systemsdown
Her head swam with doubt. How was this ever going to work? Answer: it wasn't going to work. At all. It was stupid, and she'd rushed into this, and goddamnit, she wasn't even remotely prepared for kidnapping and holding hostage her infuriatingly blasé roommate who also possibly happened to be a vampire. How were you supposed to act towards a hostage, anyway? Because Laura would feel bad if she suddenly started being mean to her roommate. Then again, going on like Business as Usual whilst cheerfully ignoring the fact that you've got a person tied up in ropes didn't seem ideal either. Honestly, there needed to be a rulebook for this sort of thing - a code of conduct. Maybe Google would help her out, Laura supposed. She made a mental note to investigate later.
Her broken body convulsed. Switched. Doe. Human. Doe. Human. Again. Again. Again.
Jo sat there next to her, watching her head, her arm, her hoof, jerk and spasm, smashing repeatedly against the concrete.
He didn't think she was going to make it this time.
Arms raised, pointing backwards, and eyes focused straight ahead, just as in the final practise this morning (and the sixty-four others she had wearily counted), the princess (queen, she corrected herself) allowed one of her mother's servants (her servants, now) to place the gown gently upon her figure. She felt the silken sleeves slide slowly up her arm. Like a caress. A sickening, unwanted caress. She had only learned the news of her mother's death earlier that day, and custom had already demanded she forgo this grief to accept her position. This day would signal her future's signing over to a life ancient laws and blood dictated she must lead, no matter her own wishes, no matter that she would rather live as a peasant without land.
She gazed down at her people, a small smile (twenty hours' worth of training) gracing her expression as she called out in silent despair.
My head rest heavily in my hands, thumbs massaging my temple as the atrocious noise continued outside. Continued, as it had for hours on end, and boy, was I ready to throw something. "What in the heck did we do to deserve this, eh, Sasha?" I muttered to the faithful dog resting at my feet. She opened one eye for a brief second before going back to ignoring the world. Something I wish I could do so easily.
The room was swathed in gold, the decorations grand and regal, each demanding their own piece of your attention, but the centrepiece was the most eye-catching of all.
The world is taunting me today, I thought. I kicked angrily at the hay scattered over the stable, disturbing a plume of dust along with it. The empty stable. I looked around, feeling glum. It was one thing to own a horse but not the land - having to keep your horse lodged at somebody else's stables - but a whole other thing to have been able to afford the land itself, but now...not the horse to complete it.
The room appeared as if in a slouch; unkempt and ever-so-slightly skewered in some indistinguishable way. It was beautiful, and the person it belonged to had obviously spent a great deal of time within its walls, but looking past the hundreds of ever-so-carefully crafted paper swans of every colour floating gaily in the soft breeze, past the inviting, worn-in leather sofa and past the four overstuffed bookshelves lining the display wall from roof to floor, Lucy couldn't help but feel an undercurrent of quiet, lonesome despair.
Before Lucy could investigate further, though, a soft rustling sound startled her, drawing her eyes to the ceiling where - she swore it - the cranes were extending their wings to fly.
He sat in the dust, legs crossed, wide hazel eyes taking in the form of the child on the other side of the fence. "I swear, Keedan, you gotta believe me." He spoke in a wavering tone. "I ain't never wanted them to find you! I woulda tried to protect you no matter what. But Mum and Dad don't like you. None of us do. I don't know why." The other boy just nodded, rocking back and forth on his side of the barrier, eyes dull and hopeless.
I could feel Mercy's breath on the back of my neck as I stood beside her, one hand reaching up to touch the firm leather of her saddle, the other clenched in anticipation at my side. This was our ride. I knew this was ours. Mercy had been nothing short of perfect in the trials, and she'd made a repeat performance today. The trophy wasn't a big deal; we didn't care for that. It was what came with the title that counted - the opportunity.
"Sticks and stones, sticks and stones," the old man muttered under his breath as he shuffled between the rows, hunching over his walking stick. Damien looked up from his study to watch him walk past. A strange old man, he thought. He certainly doesn't seem to have the mindset of a librarian.
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writing since 2011 · 24 entries · 24 days shown up
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