More changeling tat
Nov. 26th, 2007 02:18 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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writing_shadowsIt was the cold that Rosie objected to the most.
She wasn't used to it. Well, maybe she had been once before, but that was in another time and another life. She was presumably used to her soft pink skin then, as well, or her horribly jellied eyes which seemed to leak salty water at the drop of a hat. She probably hadn't minded that her hair was bedraggled and broken up into stupid little strands either, in that other time, before he had taken her.
Rosie still glowed a little inside when she thought of him. She wasn't meant to. Everyone was quite clear about that. It seemed as if every time Carim sat her down (and why were her limbs so floppy and bendy? She didn't feel quite safe when she walked. She was always afraid that those strange twisting knees would give way beneath her, and her hands trembled when she tried to hold something heavy) he explained to her that she shouldn't think of him that way. He had kidnapped her, and kept her in slavery.
Had it been slavery?
Had it been slavery to be beautiful? Had it been slavery to never have to feel cold, or hurt, or feel anything at all, really. Even when she had beaten Rosie's first beaten gold face to pieces with a great silver poker, it had not hurt very much. Had it been slavery to drift amidst the golden clouds, melded to the very prow of his ship, with his foot resting careless on her hair?
It had not felt like slavery. Of course, it had not felt like very much at all. Feelings and emotions had mostly faded away, over time. That was why Rosie had liked to feel him resting his boot against the back of his head when he perched in the prow of the ship. She had liked it when he sang, in a melodious voice, and she had liked to hear his voice, soft on the wind. He had talked to her, when he had talked to no one else, because she was silent (with lips of bronze, glued shut for silence) and could keep his secrets and desires.
Maybe it had been slavery. But this current freedom felt, to Rosie, a great deal more uncomfortable than slavery. She felt very fragile and very vulnerable and she disliked that whole heartedly. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that following Carim (and trying to find him when she had lost him in that damn Hedge) had not been one of her better ideas.
Rosie sighed, and poked at the weird bit on her knee that always made her lower leg bounce in an uncontrolled fashion again.
She was not happy.
She was even less happy right now. Carim and Cormac were off somewhere. Jack in the Smoke had headed out shortly after they had, murmuring something about not wanting to bother Carim with silly moral quandaries whilst he was away. The rest of the motley were all busy doing things, and Rosie was finding herself feeling more lonely than ever.
She sighed.
It was wrong to want him. She knew that. Carim had told her that many many times. Yet now, in this grey and cold world, it was very hard to understand why it was bad. And even if she kept all the words locked inside the faulty mouth that kept on falling open, the thoughts still kept chasing around her brain.
"I want to come home...
"I want to guide your ship again.
"I'm still yours..."
But the unsaid thoughts were lost in the constant colourless rain.
She wasn't used to it. Well, maybe she had been once before, but that was in another time and another life. She was presumably used to her soft pink skin then, as well, or her horribly jellied eyes which seemed to leak salty water at the drop of a hat. She probably hadn't minded that her hair was bedraggled and broken up into stupid little strands either, in that other time, before he had taken her.
Rosie still glowed a little inside when she thought of him. She wasn't meant to. Everyone was quite clear about that. It seemed as if every time Carim sat her down (and why were her limbs so floppy and bendy? She didn't feel quite safe when she walked. She was always afraid that those strange twisting knees would give way beneath her, and her hands trembled when she tried to hold something heavy) he explained to her that she shouldn't think of him that way. He had kidnapped her, and kept her in slavery.
Had it been slavery?
Had it been slavery to be beautiful? Had it been slavery to never have to feel cold, or hurt, or feel anything at all, really. Even when she had beaten Rosie's first beaten gold face to pieces with a great silver poker, it had not hurt very much. Had it been slavery to drift amidst the golden clouds, melded to the very prow of his ship, with his foot resting careless on her hair?
It had not felt like slavery. Of course, it had not felt like very much at all. Feelings and emotions had mostly faded away, over time. That was why Rosie had liked to feel him resting his boot against the back of his head when he perched in the prow of the ship. She had liked it when he sang, in a melodious voice, and she had liked to hear his voice, soft on the wind. He had talked to her, when he had talked to no one else, because she was silent (with lips of bronze, glued shut for silence) and could keep his secrets and desires.
Maybe it had been slavery. But this current freedom felt, to Rosie, a great deal more uncomfortable than slavery. She felt very fragile and very vulnerable and she disliked that whole heartedly. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that following Carim (and trying to find him when she had lost him in that damn Hedge) had not been one of her better ideas.
Rosie sighed, and poked at the weird bit on her knee that always made her lower leg bounce in an uncontrolled fashion again.
She was not happy.
She was even less happy right now. Carim and Cormac were off somewhere. Jack in the Smoke had headed out shortly after they had, murmuring something about not wanting to bother Carim with silly moral quandaries whilst he was away. The rest of the motley were all busy doing things, and Rosie was finding herself feeling more lonely than ever.
She sighed.
It was wrong to want him. She knew that. Carim had told her that many many times. Yet now, in this grey and cold world, it was very hard to understand why it was bad. And even if she kept all the words locked inside the faulty mouth that kept on falling open, the thoughts still kept chasing around her brain.
"I want to come home...
"I want to guide your ship again.
"I'm still yours..."
But the unsaid thoughts were lost in the constant colourless rain.
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Date: 2008-03-02 12:50 pm (UTC)