a few theme ficlets ...
Character: Saga
Themes and Wordcounts: 01. "beginnings" (139), 02. "middles" (126), 03. "endings" (138)
Disclaimers: I own not this character nor the details nor story. More's the pity *chuckles*
beginnings
In a brilliant bonfire of burning sky, of the stars themselves crushed by his will,
he felt the overwhelming sensation -
this new sense of himself --
open within and try to pull him down into some personal abyss.
But the sun-pale Saint-to-be refused to bow, tamed that power to his wish
and captured the deaths of stars to be unleashed at his command.
Forcing glassy blue-midnight eyes open once more
(he had not even known he’d squeezed them shut!)
he hardly saw the silent, now-approving master standing aside,
leaving a faint trail of scarlet as he walked away;
there was only the gleaming golden creature set before him.
Disbelieving, he reached out to touch the knife-sharp patterns in gold
and was promptly engulfed, as darkness flared briefly, once -
Saint of the two-faced Twin, now.
In more ways than one ...
middles
Enough.
The word echoed through his mind -
Stalking from the great marble bath, mane clinging like tangled pale-gold silk,
He hoped with bitter savagery that the dark thing heard his every thought.
He had had enough of hanging, suspended, in this unending web -
unable to move forward, unable to retreat
and caught between in nothingness while his dark heart laughed.
No more. The children approached; the usurper had been distracted,
and he would act. Now.
In a heartbeat he burned away the dampness of the bath with a corona of star’s fire.
Snatching up the soft night-dark robes, he dressed in haste;
Once the boy knew what must be done
it would be over -
He fingered the blade, heavy with guilt and unseen blood.
Yes.
Over.
endings
It would have been a mercy to feel the bone-chilling cold flagstones soaking slowly
with his unloving body’s sluggish black blood; to hear the mocking insults,
the denial from the young Saints only just arrived in Death’s dark fortress …
But - the gamble had been won; She had known what must be the price,
and for a sinner as himself there should be no mercy.
Perhaps, he reflected as the last slow seconds trickled by,
it would be more fitting if he were made to feel that pain.
No matter. They needed to hear it from death-pale lips,
a reason to continue on -
Empty words. All that he can offer to Her loyal ones.
And so he does, even as the last clouded shards of adamant fall into dust
taking him with them into nothing in their wake
Themes and Wordcounts: 01. "beginnings" (139), 02. "middles" (126), 03. "endings" (138)
Disclaimers: I own not this character nor the details nor story. More's the pity *chuckles*
beginnings
In a brilliant bonfire of burning sky, of the stars themselves crushed by his will,
he felt the overwhelming sensation -
this new sense of himself --
open within and try to pull him down into some personal abyss.
But the sun-pale Saint-to-be refused to bow, tamed that power to his wish
and captured the deaths of stars to be unleashed at his command.
Forcing glassy blue-midnight eyes open once more
(he had not even known he’d squeezed them shut!)
he hardly saw the silent, now-approving master standing aside,
leaving a faint trail of scarlet as he walked away;
there was only the gleaming golden creature set before him.
Disbelieving, he reached out to touch the knife-sharp patterns in gold
and was promptly engulfed, as darkness flared briefly, once -
Saint of the two-faced Twin, now.
In more ways than one ...
middles
Enough.
The word echoed through his mind -
Stalking from the great marble bath, mane clinging like tangled pale-gold silk,
He hoped with bitter savagery that the dark thing heard his every thought.
He had had enough of hanging, suspended, in this unending web -
unable to move forward, unable to retreat
and caught between in nothingness while his dark heart laughed.
No more. The children approached; the usurper had been distracted,
and he would act. Now.
In a heartbeat he burned away the dampness of the bath with a corona of star’s fire.
Snatching up the soft night-dark robes, he dressed in haste;
Once the boy knew what must be done
it would be over -
He fingered the blade, heavy with guilt and unseen blood.
Yes.
Over.
endings
It would have been a mercy to feel the bone-chilling cold flagstones soaking slowly
with his unloving body’s sluggish black blood; to hear the mocking insults,
the denial from the young Saints only just arrived in Death’s dark fortress …
But - the gamble had been won; She had known what must be the price,
and for a sinner as himself there should be no mercy.
Perhaps, he reflected as the last slow seconds trickled by,
it would be more fitting if he were made to feel that pain.
No matter. They needed to hear it from death-pale lips,
a reason to continue on -
Empty words. All that he can offer to Her loyal ones.
And so he does, even as the last clouded shards of adamant fall into dust
taking him with them into nothing in their wake