[wild Roses] Hazel
Title: one more letter, 'til we say goodbye forever.
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Hazel
Prompt: 02A "letter(s)"
Word Count: 386
Notes: This isn't my best work, M. Sorry. But here.
For reference, she's writing to Joshua, who was part of the ensemble here.
It took her four tries to get past the first paragraph, left crumpled paper scattered around the chair and the desk before she finally gave up, grabbed the last sheet of paper on the desk and just wrote.
To my most esteemed-- Hey, big brother, she wrote instead. Maybe next year I won't write you a letter. We'll see how things go.
I miss you. Sascha and Dad do, too. She helped me pick out the candle I'm going to use--she thought white would be boring, this year, so we got you one in colours. It smells good.
Dad's got one of your sketches of the Keep and harbour up in the library, finally. I think he got Aunt Arianhrod to help--it's not glassed in, but if you try to touch it your hand just kind of slides away, so I don't think you need to worry about it fading or getting smudged.
Not that you would, from what I remember and what they've told me.
I miss you, big brother. I wish you were here, help me tease Dad into coming out to play, make Conall grin big enough he forgets about his teeth.
But wishing doesn't help, does it.
She sighed, scrubbed her face with her hands, felt ink smear from the pen onto her cheek.
Thank you again, she wrote carefully, for teaching me to write. I think Dad trying would have made both of us crazy.
With love,
Hazel
She blew on the sheet until the ink dried, then folded it into a careful tent, to fit between the branches of the tree they'd planted above his candle-stone. Then bent, tied her shoes, and walked down to light a candle, leave a letter.
She paused along the way to relight a few pale candles that wind had put out, tried not to use too many of her wooden matches doing so. It'd be embarrassing to spend so much time remembering other peoples' dead and not be able to light her own candles.
At the Keep's gate, Aodh fell into step with her briefly, kissed her temple, then disappeared again. The next time she reached for matches she found more in her pockets than she expected, the same hand-cut wooden style she preferred, for this, and she had to wonder how many candles he'd lit, or relit, that day.
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Hazel
Prompt: 02A "letter(s)"
Word Count: 386
Notes: This isn't my best work, M. Sorry. But here.
For reference, she's writing to Joshua, who was part of the ensemble here.
It took her four tries to get past the first paragraph, left crumpled paper scattered around the chair and the desk before she finally gave up, grabbed the last sheet of paper on the desk and just wrote.
To my most esteemed-- Hey, big brother, she wrote instead. Maybe next year I won't write you a letter. We'll see how things go.
I miss you. Sascha and Dad do, too. She helped me pick out the candle I'm going to use--she thought white would be boring, this year, so we got you one in colours. It smells good.
Dad's got one of your sketches of the Keep and harbour up in the library, finally. I think he got Aunt Arianhrod to help--it's not glassed in, but if you try to touch it your hand just kind of slides away, so I don't think you need to worry about it fading or getting smudged.
Not that you would, from what I remember and what they've told me.
I miss you, big brother. I wish you were here, help me tease Dad into coming out to play, make Conall grin big enough he forgets about his teeth.
But wishing doesn't help, does it.
She sighed, scrubbed her face with her hands, felt ink smear from the pen onto her cheek.
Thank you again, she wrote carefully, for teaching me to write. I think Dad trying would have made both of us crazy.
With love,
Hazel
She blew on the sheet until the ink dried, then folded it into a careful tent, to fit between the branches of the tree they'd planted above his candle-stone. Then bent, tied her shoes, and walked down to light a candle, leave a letter.
She paused along the way to relight a few pale candles that wind had put out, tried not to use too many of her wooden matches doing so. It'd be embarrassing to spend so much time remembering other peoples' dead and not be able to light her own candles.
At the Keep's gate, Aodh fell into step with her briefly, kissed her temple, then disappeared again. The next time she reached for matches she found more in her pockets than she expected, the same hand-cut wooden style she preferred, for this, and she had to wonder how many candles he'd lit, or relit, that day.