12-17-2007, 01:00 AM
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Blech-blech, forgive my badness, please. The next will be better, promise! Her heart, faithful fellow that he is, kept steadily on; truly, the whole of her seemed curiously functional. Morning had found her heart-broken, head-spinning, a rejected possibility with aging limbs and lavender irises. Yet she had gotten exactly what she’d asked for: a night; a single, perfect evening, punctuated with sweet nothings and lovemaking’s she-panther noises. With morning her partner had dissipated, leaving snapped-twigs and fizzing nerves in her wake – as well as a certain heartsick astronomer, called Luz Cresceno even by her friends. It was the greatest blow ever dealt to her – and here she was, caught en route to the Tranquil Springs, her feet chill-inspired to make quick strides. The hurt had been sealed away in some forgotten attic of the head, where likewise locked away laid the rest of the real contents of Luz, accruing dust and increasingly lenient details by the wearing of years. She’d cried the moment realization had snared her, with his gentle iron fingers; she had seized and devoured a rabbit-heart (as well as the remaining, less appetizing portions) before the tears had dried. And here she was. Melancholy made her sleek, somehow, some unexplainable way. Her curls lacked their customary charming disarray; today, tonight, they were mannerly spirals. Even her coloration – the dreary grays and vagabond brights – seemed improved by her bout of sorrows. To see such a palette mirrored in another? A strange pleasure, a peek into Alternate Universe B. (Another creature would have pleaded that you forgive the narcissism after such a thought, but Luz let it stand, as factual as frost.) To the wetted book she offered but a glance; though literate enough, such diversions had never been her calling. They were the escapes of other beasts, portholes that lead her down winding paths but nowhere near fantastic as their supporters claimed. “Hello.” A word. A simple, precious word. How poorly it filled this second! As if to compensate, she tilted her head, and endeavored again. “Might I join you, tonight, pretty grey miss?” (Ah, ‘tonight.’ Yesterday that word had thrown her to trouble’s jaws, but now, now she knew its meaning!) In a mockery of thought, Luz Cresceno touched a werewolf-fingertip to her chin. Romantic disaster, evidently, made her giddy. |