In the storm. [challenge 102]
Apr. 20th, 2007 01:00 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
yo-yo-san.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kh_drabbleChallenge: [102] Crash
Title: In the storm.
Word Count: 456
Stuff: Xaldin/Beast/Belle ...^-^? PG-13-ish for implications? For Ceci, who has asked many times, and Lindskaba, who inadvertently gave me the one word I apparently needed to write it? Vague spoilers are a strong possibility? Yes.
In the storm.
Lost, as if in a unrelenting nightmare, she has forgotten how to breathe -- there is too much fear and anger in the room.
There once was a prince of her acquaintance, a man with heavy blue eyes and a voice that growled basso profundo along her skin when he chose to speak. He loved her to distraction, but never in the ways she wanted him to. He would only remember that she was small and fragile and dream that she was constructed of glass and parchment pages and turn from her before his claws could curl around her wrists, before his hot breath could do more than ghost against her shoulders.
He had been alone for too long, and though he greeted her as warmly as he could and bid her welcome in his castle, the walls muttered at night, telling her that she must stay, there was no choice if he was to be saved, and it chilled her to the soul. She had never wanted anything more than to make her own choices.
A man arrived then, at first kind and helpful, setting another set of footsteps to clicking along the many lonely corridors. His eyes were the color of violets, the ones she remembered blooming shyly in the cottage garden, and his voice reminded her of the soft accents of her village and yet -- she could not accept his counsel as her prince did. He seemed too cold, too well-suited to this palace of storms and shadows.
Her fears proved true as the weeks wore on, silk and cyanide whispers in the night telling tales of lonely tears she had thought private, luring her prince into believing her somehow faithless.
She shifts uneasily, the gloved hands tangled in her hair holding her still and keeping her quiet. This is wrong. The beast tearing the room apart behind her is no longer her prince. The man holding her down, urging him to make her the target of his wrath, is no friend to anyone.
To this end? Is this what he wanted all along? She considers carefully, afraid of and yet wanting the claws she hears rending the paintings to shred her dress, her flesh, to reach for her and tear her and pierce her heart so that she might die for love of him. She stares up at Xaldin, at his eyes like flowers and his hair like snakes and his whispers in the dark, and tries -- and fails -- to hate.
He holds her still and they wait for the beast, her prince, trapped in the darkest trespasses of his own mind, to come to them. Though she has forgotten how to breathe, as an ancient mahogany writing desk shatters against the wall and the growling grows louder, she smiles.
Title: In the storm.
Word Count: 456
Stuff: Xaldin/Beast/Belle ...^-^? PG-13-ish for implications? For Ceci, who has asked many times, and Lindskaba, who inadvertently gave me the one word I apparently needed to write it? Vague spoilers are a strong possibility? Yes.
In the storm.
Lost, as if in a unrelenting nightmare, she has forgotten how to breathe -- there is too much fear and anger in the room.
There once was a prince of her acquaintance, a man with heavy blue eyes and a voice that growled basso profundo along her skin when he chose to speak. He loved her to distraction, but never in the ways she wanted him to. He would only remember that she was small and fragile and dream that she was constructed of glass and parchment pages and turn from her before his claws could curl around her wrists, before his hot breath could do more than ghost against her shoulders.
He had been alone for too long, and though he greeted her as warmly as he could and bid her welcome in his castle, the walls muttered at night, telling her that she must stay, there was no choice if he was to be saved, and it chilled her to the soul. She had never wanted anything more than to make her own choices.
A man arrived then, at first kind and helpful, setting another set of footsteps to clicking along the many lonely corridors. His eyes were the color of violets, the ones she remembered blooming shyly in the cottage garden, and his voice reminded her of the soft accents of her village and yet -- she could not accept his counsel as her prince did. He seemed too cold, too well-suited to this palace of storms and shadows.
Her fears proved true as the weeks wore on, silk and cyanide whispers in the night telling tales of lonely tears she had thought private, luring her prince into believing her somehow faithless.
She shifts uneasily, the gloved hands tangled in her hair holding her still and keeping her quiet. This is wrong. The beast tearing the room apart behind her is no longer her prince. The man holding her down, urging him to make her the target of his wrath, is no friend to anyone.
To this end? Is this what he wanted all along? She considers carefully, afraid of and yet wanting the claws she hears rending the paintings to shred her dress, her flesh, to reach for her and tear her and pierce her heart so that she might die for love of him. She stares up at Xaldin, at his eyes like flowers and his hair like snakes and his whispers in the dark, and tries -- and fails -- to hate.
He holds her still and they wait for the beast, her prince, trapped in the darkest trespasses of his own mind, to come to them. Though she has forgotten how to breathe, as an ancient mahogany writing desk shatters against the wall and the growling grows louder, she smiles.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}