dorothy's slippers.

[highf]

So here's what you missed on Glee:

Puck and Santana have been stranded on an island that kind of reminds them of Lost, except without the cool polar bears and the smoke monster, and both of them are missing home and feeling way out of their league, even if neither will admit to it. ( "Not your type of party, is it?" "If I say no, you're going to

Comments

[highf]

"Your master sounds very wise," Kurt replied in turn, even though he couldn't help but linger on the very type of language that was being used, one that most certainly had to have been from generations ago, perhaps even centuries before his own time. Not having paid the greatest of attention to pre-19th century history, Kurt couldn't peg the language down for certain, but there was something whimsical about it nonetheless, something that went along with all of her other descriptions, almost humbling. Sometimes, Kurt couldn't help thinking that the ease with which teens could get their hands on most anything those days left some lessons unlearned.

Shaking his head away from the thought, he turned his attention instead to the beautiful young girl in front of him. It would have been all too easy to make her into his next project, he thought lightly to himself. Her looks alone were enough to make her a star, if she wanted, and to Kurt, nothing seemed more important than the desire to try. What did she stand to lose, especially if her days were so idle?

"You can't just let time slip by you," he nodded, tone encouraging. "And trust me, no one knows where to start the first time. That's the very nature of the beast. Expressing yourself is something that you... have to grow into, and one of the first steps is becoming unafraid. Will you make a fool out of yourself at some point? Possibly. But if it's in the name of art, no one's going to think less of you for it. Or any other subject area, for that matter."

[vestalstone]

"Oh, he is." Pierrette breathed, her heart swelling with fondness at the thought of the old sorcerer. "Eccentric I must add, but the world has seen no one who could compare to my master. I miss him each and every day." She missed the old man's teasing and jokes, even his stubborn will and crude attitude. If there were people she would wish to see on the island, Marie and Anselm would be the first.

She wondered what kind of life this strange boy must have been living before he came to this place. Self expression was not necessarily a strange thought, but it had a place and a time. For Pierrette, even as Piers, had been shushed and quieted, only left to her own devices in silence and solitude. And now that she could walk under the sun as a girl, she was expected to be even quieter. "I have only had one way to express myself, I think," she mused. "But even then, I had to hide myself. Not out of shame, never from shame, but from fear. To fully develop my skill and to enjoy my craft out in the eyes of my townsfolk would surely mean death for me as it did for my mother."

[highf]

Any smile lingering on his lips completely faded away at the mention of the girl's mother. Kurt felt blood draining from his face, replaced by an unpleasant buzz that lingered on his skin, a distant ringing in his ears. He thought of his mother nearly every day, that wasn't new, and alone, the thought of her could never throw him so severely off-guard. But at least he had always been able to console himself with the fact that it'd been immediate, that she hadn't suffered, that no one had intended to have her suffer. (One of innumerable reasons why he couldn't believe in God, or certainly not in the Grace of Him; if he was willing to take a woman who'd never been anything but kind from a family who could never be whole in her absence, how could anyone call him kind? Benevolent? Having their best interests in mind?)

In spite of the world suddenly layering around him with cotton, blocking off all senses and trapping inside the recesses of his own mind, still he struggled to see through and to the other girl. "The townsfolk... killed your mother?" he asked, blinking rapidly. "That's horrible."

[vestalstone]

When the boy's complexion bled to a stark white, Pierrette's brows pulled in concern and she fidgeted where she sat. She had meant nothing terrible by her words, it had only been musings brought on by their conversation, but out of the blue he seemed to have faded and grown fearful and distant of her. She reached out to him, her hands coming short of touching him and lingered, hovering just over the slim hand still settled on the back of the furniture.

"I am sorry if I have upset you," she murmured, searching his face. "This is something I have lived with for such a long time, I fear I may forget how grave of news it may be. I remember very little of my mother, it is my sister who will always bear that burden. But it is unfortunate to say that in a Christian village, no pagan woman would be truly accepted by her neighbors. I have been lucky this far, as they are too cowardly to touch a child. But as my womanhood approaches, as do dangerous tides."

[highf]

In spite of the way that Kurt could still feel his skin numbed with pins and needles, briefly brushing against the side of each cheek, he had enough sense to reach forward, his hand resting on top of the girl's. Quite possibly, it was a bit forward, especially if she was indeed from a time as far back as the one she'd described sounded, lifetimes ago, from another world entirely, where even the brush of fingers was a gesture worth note. Because, no matter what amount of discomfort he felt himself, the greater consideration had to be made to the young woman, whose mother had died for her beliefs, who had wandered around likely lost and without anyone to guide her in the way that parents were meant to, until children felt themselves capable of handling everything on their own.

Next to her problems, Kurt's felt... small. Trifling.

"The last thing that you should be doing is apologizing, dear," he reassured, lips in a smile that strained, but was no less sincere for it. "Mothers will always be a bit of a touchy topic for me. My own died when I was eight, but... not as the result of anything like that."