there is a girl standing before a shattered mirror
Weird title is weird. Anyway, here's the other one-shot Larshen fic. This was supposed to be a two-parter, but I got stuck on the second part and I thought that the first part could stand on its own. And, oh, if you're wondering about the fic Price of Recollection, I have honestly no idea how to tackle it again. D: I still have problems trying to get back into the story's writing style. For the meantime, try to enjoy this one~
It Could Have Been
Author: Aizhen Aschenhimmel
Fandom: Aveyond 1
Pairing: Lars x Rhen
Rating: G (it verges into PG territory once the imagination runs away with the implications XD)
Once, there was a girl in the Academy; a girl with purple-white hair and brilliant violet eyes.
She was different from all the other girls, with her ivory-fair skin and speech marked with a slow, curt accent. She was quiet at first, the foreigner, the strange one, but her natural confidence eventually shone through, and she started to make friends. Most liked her, some envied her, even fewer were indifferent. She was loud, a bit too fond of adventure, but she has a grace in her, something innate and not ingrained, even as she ran and laughed along the halls and the instructors would reprimand her.
He saw her often, saw her everyday. He had seen her waving a practice sword about, her movement fit for both ballroom and battlefield. He had seen her sing her magic, glows of fire and ice upon her blade, and then the feather-light touches of her feet upon the Academy green. He had seen her smile, seen her grow angry, sheepish and innocent and mischievous. He had seen her enter the Academy and was going to see her leave it, a fledgling sword singer, ignorant of the world and thirsting for adventure like the whole lot of them.
She was gone. Or going to be. He wanted it to be as simple and pleasant as that. And a day before her departure, as the Oracle would have it, he found himself talking to her.
What is it? Hard not to say 'girl', hard not to say 'Peta', hard not to say-
I just want to ask something. She tilted her head sideways, braid swinging off her shoulder. He keeps his silent, signaling affirmation, and he wonders, braces himself.
Are you angry?
It made an impact she would never see. What made you think of such? He looked away, eyes on the walls that knew him and her. I see no reason why.
She was guiltless and ignorant. She was brilliant purple eyes that saw him but not in the way he want her to. That's what you say.
You know nothing. Or maybe she does?
Of course I don't. Hers was a voice he knew all too well, but also unknown in a hundred subtle ways.
That does not concern you. Her broken promise. His shattered hopes. That was a long time ago, years and years back, but the fragments were still sharp and raw enough to cut deep. They cut him still.
I see. She paused, and there was nothing to fill the silence but the weight of memories. I'm sorry to bother you, High Sorcerer Tenobor.
It's only that my mother feels sad that you haven't visited her for years.
He turned to leave, images of her overlapping in his head. It was difficult to separate them, to know the one he knew. Or perhaps he never knew her at all?
She was gone soon after, not another word exchanged between them, she was gone and he stayed, as was his duty. He didn't watch her leave. He didn't want the face that was her and wasn't her - because in his mind there was only one girl with purple-white hair and brilliant violet eyes, and he couldn't separate the past from the present.
It Could Have Been
Author: Aizhen Aschenhimmel
Fandom: Aveyond 1
Pairing: Lars x Rhen
Rating: G (it verges into PG territory once the imagination runs away with the implications XD)
Once, there was a girl in the Academy; a girl with purple-white hair and brilliant violet eyes.
She was different from all the other girls, with her ivory-fair skin and speech marked with a slow, curt accent. She was quiet at first, the foreigner, the strange one, but her natural confidence eventually shone through, and she started to make friends. Most liked her, some envied her, even fewer were indifferent. She was loud, a bit too fond of adventure, but she has a grace in her, something innate and not ingrained, even as she ran and laughed along the halls and the instructors would reprimand her.
He saw her often, saw her everyday. He had seen her waving a practice sword about, her movement fit for both ballroom and battlefield. He had seen her sing her magic, glows of fire and ice upon her blade, and then the feather-light touches of her feet upon the Academy green. He had seen her smile, seen her grow angry, sheepish and innocent and mischievous. He had seen her enter the Academy and was going to see her leave it, a fledgling sword singer, ignorant of the world and thirsting for adventure like the whole lot of them.
She was gone. Or going to be. He wanted it to be as simple and pleasant as that. And a day before her departure, as the Oracle would have it, he found himself talking to her.
What is it? Hard not to say 'girl', hard not to say 'Peta', hard not to say-
I just want to ask something. She tilted her head sideways, braid swinging off her shoulder. He keeps his silent, signaling affirmation, and he wonders, braces himself.
Are you angry?
It made an impact she would never see. What made you think of such? He looked away, eyes on the walls that knew him and her. I see no reason why.
She was guiltless and ignorant. She was brilliant purple eyes that saw him but not in the way he want her to. That's what you say.
You know nothing. Or maybe she does?
Of course I don't. Hers was a voice he knew all too well, but also unknown in a hundred subtle ways.
That does not concern you. Her broken promise. His shattered hopes. That was a long time ago, years and years back, but the fragments were still sharp and raw enough to cut deep. They cut him still.
I see. She paused, and there was nothing to fill the silence but the weight of memories. I'm sorry to bother you, High Sorcerer Tenobor.
It's only that my mother feels sad that you haven't visited her for years.
He turned to leave, images of her overlapping in his head. It was difficult to separate them, to know the one he knew. Or perhaps he never knew her at all?
She was gone soon after, not another word exchanged between them, she was gone and he stayed, as was his duty. He didn't watch her leave. He didn't want the face that was her and wasn't her - because in his mind there was only one girl with purple-white hair and brilliant violet eyes, and he couldn't separate the past from the present.