Drabble: Fracture
Title: Fracture
Author: versifico
Rating: G
Summary: Elizabeth gen. She is only a child of eight but she understands the nature of broken promises.
Disclaimer: Don't own nothin'
A/N: Tripple drabble in response to prompt 8 at
potc_dogwatch , "oaths and promises". Also serves as a sort of teaser to my current work-in-progress, a multi-chapter fic exploring Elizabeth's past and its implications for her present. Many thanks to
piratemistress for renewing my interest in this storyline that's been floating around me head for some time now.
Fracture (n):
1. The act of breaking something
2. A split or division in something such as a system, organization, or agreement
She is only a child of eight but she understands the nature of broken promises. She’s accustomed to the downcast eyes and twisting fingers hidden behind layered skirts; recognizes an oath splintered before it is even built.
Elizabeth is only eight when her mother tucks her in with too-calm hands, eyes clear and serene under delicate lashes. And there is her special, secret smile, the lovely crinkle of creamy skin at her temples.
“Tomorrow, my Bess,” she whispers, syllables rolling feather-soft across her skin. “Tomorrow we shall go on a special adventure. We’ll share our secrets and sleep in the sun. Just close your eyes for now and when you wake I will be here, waiting for you.”
She is only eight and still young enough to hope, blindly and with abandon, that this time will be different. She is, after all, ever so tired, and it will be no hardship to let sleep come now. Another touch flutters across her check and for a moment there is nothing but the scent of her mother’s perfume. Then she is asleep, dreaming of sunshine and laughter and her mother’s hand held tight in hers.
She rises early the next morning, excitement and laughter bubbling in her throat. She jumps from bed, dressing gown forgotten, and her feet are too loud on the hard floors. The door to her mother’s room is open, bed already made and she continues on, running until she reaches the sun-splattered kitchen. Her feet still, the long fabric of her nightdress tangles around her ankles; her breath catches and the silence overcomes her.
Her mother’s hat is missing from its peg and the kitchen door stands wide open; it is a held breath, an unfinished sentence, a question that melts away in the back of her throat.
Author: versifico
Rating: G
Summary: Elizabeth gen. She is only a child of eight but she understands the nature of broken promises.
Disclaimer: Don't own nothin'
A/N: Tripple drabble in response to prompt 8 at
potc_dogwatch , "oaths and promises". Also serves as a sort of teaser to my current work-in-progress, a multi-chapter fic exploring Elizabeth's past and its implications for her present. Many thanks to
piratemistress for renewing my interest in this storyline that's been floating around me head for some time now.
Fracture (n):
1. The act of breaking something
2. A split or division in something such as a system, organization, or agreement
She is only a child of eight but she understands the nature of broken promises. She’s accustomed to the downcast eyes and twisting fingers hidden behind layered skirts; recognizes an oath splintered before it is even built.
Elizabeth is only eight when her mother tucks her in with too-calm hands, eyes clear and serene under delicate lashes. And there is her special, secret smile, the lovely crinkle of creamy skin at her temples.
“Tomorrow, my Bess,” she whispers, syllables rolling feather-soft across her skin. “Tomorrow we shall go on a special adventure. We’ll share our secrets and sleep in the sun. Just close your eyes for now and when you wake I will be here, waiting for you.”
She is only eight and still young enough to hope, blindly and with abandon, that this time will be different. She is, after all, ever so tired, and it will be no hardship to let sleep come now. Another touch flutters across her check and for a moment there is nothing but the scent of her mother’s perfume. Then she is asleep, dreaming of sunshine and laughter and her mother’s hand held tight in hers.
She rises early the next morning, excitement and laughter bubbling in her throat. She jumps from bed, dressing gown forgotten, and her feet are too loud on the hard floors. The door to her mother’s room is open, bed already made and she continues on, running until she reaches the sun-splattered kitchen. Her feet still, the long fabric of her nightdress tangles around her ankles; her breath catches and the silence overcomes her.
Her mother’s hat is missing from its peg and the kitchen door stands wide open; it is a held breath, an unfinished sentence, a question that melts away in the back of her throat.