Brigits_Flame June 2010 Week 1 Entry
Yup, I'm writing stories for brigits_flame again! As always, comments are loved and appreciated.
The theme for this week is: Jasmine, Forever
Genre: Fiction - Fantasy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 658
What do you do when you’re the last of your kind?
Do you go into the world, determined not to be alone? Live among humans, pretending to be one of them? Delve into their politics, play their games, wear their clothes? Feel the passion of their humanity as you dive head first into their world, embracing all that it means to be one of them? Fall in love with a dark haired man with warm, loving eyes, soft lips full of poetry, and a heart as pure and noble as the greatest elven knight that ever lived in stories or Faerie alike?
Even the noblest of human hearts eventually begins to fail. In the blink of an eye, a heart that was once full of hope and happiness can shatter into a million pieces, never to be made whole again. In that moment, as the grief washes over you, forcing you to your knees, you learn what it truly means to be human; to be mortal… but that was decades ago. Or was it centuries? It didn’t matter. The pain was so fresh; it still felt like days.
No. It’s better simply to watch; much like she did oh so long ago. She safely hid and watched as the Wild Hunt systematically hunted down and killed all the fae in Faerie. When all of the elves, gnomes, brownies, hobgoblins, and the rest were gone, the Wild Hunt turned on each other, destroying themselves in turn. Once all of the dust settled, there was only one left to clear the debris and bury the dead. She was a mere child then; a grown woman now.
The palaces of Faerie, filled with marble statues and silken tapestries, barren feast halls and closets overflowing with garments that were the stuff of dreams, had been her playground then. Now, the empty halls and echoing corridors only served to remind her of all that she had lost.
So, she watched.
She watched as kings and princes gave way to Presidents and Prime Ministers. Courts became Congresses and Parliaments. Monarchies still existed but they were mere shadows of their once glorious selves. While all the treachery, all the backstabbing remained, all the beauty and pageantry had ended long ago.
It didn’t matter. The allure of them, the sway they once held over her, died when he did. Besides, they had entire newspapers, magazines, television channels, websites, thousands of people dedicated to watching them, reporting on their activities for all the world to hear and see.
Instead she watched the simple people, the ones like him, with goodness and love in their hearts. She watched their births and deaths, their joys and sorrows, the drama of their entire lives played out on a stage that existed just for her.
She covered the walls of her empty palaces with fragments of their lives, carefully written in her flowing hand. Perpetually ink-stained fingers filled every nook and cranny of every wall, every statue, every floor tile with their stories. If she squinted her eyes and wished hard enough, she could almost see the words take shape into the ghostly forms of those she had written about. In those moments, the palaces were filled again with the joy and laughter that were nothing more than faint memories to her now.
Every inch of writable surface was filled; all save one wall that had been carefully erased, one wall that had held the lifespan of a single, mortal man. She needed no reminders of his life, no words left behind for prying eyes to see. Every story, every minute of his life was etched on the many pieces of her still broken heart and she knew she would carry them with her always.
As mankind went on living, she stayed suspended, unable to die but unwilling to live, simply watching… and writing. The last bastion of magic, the last faerie in all the world. She would remain Jasmine forever… forever watching… forever his.
The theme for this week is: Jasmine, Forever
Genre: Fiction - Fantasy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 658
What do you do when you’re the last of your kind?
Do you go into the world, determined not to be alone? Live among humans, pretending to be one of them? Delve into their politics, play their games, wear their clothes? Feel the passion of their humanity as you dive head first into their world, embracing all that it means to be one of them? Fall in love with a dark haired man with warm, loving eyes, soft lips full of poetry, and a heart as pure and noble as the greatest elven knight that ever lived in stories or Faerie alike?
Even the noblest of human hearts eventually begins to fail. In the blink of an eye, a heart that was once full of hope and happiness can shatter into a million pieces, never to be made whole again. In that moment, as the grief washes over you, forcing you to your knees, you learn what it truly means to be human; to be mortal… but that was decades ago. Or was it centuries? It didn’t matter. The pain was so fresh; it still felt like days.
No. It’s better simply to watch; much like she did oh so long ago. She safely hid and watched as the Wild Hunt systematically hunted down and killed all the fae in Faerie. When all of the elves, gnomes, brownies, hobgoblins, and the rest were gone, the Wild Hunt turned on each other, destroying themselves in turn. Once all of the dust settled, there was only one left to clear the debris and bury the dead. She was a mere child then; a grown woman now.
The palaces of Faerie, filled with marble statues and silken tapestries, barren feast halls and closets overflowing with garments that were the stuff of dreams, had been her playground then. Now, the empty halls and echoing corridors only served to remind her of all that she had lost.
So, she watched.
She watched as kings and princes gave way to Presidents and Prime Ministers. Courts became Congresses and Parliaments. Monarchies still existed but they were mere shadows of their once glorious selves. While all the treachery, all the backstabbing remained, all the beauty and pageantry had ended long ago.
It didn’t matter. The allure of them, the sway they once held over her, died when he did. Besides, they had entire newspapers, magazines, television channels, websites, thousands of people dedicated to watching them, reporting on their activities for all the world to hear and see.
Instead she watched the simple people, the ones like him, with goodness and love in their hearts. She watched their births and deaths, their joys and sorrows, the drama of their entire lives played out on a stage that existed just for her.
She covered the walls of her empty palaces with fragments of their lives, carefully written in her flowing hand. Perpetually ink-stained fingers filled every nook and cranny of every wall, every statue, every floor tile with their stories. If she squinted her eyes and wished hard enough, she could almost see the words take shape into the ghostly forms of those she had written about. In those moments, the palaces were filled again with the joy and laughter that were nothing more than faint memories to her now.
Every inch of writable surface was filled; all save one wall that had been carefully erased, one wall that had held the lifespan of a single, mortal man. She needed no reminders of his life, no words left behind for prying eyes to see. Every story, every minute of his life was etched on the many pieces of her still broken heart and she knew she would carry them with her always.
As mankind went on living, she stayed suspended, unable to die but unwilling to live, simply watching… and writing. The last bastion of magic, the last faerie in all the world. She would remain Jasmine forever… forever watching… forever his.