Sherlock: The Mythology Of Cats
Title: The Mythology Of Cats
Wordcount: 424
Rating: G
Characters: "Anthea", mention of Mycroft
Notes: Part two in The Habits Of Cats-verse
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize
Summary: While the Holmes brothers may be Cait Sidhe, Mycroft's assistant is something even more peculiar.
She looks in the mirror, looks at her body, at her hair, at her eyes. She studies herself, studies her skin, the contours of her shape, the way the clothing hangs on her body.
And she deems it good.
She pushes her hair back, a few strands casually out of place but it's intentional, every flaw, every detail, is intentional, it's to present the illusion, to play the game, to pretend she is something she isn't.
Because the woman who's looking at herself in the mirror is no woman at all, she is a creature far greater than any human being ever could be. She is Story and Art and Science before it is ever discovered. She is Dreams and Creativity. She is Ambition, she is Fable, she is Heart and Warning.
She is a Myth.
She is a creature that is meant to walk the Earth, shaping it with story, carving out the destiny of the world with careful hands. It just so happened that she chose a different rode, a different way of doing things.
She's always been one to surprise her superiors, always unpredictable and clever and strange. She's never done what she's been told and she never will, not unless she wants to.
The black car pulls up to her door, and it opens from the inside.
She smiles and steps inside, her body moving with grace no human woman could posses.
"Good morning, Sir." She says up0on seeing Mycroft Holmes.
"Good morning," he greets. "And what is it today."
"Demeter."
And with that, the crowning of her name for hte day, she will be the woman she claims. Sometimes she is the huntress, the maiden, the mother, the guardian., Sometimes she shed the guise of a woman and takes on a male face, embraces the sea or the sky or war or the underworld. She can be anything, she can be anyone.
Because, in the end, history and myth blend together so easily, so seamlessly it's hard to tell which is which, hard to determine where history ends and myth begins. She may be Joan of Arc or Helen of Troy. She may be Persephone or Ariadne, she may be Anubis, she may be a youkai or Leanan Sidhe.
She could be anything, she could be nothing. That is the beauty of what she is, that is the wonder, the magic, the power of Myth.
But if she has to be anything, a trickster or a princess, a goddess or a crow, she will always and forever be efficient.
Wordcount: 424
Rating: G
Characters: "Anthea", mention of Mycroft
Notes: Part two in The Habits Of Cats-verse
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize
Summary: While the Holmes brothers may be Cait Sidhe, Mycroft's assistant is something even more peculiar.
She looks in the mirror, looks at her body, at her hair, at her eyes. She studies herself, studies her skin, the contours of her shape, the way the clothing hangs on her body.
And she deems it good.
She pushes her hair back, a few strands casually out of place but it's intentional, every flaw, every detail, is intentional, it's to present the illusion, to play the game, to pretend she is something she isn't.
Because the woman who's looking at herself in the mirror is no woman at all, she is a creature far greater than any human being ever could be. She is Story and Art and Science before it is ever discovered. She is Dreams and Creativity. She is Ambition, she is Fable, she is Heart and Warning.
She is a Myth.
She is a creature that is meant to walk the Earth, shaping it with story, carving out the destiny of the world with careful hands. It just so happened that she chose a different rode, a different way of doing things.
She's always been one to surprise her superiors, always unpredictable and clever and strange. She's never done what she's been told and she never will, not unless she wants to.
The black car pulls up to her door, and it opens from the inside.
She smiles and steps inside, her body moving with grace no human woman could posses.
"Good morning, Sir." She says up0on seeing Mycroft Holmes.
"Good morning," he greets. "And what is it today."
"Demeter."
And with that, the crowning of her name for hte day, she will be the woman she claims. Sometimes she is the huntress, the maiden, the mother, the guardian., Sometimes she shed the guise of a woman and takes on a male face, embraces the sea or the sky or war or the underworld. She can be anything, she can be anyone.
Because, in the end, history and myth blend together so easily, so seamlessly it's hard to tell which is which, hard to determine where history ends and myth begins. She may be Joan of Arc or Helen of Troy. She may be Persephone or Ariadne, she may be Anubis, she may be a youkai or Leanan Sidhe.
She could be anything, she could be nothing. That is the beauty of what she is, that is the wonder, the magic, the power of Myth.
But if she has to be anything, a trickster or a princess, a goddess or a crow, she will always and forever be efficient.