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Jul. 9th, 2006 04:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kh_drabbleChallenge: [068] time
Title: Collection
Word Count: 416
Character: Lexaeus
Summary: They are the things he has collected over time.
He likes to think he’s a collector.
His room is a testament to that: decorated in brilliant colors, with flourishing blossoms of cloth that drape from the walls and ceiling, veils that add a speck of warmth, like vines creeping up the walls and dripping from the roof, his room glows brightly in the cold death of this world.
He has taken the liberty to decorate it as he sees fit. The floor is soft beneath his bare feet, plush and smooth, a deep, earthy brown in hue, covered in a carpet he found in a world far away from this one where the sun was bright and the air was dry and warm. His bed sits in the middle of the room, not too big yet not too small; the sheets are of a rare silk he stole from some world, a matching earthy shade to the rest of his room. The pillows are made of the same fabric, embossed in golden trim and ornamented with dangling tassels that hang from the edges and brush over the top of his sheets and tickle his cheeks when he lays his head on them.
The carpet, the cloths, and the bed are not what he cherishes the most, however. It’s the little things, the knick-knacks that are placed sporadically throughout the room, that he takes great pride in.
Wooden figurines that were carved by old men’s fingers, warm with the essences of the ones who poured their time and life into creating them, line his walls. Iron brushes with soft bristles and mirrored backs that once belonged to women of high social status are placed on the tables and desks that have claws for feet and polished stone for tops. Paintings that depict places he has never been, has never seen, in vibrant, lively colors he never gets to see, hang from hammered, metal nails on his walls.
They are his treasures.
They tell of a time he once lived in. They tell him a story of a world he loves, and would love to go back to. They show him what he has to look forward to, what he has to hold dear, when they accomplish their goal.
Everyone here has their own reminders of the human world, their own things to look forward to: Marluxia has his flowers; Larxene has her literature; Demyx has his instruments.
He has the world’s history, the creations of people who have passed.
He likes to think he’s a collector.
Title: Collection
Word Count: 416
Character: Lexaeus
Summary: They are the things he has collected over time.
He likes to think he’s a collector.
His room is a testament to that: decorated in brilliant colors, with flourishing blossoms of cloth that drape from the walls and ceiling, veils that add a speck of warmth, like vines creeping up the walls and dripping from the roof, his room glows brightly in the cold death of this world.
He has taken the liberty to decorate it as he sees fit. The floor is soft beneath his bare feet, plush and smooth, a deep, earthy brown in hue, covered in a carpet he found in a world far away from this one where the sun was bright and the air was dry and warm. His bed sits in the middle of the room, not too big yet not too small; the sheets are of a rare silk he stole from some world, a matching earthy shade to the rest of his room. The pillows are made of the same fabric, embossed in golden trim and ornamented with dangling tassels that hang from the edges and brush over the top of his sheets and tickle his cheeks when he lays his head on them.
The carpet, the cloths, and the bed are not what he cherishes the most, however. It’s the little things, the knick-knacks that are placed sporadically throughout the room, that he takes great pride in.
Wooden figurines that were carved by old men’s fingers, warm with the essences of the ones who poured their time and life into creating them, line his walls. Iron brushes with soft bristles and mirrored backs that once belonged to women of high social status are placed on the tables and desks that have claws for feet and polished stone for tops. Paintings that depict places he has never been, has never seen, in vibrant, lively colors he never gets to see, hang from hammered, metal nails on his walls.
They are his treasures.
They tell of a time he once lived in. They tell him a story of a world he loves, and would love to go back to. They show him what he has to look forward to, what he has to hold dear, when they accomplish their goal.
Everyone here has their own reminders of the human world, their own things to look forward to: Marluxia has his flowers; Larxene has her literature; Demyx has his instruments.
He has the world’s history, the creations of people who have passed.
He likes to think he’s a collector.
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