Promptfic (Week 2: Secret Love) - Strands
Jul. 15th, 2008 10:45 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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robin_ravenSorry so late! Work and life exploded all of a sudden! Hopefully, I'll be caught up by this weekend ^_^
Title: Strands
Rating: G
Series: Animated Series
Prompt: Theme: Secret Love from this week
Summary: Here, she is no warrior. There, she stands silent, still as he watches her.
Strands
By Kysra
He is silent, still, and calm. Watching.
Here is the moon above – sharp and carving into the night a bright white crescent; there, the distant pinprick lights of Jump sprinkling the horizon with life and shadow; and together these frame her outline – dark against dark, a sentinel of flowing drapery and strands of shining hair.
She is silent, still, and calm. Watching.
Here is the peeking pale of her hands resting loosely near the equal paleness of her bare thighs – the skin contracts and puckers in the chill but no move is made to warm or smooth; there, the liquid edge of pitch lashes dusting an ashen cheek; and together these come together with the rest of her – all flying violet hair, relaxed shoulders beneath billowed cloak, and strong legs – to paint a picture of the staid guardian at her post.
He smiles softly when he thinks that another would assume just that: that her pose and meaning is that of a warrior, prepared and ready to defend her chosen charges. She seems an example of the role, fits the mold and description; but her eyes are closed to the world and all its threats, big and small, simple and complicated. The tension that she bears in the usual carnation of their days is gone, faltering to her feet with the undisturbed curve of her back behind the sweeping cape, soft lines of her arms, and tranquil fullness of her mouth.
She is not playing protector here under this moon, against this breezing wind. Nor is she meditator as their friends believe. Here she is merely admirer and guest, allowing the wind to tease and entice, pulling at her clothes and hair, flowing around and through her. There she communes with the night, the moon, the air that tangles into her hair so violently even as she remains calm, centered, and bold among its influence.
It is her personal love affair, her guilty little secret that no one – including him – can be a part of; yet he stands and watches silent, still, and calm. Because this is his personal love affair, his guilty little secret that when the wind embraces her, he imagines it is him mussing her cloak; when she leans just so to kiss the air, he wishes to be the one to meet her; and when her hair is tossed by phantom fingers, he wants to feel the cool strands in his grasp.
- Kysra
Title: Strands
Rating: G
Series: Animated Series
Prompt: Theme: Secret Love from this week
Summary: Here, she is no warrior. There, she stands silent, still as he watches her.
Strands
By Kysra
He is silent, still, and calm. Watching.
Here is the moon above – sharp and carving into the night a bright white crescent; there, the distant pinprick lights of Jump sprinkling the horizon with life and shadow; and together these frame her outline – dark against dark, a sentinel of flowing drapery and strands of shining hair.
She is silent, still, and calm. Watching.
Here is the peeking pale of her hands resting loosely near the equal paleness of her bare thighs – the skin contracts and puckers in the chill but no move is made to warm or smooth; there, the liquid edge of pitch lashes dusting an ashen cheek; and together these come together with the rest of her – all flying violet hair, relaxed shoulders beneath billowed cloak, and strong legs – to paint a picture of the staid guardian at her post.
He smiles softly when he thinks that another would assume just that: that her pose and meaning is that of a warrior, prepared and ready to defend her chosen charges. She seems an example of the role, fits the mold and description; but her eyes are closed to the world and all its threats, big and small, simple and complicated. The tension that she bears in the usual carnation of their days is gone, faltering to her feet with the undisturbed curve of her back behind the sweeping cape, soft lines of her arms, and tranquil fullness of her mouth.
She is not playing protector here under this moon, against this breezing wind. Nor is she meditator as their friends believe. Here she is merely admirer and guest, allowing the wind to tease and entice, pulling at her clothes and hair, flowing around and through her. There she communes with the night, the moon, the air that tangles into her hair so violently even as she remains calm, centered, and bold among its influence.
It is her personal love affair, her guilty little secret that no one – including him – can be a part of; yet he stands and watches silent, still, and calm. Because this is his personal love affair, his guilty little secret that when the wind embraces her, he imagines it is him mussing her cloak; when she leans just so to kiss the air, he wishes to be the one to meet her; and when her hair is tossed by phantom fingers, he wants to feel the cool strands in his grasp.
- Kysra
no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 05:15 am (UTC)I was a little confused at first but as I read on it made more and more sense. This is good if a little sad. It makes me want them togehter.
I hope you enter more submissions as the weeks past.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 03:30 pm (UTC)