[Fanfic] Stockholm Syndrome
Sometimes an idea grabs hold of me and I have to work it and re-work it until I am satisfied. This is one of those ones.
Title: Stockholm Syndrome
Author: yuuago
Characters: Estonia, Finland, Sweden
Rating: PG (for subject matter)
Length: 4-line poem + ~360 words prose
Time period: ~16th century
Summary: Thoughts on past love, and an attempt to understand what has come to be.
My eyes rest
on your entwined hands-
My mind creeps
with words I dare not speak.
I look at you, take in the depths of those eyes I once knew.
We speak, but my words are mist in my mouth. Your face is the same, but I no longer know you.
What has happened to us?
Can you see in your mind those times we walked together, our breath making fog in the cool night air? When I smell the coming snow, my heart remembers.
The wind whipped our hair, stirred the falling flakes, cracked the pine branches reaching to the sky. You stood on your toes and whispered love-words in my ear.
What has happened to you?
You fear him.
We were two leaves on the same branch, two berries on the same stem. I was your match; we walked side by side.
Your body walks beside him but he pulls your soul along like a dog on a string. Always struggling behind, you sink into his giant footprints.
Do you take his hand and trace his palm with love, as you did to mine long ago? Do you kiss each long finger with your rough, weathered lips?
He is marked, and you know it. Nothing will bleach out the red; no scent in the world could sweeten the stench of the blood. His hands are soaked through with it.
He claims you as his own. Your protests are weightless as foxfire. You say you are no wife, but to him your words are nothing. Could he love you?
His voice is sharp and biting as the storm-bringing wind. Could he call you beloved as I did? His eyes are cold, hard as permafrost. Can you see stars there as you saw in mine?
Why do you stay? Did you give him your heart? You have all of mine, and if you asked I would say: Yes, my love, yes. This spring will never run dry, it is endless.
It flows for you, though you no longer drink from it.
I look at your face and do not know who I see.
Who is behind those eyes?
What has he done to you, he who calls himself your husband?
What has he done?
What has he done?
Title: Stockholm Syndrome
Author: yuuago
Characters: Estonia, Finland, Sweden
Rating: PG (for subject matter)
Length: 4-line poem + ~360 words prose
Time period: ~16th century
Summary: Thoughts on past love, and an attempt to understand what has come to be.
My eyes rest
on your entwined hands-
My mind creeps
with words I dare not speak.
I look at you, take in the depths of those eyes I once knew.
We speak, but my words are mist in my mouth. Your face is the same, but I no longer know you.
What has happened to us?
Can you see in your mind those times we walked together, our breath making fog in the cool night air? When I smell the coming snow, my heart remembers.
The wind whipped our hair, stirred the falling flakes, cracked the pine branches reaching to the sky. You stood on your toes and whispered love-words in my ear.
What has happened to you?
You fear him.
We were two leaves on the same branch, two berries on the same stem. I was your match; we walked side by side.
Your body walks beside him but he pulls your soul along like a dog on a string. Always struggling behind, you sink into his giant footprints.
Do you take his hand and trace his palm with love, as you did to mine long ago? Do you kiss each long finger with your rough, weathered lips?
He is marked, and you know it. Nothing will bleach out the red; no scent in the world could sweeten the stench of the blood. His hands are soaked through with it.
He claims you as his own. Your protests are weightless as foxfire. You say you are no wife, but to him your words are nothing. Could he love you?
His voice is sharp and biting as the storm-bringing wind. Could he call you beloved as I did? His eyes are cold, hard as permafrost. Can you see stars there as you saw in mine?
Why do you stay? Did you give him your heart? You have all of mine, and if you asked I would say: Yes, my love, yes. This spring will never run dry, it is endless.
It flows for you, though you no longer drink from it.
I look at your face and do not know who I see.
Who is behind those eyes?
What has he done to you, he who calls himself your husband?
What has he done?
What has he done?