Fic: The Little Death, Anna/Gabriel for smut_69, R
Written for the challenge at smut_69 for prompt #11 Ice.
Summary: dying has very little to do with it. Lyrics by Nine Inc Nails.
The Little Death
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
It starts in the back of her head, spreading out like cracks on a frozen lake, fast at first and then slower as time stops to have any meaning. The cracks engulf her chest and belly and the tips of her toes and she feels nothing. The smell of the wolf disappears from her nostrils, even as its hairy paws clutch at her body. She knows that the claws ought to hurt, but she is numb, away from her skin.
They carry her body across the bridge, and she watches as her fingers freeze in the cold night. She follows them, the man and the saint and the monster, and she feels as the cracks deepen, they reach inside her and soon she does not remember how to breathe anymore. She tires though, hard and fast like running and like fear, but then she forgets fear as well. Forgets the tightness in her chest as it bursts open, the ice melting and bellowing under the force of the water. Or is that blood, she wonders.
He lays her down on her bed and kisses the cold lips, which she can no longer feel. Still she lies next to them, trying to force the feeling, grasp onto it like the air that will no longer be forced into her lungs. Instead the water just bleeds over the bed and her skin turns white and blue. He undresses her, fingers gentle and soft, the way that she would have never imagined them to be.
She travels with them through the mountains and passes. The thick leaves of the threes passing though her. Sometimes she touches him, his skin alight and warm under her none existent fingers, but he feels nothing, too preoccupied with her body as it stiffens and changes in death. It is cold and blue and she can feel herself, made of just flesh. It is an empty house now, left behind, and which she can no longer call home.
She feels nothing as the fire touches the wood and slowly lights under the hot sun. It is not her that burns and smokes and disappears into the air. She is still here, slowly bleeding into eternity. Her body melting under the fire while he looks out into the sky eyes gentle and finally forgiven.
She wonders what he sees there, does he imagine her against the sky, smiling and benevolent like the God he claims to serve. He looks to the clouds like she never wanted him to look at her. She wanted the fire and hate and the things he would have never given. She stays among the willowing wheat on the mountain side, and the strands weep through her, catching the water that bleeds from inside of her.
Summary: dying has very little to do with it. Lyrics by Nine Inc Nails.
The Little Death
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
It starts in the back of her head, spreading out like cracks on a frozen lake, fast at first and then slower as time stops to have any meaning. The cracks engulf her chest and belly and the tips of her toes and she feels nothing. The smell of the wolf disappears from her nostrils, even as its hairy paws clutch at her body. She knows that the claws ought to hurt, but she is numb, away from her skin.
They carry her body across the bridge, and she watches as her fingers freeze in the cold night. She follows them, the man and the saint and the monster, and she feels as the cracks deepen, they reach inside her and soon she does not remember how to breathe anymore. She tires though, hard and fast like running and like fear, but then she forgets fear as well. Forgets the tightness in her chest as it bursts open, the ice melting and bellowing under the force of the water. Or is that blood, she wonders.
He lays her down on her bed and kisses the cold lips, which she can no longer feel. Still she lies next to them, trying to force the feeling, grasp onto it like the air that will no longer be forced into her lungs. Instead the water just bleeds over the bed and her skin turns white and blue. He undresses her, fingers gentle and soft, the way that she would have never imagined them to be.
She travels with them through the mountains and passes. The thick leaves of the threes passing though her. Sometimes she touches him, his skin alight and warm under her none existent fingers, but he feels nothing, too preoccupied with her body as it stiffens and changes in death. It is cold and blue and she can feel herself, made of just flesh. It is an empty house now, left behind, and which she can no longer call home.
She feels nothing as the fire touches the wood and slowly lights under the hot sun. It is not her that burns and smokes and disappears into the air. She is still here, slowly bleeding into eternity. Her body melting under the fire while he looks out into the sky eyes gentle and finally forgiven.
She wonders what he sees there, does he imagine her against the sky, smiling and benevolent like the God he claims to serve. He looks to the clouds like she never wanted him to look at her. She wanted the fire and hate and the things he would have never given. She stays among the willowing wheat on the mountain side, and the strands weep through her, catching the water that bleeds from inside of her.