Peppermint #4 + Pomelo #16
Author: pareidolia
Flavors: Peppermint #4 "horn" + Pomelo #16 " far waters cannot quench near fires"
Rating: G
Note: Sixth in the series of tales about the children of Wyndham House, now with a handy-dandy Index.
Summary: Little boy blue, come blow your horn-- Michel, the boy who cried wolf, sits in his tower and waits.
He was always the scared one. Never mind that Philippa was technically younger than him, or that Kandor often asked for his thoughts. He was always the one who hid when the storm came, the one who kept four candles at his side when the lights went off, the one who cried all the way down the basement stairs. The one who screamed bloody murder when the ice cream truck’s horn broke, making it sound like the ambulance’s siren. The one who shied away from the stray cat Severin brought in from the rain because it once tried to scratch him.
Michel, the baby. Michel, the ‘fraidy-cat. Michel, the boy who cried wolf.
He didn’t care, not always. If Miguel was there, he didn’t care at all, but sometimes Miguel would leave with Finitia, and he’d be left with his cruel siblings, and it was all he could do to sneak away to his tower and hide until the father came.
At least, he thinks, they didn’t try to take his horn. The small, brass horn that had been a gift from the old man who lived in the cave by the sea, near the place he first called home. He wraps his arms around it, unconsciously curling up into a ball and shrinking into the shadows of his tower.
They could say anything they wanted, but no one, absolutely no one, would survive if they tried to take his horn. Because, if everything else failed, he’d be the one who had to put his lips to it, and blow. He’d make the sound, as loud as he could, and hope with all that he had that he would be heard. When the day of the wedding arrived, when all the children of Wyndham arrived, he’d look out for them, and when anything went wrong -as anything would, most certainly- he’d run to his tower, and strike the note...
Strike the note that would call the marriage to a halt, the note that would take the gifts and give the gifts the Wyndham fathers had created, the note that would save them all.
Michel shivered as a cold hand touched his back, and when he turned to look, there was no one, and then, the urge to take his horn became stronger than ever, and he bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, and the pain took him by the scruff of his neck and the darkness faded, just a bit, but enough to remind him that the hour had not yet come and that if he did his duty now no one would be saved, they would all die, or worse, they would all remain and nobody nobody nobody should pledge forever because that wasn’t what forever was for--
The boy who cried wolf, as his siblings called him, buried his face into his hands, and wished with all his might for the return of his other half, Felice, who would bear the rings with him, and who would hopefully let him cry on his shoulder when the day ended.
(But far waters could not quench near fires, and while Felice drowned out his screams with the sound of the waves, Michel suffered as his tears burned tracks of fear into his soul)
Flavors: Peppermint #4 "horn" + Pomelo #16 " far waters cannot quench near fires"
Rating: G
Note: Sixth in the series of tales about the children of Wyndham House, now with a handy-dandy Index.
Summary: Little boy blue, come blow your horn-- Michel, the boy who cried wolf, sits in his tower and waits.
He was always the scared one. Never mind that Philippa was technically younger than him, or that Kandor often asked for his thoughts. He was always the one who hid when the storm came, the one who kept four candles at his side when the lights went off, the one who cried all the way down the basement stairs. The one who screamed bloody murder when the ice cream truck’s horn broke, making it sound like the ambulance’s siren. The one who shied away from the stray cat Severin brought in from the rain because it once tried to scratch him.
Michel, the baby. Michel, the ‘fraidy-cat. Michel, the boy who cried wolf.
He didn’t care, not always. If Miguel was there, he didn’t care at all, but sometimes Miguel would leave with Finitia, and he’d be left with his cruel siblings, and it was all he could do to sneak away to his tower and hide until the father came.
At least, he thinks, they didn’t try to take his horn. The small, brass horn that had been a gift from the old man who lived in the cave by the sea, near the place he first called home. He wraps his arms around it, unconsciously curling up into a ball and shrinking into the shadows of his tower.
They could say anything they wanted, but no one, absolutely no one, would survive if they tried to take his horn. Because, if everything else failed, he’d be the one who had to put his lips to it, and blow. He’d make the sound, as loud as he could, and hope with all that he had that he would be heard. When the day of the wedding arrived, when all the children of Wyndham arrived, he’d look out for them, and when anything went wrong -as anything would, most certainly- he’d run to his tower, and strike the note...
Strike the note that would call the marriage to a halt, the note that would take the gifts and give the gifts the Wyndham fathers had created, the note that would save them all.
Michel shivered as a cold hand touched his back, and when he turned to look, there was no one, and then, the urge to take his horn became stronger than ever, and he bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, and the pain took him by the scruff of his neck and the darkness faded, just a bit, but enough to remind him that the hour had not yet come and that if he did his duty now no one would be saved, they would all die, or worse, they would all remain and nobody nobody nobody should pledge forever because that wasn’t what forever was for--
The boy who cried wolf, as his siblings called him, buried his face into his hands, and wished with all his might for the return of his other half, Felice, who would bear the rings with him, and who would hopefully let him cry on his shoulder when the day ended.
(But far waters could not quench near fires, and while Felice drowned out his screams with the sound of the waves, Michel suffered as his tears burned tracks of fear into his soul)