Drabble
Title: "In the Shadow of All That's Gone"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Pairing: Tom/Minerva
Rating: PG-13
Length: 200 exactly
She clung to herself, skin battered and bruised, injuries that were his but hers. Mottled skin broken by jagged red lines, the writing of her failure. She offered and he took. Then took. And she was gone, lost in the darkness that was his triumph. The cold wind chilled her but never made her numb, no matter how long she waited, how many hours she sat in nauseated memories, hope fading as the cold crept over her. She huddled against the stones, thin cloak clutched half-heartedly around her marked body. He would come back... and she would wait, ready to give herself again. She had no other offering to lay at his feet but herself. Her words weren't enough, as faithful as they were, spells woven through her, promises made and kept. A witch's word is her bond her grandmother's voice spoke in the howl of the wind. But she knew bonds were made of vines and leather and lace, conjured up to hold her body, stretch her body, open it to him, though she willingly gave with open eyes and guileless mind.
He would come back... and she would be here, waiting on the precipice between forgiven and forgotten.
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Pairing: Tom/Minerva
Rating: PG-13
Length: 200 exactly
She clung to herself, skin battered and bruised, injuries that were his but hers. Mottled skin broken by jagged red lines, the writing of her failure. She offered and he took. Then took. And she was gone, lost in the darkness that was his triumph. The cold wind chilled her but never made her numb, no matter how long she waited, how many hours she sat in nauseated memories, hope fading as the cold crept over her. She huddled against the stones, thin cloak clutched half-heartedly around her marked body. He would come back... and she would wait, ready to give herself again. She had no other offering to lay at his feet but herself. Her words weren't enough, as faithful as they were, spells woven through her, promises made and kept. A witch's word is her bond her grandmother's voice spoke in the howl of the wind. But she knew bonds were made of vines and leather and lace, conjured up to hold her body, stretch her body, open it to him, though she willingly gave with open eyes and guileless mind.
He would come back... and she would be here, waiting on the precipice between forgiven and forgotten.