"I have a right to my anger, and I don't want anybody telling me I shouldn't be, that it's not nice to be, and that something's wrong with me because I get angry."
- Maxine Waters, in Brian Lanker, I Dream a World, 1989
The last reverberations faded into the heavy silence that settled over the room, punctuated only by the man's labored breaths against lingering wisps of falling paper and memories.
She held his hand and led him through a veil of lush fragrance of broad, verdant leaves and delicate blossoms, down to the gentle curves of terraced steps which subsided into black sand and black water. The lake was an inky mirror of the sky overhead, with stars and moon glittering silver on a vast shadow canvas. An imperfect, dim reflection of the dark shore and the forested caldera lurked in the watery movement of ripples and waves.
He bent down to trace his fingertips across the surface. He listened to the dark waters quietly lapping at the ebony shore. And drank in the subtle ripples of water, watching the evening light dance upon the dark waters.
The slender outlines of a sylph vaguely materialized on the shore a few yards away, bowing with coy solemnity to the couple before darting with airy footsteps across the surface of the water. Beneath the touch of the sylph?s intangible toes, feathery patterns of ice formed on the lake. The sound of ducks mumbling sleepily carried across the quiet water from an islet near the center of the lake.
"You'll probably see more like that for a while. I think the elementals here are amused to have me home. Even if I'm older than they remember."
The moonlight bathed her pale features with a soft glow that captured his breath. "They are right to be glad of your homecoming."
Beads of sweat stung his eyes and dripped off the tip of his nose and bearded chin as he stood in the middle of the darkened room, bent over, hands pressed to his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Knuckles were a raw and an angry red.
"C'mon, I'll make you some coffee. And you can tell me what brings you here today, across ice and snow."
So they sat in the kitchen, warmed by the fire burning in the hearth, speaking of fears and voices and madness and marriage. Lithe fingers held his hand and a narrow fingertip traced over the small scar that was nestled in the palm of his hand.
Tightening grip on his knees opened the wound in his hand, and blood tickled down over his ring finger and dripped onto his boot...then again....then again.
"Chry moved in there after Alysia left. Got her permission, of course. Something about being closer to town than the island and stuff..."
His head was still reeling at the revelation from Kitty when the vehicle pulled up to the house. The pad of his thumb brushed over the palm of his hand as he stepped out of the vehicle after everyone else, turning cool blue gaze over the landscape and building that stood before them. He found himself listening for the familiar sounds and searching for familiar sights of the shadow guards that patrolled the grounds. But he found none.
He had followed the others down to the dungeons, grazing his fingertips over the stonework. But even the very walls that were once so familiar were terribly foreign now, slicked with a film that left a bitter taste in his throat. Nevertheless, he held onto some small hope that a measure of her home would have remained...until Kitty opened the cell door.
Outrage consumed him, simmering into a near murderous rage as he looked at It's insidious invasion of her home, even as It tried to twist itself in Fio's mind. It was all he could bear and he'd marched through the gore that covered the ground and left his boots on the slickly caked steps before stepping onto the foyer where Tass remained with Chryrie.
"You can burn them or send them to hell with ...it...for all I care. I don't need to have these grounds contaminated and desecrated any further than they are." He had told them before leaving the manor out onto grounds that no longer held any sense of home.
The man stood up and ran his hands over his face...all around him, shattered glass and debris and strewn papers littered the overturned room caught in chaos.
He'd try to avoid speaking of the situation. But Chryrie would not relent. His tight reign on still keenly raw rage wavered. "He....it....It didn't belong there," he'd voiced his confession, then immediately dismissed it with a shake of his head. "It doesn't matter. It is your home now. I shouldn't even be giving a damn."
"It doesn't matter, Chryrie." he reiterated, perhaps to convince her...perhaps to convince himself. "It is your home, not hers. I'm the fool for holding onto that which is in the past."
"Her home is... beyond us now. I'm not any happier about her ascension than you are, but it was her choice. And I have some comfort knowing she's not... really gone."
The words of the moredhel fae ripped the breath out of his lungs the very moment she spoke them. Their merciless echo fueled the indignant rage that smoldered, demanding violent release upon a loud cry.
But there was no anguished cry, no loud release of rage, no violent outburst.
Lucien just sank to his knees and dropped his head into his hands.
- Maxine Waters, in Brian Lanker, I Dream a World, 1989
The last reverberations faded into the heavy silence that settled over the room, punctuated only by the man's labored breaths against lingering wisps of falling paper and memories.
She held his hand and led him through a veil of lush fragrance of broad, verdant leaves and delicate blossoms, down to the gentle curves of terraced steps which subsided into black sand and black water. The lake was an inky mirror of the sky overhead, with stars and moon glittering silver on a vast shadow canvas. An imperfect, dim reflection of the dark shore and the forested caldera lurked in the watery movement of ripples and waves.
He bent down to trace his fingertips across the surface. He listened to the dark waters quietly lapping at the ebony shore. And drank in the subtle ripples of water, watching the evening light dance upon the dark waters.
The slender outlines of a sylph vaguely materialized on the shore a few yards away, bowing with coy solemnity to the couple before darting with airy footsteps across the surface of the water. Beneath the touch of the sylph?s intangible toes, feathery patterns of ice formed on the lake. The sound of ducks mumbling sleepily carried across the quiet water from an islet near the center of the lake.
"You'll probably see more like that for a while. I think the elementals here are amused to have me home. Even if I'm older than they remember."
The moonlight bathed her pale features with a soft glow that captured his breath. "They are right to be glad of your homecoming."
Beads of sweat stung his eyes and dripped off the tip of his nose and bearded chin as he stood in the middle of the darkened room, bent over, hands pressed to his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Knuckles were a raw and an angry red.
"C'mon, I'll make you some coffee. And you can tell me what brings you here today, across ice and snow."
So they sat in the kitchen, warmed by the fire burning in the hearth, speaking of fears and voices and madness and marriage. Lithe fingers held his hand and a narrow fingertip traced over the small scar that was nestled in the palm of his hand.
Tightening grip on his knees opened the wound in his hand, and blood tickled down over his ring finger and dripped onto his boot...then again....then again.
"Chry moved in there after Alysia left. Got her permission, of course. Something about being closer to town than the island and stuff..."
His head was still reeling at the revelation from Kitty when the vehicle pulled up to the house. The pad of his thumb brushed over the palm of his hand as he stepped out of the vehicle after everyone else, turning cool blue gaze over the landscape and building that stood before them. He found himself listening for the familiar sounds and searching for familiar sights of the shadow guards that patrolled the grounds. But he found none.
He had followed the others down to the dungeons, grazing his fingertips over the stonework. But even the very walls that were once so familiar were terribly foreign now, slicked with a film that left a bitter taste in his throat. Nevertheless, he held onto some small hope that a measure of her home would have remained...until Kitty opened the cell door.
Outrage consumed him, simmering into a near murderous rage as he looked at It's insidious invasion of her home, even as It tried to twist itself in Fio's mind. It was all he could bear and he'd marched through the gore that covered the ground and left his boots on the slickly caked steps before stepping onto the foyer where Tass remained with Chryrie.
"You can burn them or send them to hell with ...it...for all I care. I don't need to have these grounds contaminated and desecrated any further than they are." He had told them before leaving the manor out onto grounds that no longer held any sense of home.
The man stood up and ran his hands over his face...all around him, shattered glass and debris and strewn papers littered the overturned room caught in chaos.
He'd try to avoid speaking of the situation. But Chryrie would not relent. His tight reign on still keenly raw rage wavered. "He....it....It didn't belong there," he'd voiced his confession, then immediately dismissed it with a shake of his head. "It doesn't matter. It is your home now. I shouldn't even be giving a damn."
"It doesn't matter, Chryrie." he reiterated, perhaps to convince her...perhaps to convince himself. "It is your home, not hers. I'm the fool for holding onto that which is in the past."
"Her home is... beyond us now. I'm not any happier about her ascension than you are, but it was her choice. And I have some comfort knowing she's not... really gone."
The words of the moredhel fae ripped the breath out of his lungs the very moment she spoke them. Their merciless echo fueled the indignant rage that smoldered, demanding violent release upon a loud cry.
But there was no anguished cry, no loud release of rage, no violent outburst.
Lucien just sank to his knees and dropped his head into his hands.