Avatar fic
Avatar fic, WHAT.
Drabbled for theavatar100, which Scone and I might actually start regularly participating in yeyz. >XP
Theme: Subsistence
The baby is born, and his wife cannot stop crying. Her tears of mourning mingle with their newborn daughter's wails, echoing off of the golden walls, rich and painted with the best that money and good intentions can buy. He spares no expense and hires the most renown doctor in the city to help her, to save her, watching the tiny light shine into clouded pupils, white like blank slates that he will never be able to draw upon.
He fumbles for the next best thing and has the carpenter pad the high walls of her crib.
His daughter is blind and helpless, but his pockets are deep, as is his love for her. And he holds back nothing. The Bei Fong name to keep those who discover her at bay, personal servants who guard her as she grows. Five hundred strokes a night to keep her hair soft and smooth (her mother holds the brush), doting lectures on manners and graces and tea ceremony lessons every Wednesday (with wooden cups and cool water). She is blind and helpless, but he will guide her from a lovely daughter to a charming lady. He will mold her life for her, running it deep through lovingly charted trenches of safety and society, rushing by his second grandchild and flowing outward past his own death. And - knowing that his little girl is safe - Lao breathes happily in the knowledge of a beautiful bride with a capable husband, one who will build his own walls to love and protect her where he can no longer.
Drabbled for theavatar100, which Scone and I might actually start regularly participating in yeyz. >XP
Theme: Subsistence
The baby is born, and his wife cannot stop crying. Her tears of mourning mingle with their newborn daughter's wails, echoing off of the golden walls, rich and painted with the best that money and good intentions can buy. He spares no expense and hires the most renown doctor in the city to help her, to save her, watching the tiny light shine into clouded pupils, white like blank slates that he will never be able to draw upon.
He fumbles for the next best thing and has the carpenter pad the high walls of her crib.
His daughter is blind and helpless, but his pockets are deep, as is his love for her. And he holds back nothing. The Bei Fong name to keep those who discover her at bay, personal servants who guard her as she grows. Five hundred strokes a night to keep her hair soft and smooth (her mother holds the brush), doting lectures on manners and graces and tea ceremony lessons every Wednesday (with wooden cups and cool water). She is blind and helpless, but he will guide her from a lovely daughter to a charming lady. He will mold her life for her, running it deep through lovingly charted trenches of safety and society, rushing by his second grandchild and flowing outward past his own death. And - knowing that his little girl is safe - Lao breathes happily in the knowledge of a beautiful bride with a capable husband, one who will build his own walls to love and protect her where he can no longer.