⇋1 - plumage
Title: Plumage
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating and Warnings: G
Characters: Russia
Word Count: 340. It's impossible to crop though, but I can try if prodded.
Notes: Written for hetalia_contest's Week 11 prompt, 'Fairytale'.
Summary - Those that are free, we wish to shackle to ourselves almost as if to prove we can. Their despair is our creation and undoing.
Birds are for song, for the moment when you see them, framed against the opressive winter sky and the flare of longing starts within your chest. Ivan knows of this feeling - a feeling that is almost as posessive as his longing for the blue expanse of ocean that he had only seen in the marks of a brush.
Caged birds are not the same.
The cage was ugly and as spindly as a crone, stretching long, ugly fingers down to the base. The door was almost invisible against dull steel. The bird that was contained inside was diminished. It’s once golden, firey plumage had faded and burned to an ember of it’s former glory. It’s pearl-like eyes were dull and misted.
Ivan poked a finger through the bars and crooned at it, but his mouth was dry, and the bird turned it’s head and shuffled on it’s perch, the long feathers of it’s tail brushing against the dirty floor of the cage, soiling their former glory.
“Zhar-ptitsa, why don’t you sing?” Ivan breathed. “Why don’t you laugh like your cousin’s do outside, at the blizzard?”
Ivan knew the answer, deep within his chest. It ached, a harsh and brutal reality but he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the icy guilt that ached in his belly. The bird scarcely moved at the sound of it’s captor’s voice, it’s head drooping low on to it’s breast and let out a soft croon that made Ivan’s heart thud up into his throat. But he bit his lip and turned away, feeling ice creep over that nova in his throat, turning it’s explosive energy into a black hole.
“WHY WON’T YOU SING!” Ivan roared, slamming a hand against the bars. The bird hardly flinched. Ivan turned away, anger lighting the kindling of greed in his chest. “It’s all your fault, all your fault...”
And as the tears slipped down Ivan’s broad, crooked nose, pearls fell to the floor of the cage, landing amoungst the droppings as the bird cried for the sky.
Notes:
- The Firebird is a legend in slavic folklore. It tells of a bird with plumage like that of fire that comes from a distant land, whom is highly sought after for it's magical properties. It's mentioned in a few different Russian fairytales. It is said that the Firebird brings great joy, but it also brings doom to it's captors.
- Zhar-ptitsa is the Russian name for the Firebird. I am so edgy, I inserted Russian. Nah, I just couldn't see Ivan referring to it as the Firebird, so I had to put something alternate in. And so there we have it.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating and Warnings: G
Characters: Russia
Word Count: 340. It's impossible to crop though, but I can try if prodded.
Notes: Written for hetalia_contest's Week 11 prompt, 'Fairytale'.
Summary - Those that are free, we wish to shackle to ourselves almost as if to prove we can. Their despair is our creation and undoing.
Birds are for song, for the moment when you see them, framed against the opressive winter sky and the flare of longing starts within your chest. Ivan knows of this feeling - a feeling that is almost as posessive as his longing for the blue expanse of ocean that he had only seen in the marks of a brush.
Caged birds are not the same.
The cage was ugly and as spindly as a crone, stretching long, ugly fingers down to the base. The door was almost invisible against dull steel. The bird that was contained inside was diminished. It’s once golden, firey plumage had faded and burned to an ember of it’s former glory. It’s pearl-like eyes were dull and misted.
Ivan poked a finger through the bars and crooned at it, but his mouth was dry, and the bird turned it’s head and shuffled on it’s perch, the long feathers of it’s tail brushing against the dirty floor of the cage, soiling their former glory.
“Zhar-ptitsa, why don’t you sing?” Ivan breathed. “Why don’t you laugh like your cousin’s do outside, at the blizzard?”
Ivan knew the answer, deep within his chest. It ached, a harsh and brutal reality but he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the icy guilt that ached in his belly. The bird scarcely moved at the sound of it’s captor’s voice, it’s head drooping low on to it’s breast and let out a soft croon that made Ivan’s heart thud up into his throat. But he bit his lip and turned away, feeling ice creep over that nova in his throat, turning it’s explosive energy into a black hole.
“WHY WON’T YOU SING!” Ivan roared, slamming a hand against the bars. The bird hardly flinched. Ivan turned away, anger lighting the kindling of greed in his chest. “It’s all your fault, all your fault...”
And as the tears slipped down Ivan’s broad, crooked nose, pearls fell to the floor of the cage, landing amoungst the droppings as the bird cried for the sky.
Notes:
- The Firebird is a legend in slavic folklore. It tells of a bird with plumage like that of fire that comes from a distant land, whom is highly sought after for it's magical properties. It's mentioned in a few different Russian fairytales. It is said that the Firebird brings great joy, but it also brings doom to it's captors.
- Zhar-ptitsa is the Russian name for the Firebird. I am so edgy, I inserted Russian. Nah, I just couldn't see Ivan referring to it as the Firebird, so I had to put something alternate in. And so there we have it.