Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if the circumstances had been different ( Read more... )

The days before Christmas pass quickly. I stay mostly ensconced in my tiny kitchen and cook, making liberal use of Anthony's vegetable chopping and stirring abilities. He keeps a watchful eye on me and makes paper ornaments from colored paper that I know didn't come from the warehouse. He is surprisingly deft with the paper and hangs his ornaments ( Read more... )

Through a clever combination of ingredients, patience and magic, I am certain that I can make a proper Christmas pudding in less than a week. The trick of this, of course, will be in the brandy ( Read more... )

Anthony usually wakes before I do, but this morning is different. Rather than waking to the sound of Anthony's careful stretching on the floor, or to his puttering in the kitchen, he is nowhere to be seen, but I can hear one half of a muffled conversation. After straining to hear, I resist the urge to eavesdrop magically and simply pull the covers ( Read more... )

My convalescence is long, though probably not as long as it feels, each day when I do not sleep it away, seemingly longer and more interminable than the last. My flesh and bones heal, bruises fade. Anthony teaches me how to stretch and move like he does, and I see echoes of his deadly practice in it, slow though it is. Under his tutelage, I grow ( Read more... )

Anthony leaves me mid-morning and I find that I'm grateful for it, to be entirely alone. Anthony is easy company, but even the easiest company begins to wear, even were I not still very, very injured, a fact that has not ceased to be profoundly irritating as I sleep less each day and become more aware of my limitations.

( He frets over me... )

Time passes ( Read more... )

OOC Note: There are a series of vignettes coming up that may or may not be of interest to anyone but myself, all dealing with the aftermath and subsequent convalescence. Fortunately, they're all vignettes and therefore not very long.

MorningI wake in stages, each one bringing with it fear and comfort in quick succession. One moment, I am falling ( Read more... )

"Keep talking to me, Joule. I can't let you sleep out here."

I start at the sound of my name and shiver. We've left the dell and are working our way back up the defile. He's carrying me. I feel an irrational wash of stubbornness, of anger for not just leaving me to sleep when I'm hit with a moment of absurd clarity. You're half dead, Julia. He's ( Read more... )

When I manage to open my eyes again, Anthony crouches over me, his eyes skimming the edges of the bowl. Holding my left arm close to my body, hoping that they will do the double duty of keeping my chest closed and offering some measure of support to my arm, I try to pick myself up. In an instant, Anthony is there, slipping an arm under my shoulders ( Read more... )