...promises were always so crazy to me...
Title: Counting Memories
Rating: G
Characters: A reference of Michalai... sort of.
A/N: A bit of AU. Whee! From dolevalan 's prompt "three weeks later".
Three weeks.
Had it been that long already?
She turned her head to the left, pressing her cheek to the lined silk pillow case and letting the down memorize the shape of her bones. It was still light outside. The days seemed to linger on, even though it was getting colder outside.
Watching the hazy, long light slide through the tall towers and narrow space ways the city gave it to barely squeeze through, she pressed her face deeper into the pillow, into the once beneath it, just as plush and rich. The sheets were made of the same fabric, the covers, coverlet and throw stuffed with the same pristine down, soft and unbelievably luxurious.
She let the sunlight leak into her eyes and run down against her cheeks and along the pillows.
Three weeks. Since...
There was a soft, waking cry from the ajoining room. She lifted her cheek, but a short, well-dressed woman came bustling through the room, telling her that she would take care of it.
It was taken care of.
She turned, and pressed her nose and lips into the pillow case, letting it memorize the shape of her skin, breathing in, and remembering the scent that they had memorized before hers. Maybe they would let hers stay too. There was a whine and a cough from the other room.
Three weeks and counting. Every hour. Every moment. She found it funny how the richest of things had the poorest of memories. She breathed in again, and sat up in the lean light.
"Bring him here, please."
Rating: G
Characters: A reference of Michalai... sort of.
A/N: A bit of AU. Whee! From dolevalan 's prompt "three weeks later".
Three weeks.
Had it been that long already?
She turned her head to the left, pressing her cheek to the lined silk pillow case and letting the down memorize the shape of her bones. It was still light outside. The days seemed to linger on, even though it was getting colder outside.
Watching the hazy, long light slide through the tall towers and narrow space ways the city gave it to barely squeeze through, she pressed her face deeper into the pillow, into the once beneath it, just as plush and rich. The sheets were made of the same fabric, the covers, coverlet and throw stuffed with the same pristine down, soft and unbelievably luxurious.
She let the sunlight leak into her eyes and run down against her cheeks and along the pillows.
Three weeks. Since...
There was a soft, waking cry from the ajoining room. She lifted her cheek, but a short, well-dressed woman came bustling through the room, telling her that she would take care of it.
It was taken care of.
She turned, and pressed her nose and lips into the pillow case, letting it memorize the shape of her skin, breathing in, and remembering the scent that they had memorized before hers. Maybe they would let hers stay too. There was a whine and a cough from the other room.
Three weeks and counting. Every hour. Every moment. She found it funny how the richest of things had the poorest of memories. She breathed in again, and sat up in the lean light.
"Bring him here, please."