Un Amore Per Sempre
Title: Un Amore Per Sempre
Author: Saphira112
Pairing: Implied Cassian/Jezebel, but possible White Owl/Cassian
Warnings: None, really
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Possible sequel to Seven of Swords. "You, Seven of Swords, will decide on how you yourself in this ever-perishing world will play your role in this arrangement, what notes you will allow yourself to feel and what changes you will allow to happen."
Note: Was submitted for a short story in Creative Writing class, so that's why White Owl's words aren't as good as they could've been.
~ Un Amore Per Sempre ~
It was a sad sound.
Cassian found himself stopping and he looked behind him, down the anteroom, torches on the wall, lanterns lining the ground, and beyond that was shielded by shadow. The walls were solid stone, but in the flickering light of the fire, the stone seemed to move slowly with the haunting melody that echoed down the hall. The air felt cold, despite the warm fire all around the assassin. The undulating flames bent over like a falling wave onto an invisible shore before returning to their normal upright positions, reaching up to the ceiling and eating up the oxygen greedily with repetitive sputters.
Curious, Cassian turned - against his better judgment - and began to walk down the long hallway, listening for the source of the song that reverberated around him; inside the fire, in the walls, inside him…
The sound became louder - and now unmistakably that of a stringed instrument - and a small breeze whispered by Cassian, ruffling his hair as it went, the brown bangs falling over his dark coal eyes. He turned a corner, his eyes catching movement, and he instinctively hid behind the pillar before him. He peeked around the corner and was amazed by what he saw.
A flash of white, a gleam of emerald, and the shadow danced around in the open chamber, flaring out at odd ends with each step. The cloak wrapped around the lithe figure as he moved with a fluidity to match a trickling stream, just as strong, just as fragile. White bangs fluttered around a pale face, closed eyes hidden behind glasses tinted green. The snow-white hands pulled the horsehair bow across violin strings that threatened to snap, frayed as they were. But the sound continued and the white haired man smiled.
Cassian gazed on with surprise in his eyes. He had only met White Owl - the Fool of the Major Arcana - once and that meeting had been brief, with a warning passed from those light lips. Cassian hadn’t known that a Major Arcana card had such talent with a violin. The music emitted from the wooden instrument no longer seemed as haunting as before; rather, the tune was lighter, but more emotional and it still carried that underlying spookiness to it that would send a shiver down anyone’s spine.
Then it stopped.
Cassian watched as White Owl lowered his bow and his shoulders slumped slightly. The small assassin moved out from behind the pillar to make himself more noticeable; it wasn’t a problem now that he hadn’t interrupted the music. The violinist didn't seem to notice. At least for a split second.
“It’s saddening, is it not, Seven of Swords?” White Owl turned with a bittersweet smile, eyes behind tinted lenses gleaming in the soft torchlight.
Cassian forced himself to stay rooted to the hard, cold ground, ignoring the reference of his trump card name. “What is?”
“The world,” was the reply, said in such a simple manner and tied up with ribbons of mirth. The violinist turned to look up at the ceiling far above them both. “The world is filled with vile people who will all meet their destruction one day. It matters not who prays and who does not. We will all be swallowed by the flames of Hell.”
Cassian wasn’t sure if he was quite comfortable with where this conversation was going. “Erm…” He couldn’t find a proper response to the Fool’s words.
White Owl kept his smile up; it flashed amusement and was laced with glee. “Are you afraid?”
Cassian found himself flushing in embarrassment, having been caught off guard at the question. He glared. “Why would I be?”
“You have no words,” White Owl replied simply, as if that explained everything.
Cassian glanced away from the man, staring instead at the wall behind him. No, he wasn’t afraid. He didn’t fear anything. What did he have to be afraid of? He didn’t care who he killed or who survived; those who survived were only going to be murdered in the great fire that the Cardmaster was planning to unleash on all of Greater London.
The Seven of Swords felt a hand under his chin, tilting his head up to look up at the Fool. Cassian startled, bringing up a hand to grab one of his hidden knives on instinct, but then froze. The hand under his chin was surprisingly cool, very much like the doctor’s - like Death’s hand - and Cassian felt his eyes traveling to the point where they locked with the ones in front of him. He was transfixed by those eyes, the eyes that always seemed to be in a trance now placed him under a spell in which he couldn’t find himself moving. He wanted to move, to back away from this man who he knew to be insane, but he couldn’t find the strength to do so. The violinist was studying him, his face close, and those eyes delved into Cassian’s, exploring from the inside out without so much as recognition of doing so reflecting back in the white-haired man’s own.
“Your words decide on how you move forward,” White Owl finally said; the smile on his face slipped away into nothingness. “Though the orchestra continues to play and the audience still hears; though the audience does not understand, you, a killer in the shadows, watch their ignorance and you know that their words are of little importance; it makes no difference to their future paths to Hell.”
Cassian shuddered.
“The Black Ghost leads them with his symphony, he always has; the notes he has composed from before the beginning of time has made up the pattern called life. We here in the organization Delilah under the Cardmaster know the end before it has been played for us and we strive to make that day come sooner, sooner so the Ghost of Darkness may finally take a rest, a final reprieve from his centuries of composing, of playing, no less than what he truly deserves.”
White Owl smiled. “And you, Seven of Swords, will decide how you yourself in this ever-perishing world will play your role in this arrangement, what notes you allow yourself to feel and what transitions in pace you will allow to happen: the changes that you will perceive to be correct.”
Cassian’s eyes widened.
“And only you, Seven of Swords, will be able to see past the curtains, beyond the puppets, and know who truly is corrupt behind the mask of false piety. The Black Ghost will lead you to that resolution. And then…”
White Owl released Cassian’s chin, freeing the man who was stuck in a child’s body.
“You will ask yourself… why?”
Author: Saphira112
Pairing: Implied Cassian/Jezebel, but possible White Owl/Cassian
Warnings: None, really
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Possible sequel to Seven of Swords. "You, Seven of Swords, will decide on how you yourself in this ever-perishing world will play your role in this arrangement, what notes you will allow yourself to feel and what changes you will allow to happen."
Note: Was submitted for a short story in Creative Writing class, so that's why White Owl's words aren't as good as they could've been.
~ Un Amore Per Sempre ~
It was a sad sound.
Cassian found himself stopping and he looked behind him, down the anteroom, torches on the wall, lanterns lining the ground, and beyond that was shielded by shadow. The walls were solid stone, but in the flickering light of the fire, the stone seemed to move slowly with the haunting melody that echoed down the hall. The air felt cold, despite the warm fire all around the assassin. The undulating flames bent over like a falling wave onto an invisible shore before returning to their normal upright positions, reaching up to the ceiling and eating up the oxygen greedily with repetitive sputters.
Curious, Cassian turned - against his better judgment - and began to walk down the long hallway, listening for the source of the song that reverberated around him; inside the fire, in the walls, inside him…
The sound became louder - and now unmistakably that of a stringed instrument - and a small breeze whispered by Cassian, ruffling his hair as it went, the brown bangs falling over his dark coal eyes. He turned a corner, his eyes catching movement, and he instinctively hid behind the pillar before him. He peeked around the corner and was amazed by what he saw.
A flash of white, a gleam of emerald, and the shadow danced around in the open chamber, flaring out at odd ends with each step. The cloak wrapped around the lithe figure as he moved with a fluidity to match a trickling stream, just as strong, just as fragile. White bangs fluttered around a pale face, closed eyes hidden behind glasses tinted green. The snow-white hands pulled the horsehair bow across violin strings that threatened to snap, frayed as they were. But the sound continued and the white haired man smiled.
Cassian gazed on with surprise in his eyes. He had only met White Owl - the Fool of the Major Arcana - once and that meeting had been brief, with a warning passed from those light lips. Cassian hadn’t known that a Major Arcana card had such talent with a violin. The music emitted from the wooden instrument no longer seemed as haunting as before; rather, the tune was lighter, but more emotional and it still carried that underlying spookiness to it that would send a shiver down anyone’s spine.
Then it stopped.
Cassian watched as White Owl lowered his bow and his shoulders slumped slightly. The small assassin moved out from behind the pillar to make himself more noticeable; it wasn’t a problem now that he hadn’t interrupted the music. The violinist didn't seem to notice. At least for a split second.
“It’s saddening, is it not, Seven of Swords?” White Owl turned with a bittersweet smile, eyes behind tinted lenses gleaming in the soft torchlight.
Cassian forced himself to stay rooted to the hard, cold ground, ignoring the reference of his trump card name. “What is?”
“The world,” was the reply, said in such a simple manner and tied up with ribbons of mirth. The violinist turned to look up at the ceiling far above them both. “The world is filled with vile people who will all meet their destruction one day. It matters not who prays and who does not. We will all be swallowed by the flames of Hell.”
Cassian wasn’t sure if he was quite comfortable with where this conversation was going. “Erm…” He couldn’t find a proper response to the Fool’s words.
White Owl kept his smile up; it flashed amusement and was laced with glee. “Are you afraid?”
Cassian found himself flushing in embarrassment, having been caught off guard at the question. He glared. “Why would I be?”
“You have no words,” White Owl replied simply, as if that explained everything.
Cassian glanced away from the man, staring instead at the wall behind him. No, he wasn’t afraid. He didn’t fear anything. What did he have to be afraid of? He didn’t care who he killed or who survived; those who survived were only going to be murdered in the great fire that the Cardmaster was planning to unleash on all of Greater London.
The Seven of Swords felt a hand under his chin, tilting his head up to look up at the Fool. Cassian startled, bringing up a hand to grab one of his hidden knives on instinct, but then froze. The hand under his chin was surprisingly cool, very much like the doctor’s - like Death’s hand - and Cassian felt his eyes traveling to the point where they locked with the ones in front of him. He was transfixed by those eyes, the eyes that always seemed to be in a trance now placed him under a spell in which he couldn’t find himself moving. He wanted to move, to back away from this man who he knew to be insane, but he couldn’t find the strength to do so. The violinist was studying him, his face close, and those eyes delved into Cassian’s, exploring from the inside out without so much as recognition of doing so reflecting back in the white-haired man’s own.
“Your words decide on how you move forward,” White Owl finally said; the smile on his face slipped away into nothingness. “Though the orchestra continues to play and the audience still hears; though the audience does not understand, you, a killer in the shadows, watch their ignorance and you know that their words are of little importance; it makes no difference to their future paths to Hell.”
Cassian shuddered.
“The Black Ghost leads them with his symphony, he always has; the notes he has composed from before the beginning of time has made up the pattern called life. We here in the organization Delilah under the Cardmaster know the end before it has been played for us and we strive to make that day come sooner, sooner so the Ghost of Darkness may finally take a rest, a final reprieve from his centuries of composing, of playing, no less than what he truly deserves.”
White Owl smiled. “And you, Seven of Swords, will decide how you yourself in this ever-perishing world will play your role in this arrangement, what notes you allow yourself to feel and what transitions in pace you will allow to happen: the changes that you will perceive to be correct.”
Cassian’s eyes widened.
“And only you, Seven of Swords, will be able to see past the curtains, beyond the puppets, and know who truly is corrupt behind the mask of false piety. The Black Ghost will lead you to that resolution. And then…”
White Owl released Cassian’s chin, freeing the man who was stuck in a child’s body.
“You will ask yourself… why?”