spn fic: "what men or gods or maidens loth" (G, Brigitta)
title: "what men or gods or maidens loth"
author: fannishliss
words: 231
warnings: none
feat. Brigitta from 6.1 and 6.10
part of my Women of Supernatural project
~*0*~
In ancient times, human beings had feared the wastes, the places where dreams would seep into their veins and steal them away from the world. The djinn had always considered it a fair trade-- ichor for ecstasy and an easy passing, in the world humans made with their violence, deprivation, and brutality. The soul passed on, perfect, untouched, nothing lost but flesh and blood, which would unavoidably fall prey to time and rot, but if the djinn dined, then at least those heady essences weren’t wasted.
There was beauty, djinn believed, in dreams fulfilled; beauty in the quiet adornment of days played out like tapestries -- lives lived as though sung by poets or crafted by architects -- perfect, shining lives.
Nothing remained to her now but a cell of stone and iron, and salt-silvered tortures from the demon called Christian. She had stooped to revenge, and like a falcon, been caught by the jesses. Could any mother forgive the murder of her son -- killed by those brothers? She should have let it go, marking it up to the justice of tooth and claw.
The Angel passed by her cell.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.
Her death had come for her, and possibly, her afterlife awaited. Possibly, she would greet her son on the burning sands of Purgatory.
“Thank you,” she breathed out to the Angel, and did not breathe in again.
~*o*~
note: Brigitta says something in the episode to the effect that the previous djinn who kidnapped Dean and was killed by Sam, was her father. I changed that to it being her son, since it makes more sense to assume she was one of the Alphas they were hunting, and also because she was far more powerful than the other djinn -- able to make her markings come and go at will, and able to poison merely by brushing up against someone instead of having to grab them by the head.
author: fannishliss
words: 231
warnings: none
feat. Brigitta from 6.1 and 6.10
part of my Women of Supernatural project
~*0*~
In ancient times, human beings had feared the wastes, the places where dreams would seep into their veins and steal them away from the world. The djinn had always considered it a fair trade-- ichor for ecstasy and an easy passing, in the world humans made with their violence, deprivation, and brutality. The soul passed on, perfect, untouched, nothing lost but flesh and blood, which would unavoidably fall prey to time and rot, but if the djinn dined, then at least those heady essences weren’t wasted.
There was beauty, djinn believed, in dreams fulfilled; beauty in the quiet adornment of days played out like tapestries -- lives lived as though sung by poets or crafted by architects -- perfect, shining lives.
Nothing remained to her now but a cell of stone and iron, and salt-silvered tortures from the demon called Christian. She had stooped to revenge, and like a falcon, been caught by the jesses. Could any mother forgive the murder of her son -- killed by those brothers? She should have let it go, marking it up to the justice of tooth and claw.
The Angel passed by her cell.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.
Her death had come for her, and possibly, her afterlife awaited. Possibly, she would greet her son on the burning sands of Purgatory.
“Thank you,” she breathed out to the Angel, and did not breathe in again.
~*o*~
note: Brigitta says something in the episode to the effect that the previous djinn who kidnapped Dean and was killed by Sam, was her father. I changed that to it being her son, since it makes more sense to assume she was one of the Alphas they were hunting, and also because she was far more powerful than the other djinn -- able to make her markings come and go at will, and able to poison merely by brushing up against someone instead of having to grab them by the head.