Colour
Title: Colour
Pairing: Lucius/Siobhan
Rating: PG-13, for adultery/age disparity implications.
Notes: Just a drabble :)
Black is the absence of colour.
Black cloaks, black masks, black corridors, black hearts, black Marks, Black marriage.
Days filled with nothing were dull and dry. Pulling down a black hood, a reflection revealed grey eyes and pale hair and skin. No pigment, but perhaps a welcome change to the darkness.
An idle wife, a diverted son. Every day, the same monotonous routine, the same uninterested pale-skinned people.
Then Red.
And Green.
Curls, freckles, flushed cheeks, pink lips.
A smirking mouth, a twinkling set of mischevious eyes.
Passion. Colour.
Siobhan.
The name ran through his thoughts, he said it again, and again. He closed his eyes and thoughts of her refreshed his weary mind. The touch of her heated skin reignited him. Her skin smelled like fresh grass, her hair like ginger flowers, her kisses like chocolate.
He closes his eyes, not wanting to take in the colour he sees now.
Red.
Not the deep red of her curls, but a trickle of blood. A bruise.
A darkness.
He waves his wand, and conceals his wounds once again.
She cannot know.
He cannot lose his colour.
He cannot lose his love.
Siobhan.
My love.
Pairing: Lucius/Siobhan
Rating: PG-13, for adultery/age disparity implications.
Notes: Just a drabble :)
Black is the absence of colour.
Black cloaks, black masks, black corridors, black hearts, black Marks, Black marriage.
Days filled with nothing were dull and dry. Pulling down a black hood, a reflection revealed grey eyes and pale hair and skin. No pigment, but perhaps a welcome change to the darkness.
An idle wife, a diverted son. Every day, the same monotonous routine, the same uninterested pale-skinned people.
Then Red.
And Green.
Curls, freckles, flushed cheeks, pink lips.
A smirking mouth, a twinkling set of mischevious eyes.
Passion. Colour.
Siobhan.
The name ran through his thoughts, he said it again, and again. He closed his eyes and thoughts of her refreshed his weary mind. The touch of her heated skin reignited him. Her skin smelled like fresh grass, her hair like ginger flowers, her kisses like chocolate.
He closes his eyes, not wanting to take in the colour he sees now.
Red.
Not the deep red of her curls, but a trickle of blood. A bruise.
A darkness.
He waves his wand, and conceals his wounds once again.
She cannot know.
He cannot lose his colour.
He cannot lose his love.
Siobhan.
My love.