.
If that's what they wanted, she would go.
She would wait.
Next time she would be there. She would be there. If he was going to have to die, it would be with her by his side.
No more being left alone.
It wasn't until the next day that she realised she hadn't told him she loved him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}