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Oct. 6th, 2008 08:01 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kh_drabbleChallenge: [162] Another Perspective
Title: A Dancer’s Lament
Word Count: 431
Spoilers: The aftermath of the Heartless War
Notes: I knew I shouldn’t have been playing the soundtrack for The Hours while I was writing. This little piece of angst could be thought of as a sequel to my drabble “Technique”, written for the prompt [143] Style.
Nobodies before her have been undone for lesser transgressions, but she doesn’t care.
B quietly makes her way into the room-- that barren, cold room that is called Proof of Existence and feels like the exact opposite. With its ghostly silence and macabre interior, nothing seems to exist here. Silently she passes the various headstones until she finds the one she’s been looking for. It hasn’t been destroyed yet. B slowly runs her hand along the monument, tracing his number and the moniker that the others have seen fit to give him. And there, resting at the base of the stone as if it has always been there, is his sitar.
It looks odd lying there by itself, odd and somehow lacking. Hesitantly, B reaches out and touches it, caressing the neck almost tenderly before closing her hand around it. It’s much heavier than it looks, and B wonders how he was able to hold it with such apparent ease. Eventually she gives up trying to lift it, instead sinking into a sitting position and shifting it into her lap. It feels strangely comfortable there, and she eventually gains enough courage to reach forward and pluck one of the strings. The clear note reverberates throughout the room and she is suddenly back in the Hall of Empty Melodies, sprawled at his feet as he plays song after song. He is playing her favorite one again, the one about the lady in his dreams, and B likes this song the best because of how he looks when he sings it. His face is alight with an emotion so strong that she can almost taste it, even though she knows he is only pretending.
He’s so beautiful like this.
Her sisters are with her, and they collectively sway in time to the music, a prelude to a dance they dare not perform for fear of breaking the spell. The music presses in all around her, thrums deep inside her, and she imagines that this is what it feels like to have a heart-- warm and light and a little frightening. As the note from the plucked string fades to nothing, so does the memory. Desperately B hugs the sitar tightly to her chest, trying to bring back some of that warmth; that feeling she had from being surrounded by her sisters, from being immersed in the beauty of Lord Demyx’s song and feeling so blissfully whole.
But all of her sisters are gone now and Lord Demyx is dead, and she can no longer remember what she felt when he sang to her.
Title: A Dancer’s Lament
Word Count: 431
Spoilers: The aftermath of the Heartless War
Notes: I knew I shouldn’t have been playing the soundtrack for The Hours while I was writing. This little piece of angst could be thought of as a sequel to my drabble “Technique”, written for the prompt [143] Style.
Nobodies before her have been undone for lesser transgressions, but she doesn’t care.
B quietly makes her way into the room-- that barren, cold room that is called Proof of Existence and feels like the exact opposite. With its ghostly silence and macabre interior, nothing seems to exist here. Silently she passes the various headstones until she finds the one she’s been looking for. It hasn’t been destroyed yet. B slowly runs her hand along the monument, tracing his number and the moniker that the others have seen fit to give him. And there, resting at the base of the stone as if it has always been there, is his sitar.
It looks odd lying there by itself, odd and somehow lacking. Hesitantly, B reaches out and touches it, caressing the neck almost tenderly before closing her hand around it. It’s much heavier than it looks, and B wonders how he was able to hold it with such apparent ease. Eventually she gives up trying to lift it, instead sinking into a sitting position and shifting it into her lap. It feels strangely comfortable there, and she eventually gains enough courage to reach forward and pluck one of the strings. The clear note reverberates throughout the room and she is suddenly back in the Hall of Empty Melodies, sprawled at his feet as he plays song after song. He is playing her favorite one again, the one about the lady in his dreams, and B likes this song the best because of how he looks when he sings it. His face is alight with an emotion so strong that she can almost taste it, even though she knows he is only pretending.
He’s so beautiful like this.
Her sisters are with her, and they collectively sway in time to the music, a prelude to a dance they dare not perform for fear of breaking the spell. The music presses in all around her, thrums deep inside her, and she imagines that this is what it feels like to have a heart-- warm and light and a little frightening. As the note from the plucked string fades to nothing, so does the memory. Desperately B hugs the sitar tightly to her chest, trying to bring back some of that warmth; that feeling she had from being surrounded by her sisters, from being immersed in the beauty of Lord Demyx’s song and feeling so blissfully whole.
But all of her sisters are gone now and Lord Demyx is dead, and she can no longer remember what she felt when he sang to her.
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Date: 2008-10-07 12:23 am (UTC)Dx
So amazing, the emotion is tangible, even though, technically, they're not supposed to be able to. ♥ Love the adjectives and the imagery. *0*
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Date: 2008-10-07 12:30 am (UTC)