[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
After the dust has settled.
Outside the water tower


Yesterday

I came out, as the sun started to set. He's not here. I hadn't realized how much He had permeated this town until He no longer did. All I could compare it to was... breathing freely after some great weight had been lifted from your chest. I could suddenly breathe again. But still, I had to be sure. I had to see for myself.

I ascended the stairs without fear. After what I had endured, survived, what had I to fear of heights? I pushed open the door with my sword blade, not knowing what to expect---

but somehow, I did not expect this. And yet, I should have, for it was all a grand production, wasn't it? I wandered amongst the discarded furniture, a stack of little girl's dresses I will not weep! and a rack of dresses that might have resembled a red wedding gown I wore in a former life. Books and bottles, tea cups and trinkets; a space filled with things that meant something to someone, I suppose. Things to tempt, things to tease, things best forgotten. A oaken cabinet I recognized, a bed of twisted vines, a tea table I saw in a book of Miao's once... And in the middle, a throne. A throne a prince might have sat on, now forgotten and worn. I sank down in it, and sat there alone in the gathering gloom for a very long time, feeling very much like the cat that cared not that she gazed upon a king; slouched to one side, leg thrown casually over a arm rest. Sat and thought and replayed everything in my mind...

And then I rose. I placed a necklace with a stone as dark as a starless night and a ring with a black heart on the threadbare cushioned seat, and I left with them a thousand memories, and then I turned away. Went back down the stairs, and told the two I trusted with this task they could start whenever they were ready. But not to take anything out. Leave it all there.

Today

I stand alone on a bluff overlooking the tower. There are only about two dozen people here to witness what is to be done. I doubt it is really necessary, but I think this is important. Symbolic. It is also my last official act as Mayor. Edmund White will be sworn in tomorrow. I can think of no one better to lead Excolo into the future as I shut the door on the past.

I watch as Kent and Ares make a sweep of the area one last time, to make sure everyone is back far enough. The all clear is given, and they look back to me, waiting on my signal. Ares' looks like this is the world's best party and Kent looks... determined. I take a breath, raise my arm....

then drop it. The fuse is lit, and I watch it snake and flare through the tall grass as my husband and my friend run----

The explosion is loud, and the force of it knocks a few people off their feet.

But not I.

I stand my ground, and watch the past go up in flames.

closed
[identity profile] kent-whitman.livejournal.com
“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next." Gilda Radner

Mayor's residence, after
Mid afternoon


The house is quiet now, thank god. The last several day have gone by almost in a blur with all the people coming to mayor, of all the things that needed to be attended to, arrangements to be made... and add a God of War showing up and bellowing about why no one invited him to the apocalypse, well, it's been no less than a zoo.

Of course, the quiet that has now settled over the house serves as a reminder that it is bereft of a very vital life that once raced down the halls, laughing and causing mischief. One that we laid to rest at dawn this morning in a far corner of the cemetery at the Abbey. One that, if it is to be believed; will be back with us in some form in nine months. After the small service this morning, Wanda came home to get some much needed rest while I went with Tony... Ares. He said he knew the perfect place for us to relocate to. I told him I did not wish to risk moving my pregnant wife to god knows where without some more information. So, he showed me. It made me dizzy, the way he managed to take us from one place to the next in a manner of moments, but then I was able to see...

I think Wanda and I will be very happy there; in that little house on the edge of dunes.

I let myself in, and find Wanda lying down. One hand is on her abdomen, and in the other is clutched a very well loved purple bunny. She looks very lost in thought. I cross the room and sit beside her on the bed. I can tell by her eyes she had ben crying, but my wife manages to give me a smile in spite of the sorrow.

"Can you hear her... them? Is it like before?" I ask as I lay my hand over hers.

Closed
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
"Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned
."

A heartbeat too late

The plate I was drying slips from my hands when I hear Rose in my head.

I'm sorry, Mama. I spin around, for it's so clear that she must be right there. "What are you sorry for bab---"

I double over, gasping, unable to draw air into my lungs. Rose? Rose! ROSE!!! ROSE!!!! My mind is screaming because I cannot form words. Her heartbeat is so fast it's near bursting then it's slowing and then--- OhgodpleasenoRosedontpleasepleasePLEASENONONONOROSEDONTGODONTLEAVEUSNONONONONO

"Wanda, what's---" Kent has run in, hearing the plates shatter, but the sky rumbles and the earth shakes and the lights go out all at once. I hear him say her name, then go running for her room.

"She's---- not-----there---" I try to wheeze out. She's not there, I know she's not. She's gone. Oh God, my baby, no, not her...

"Wanda---!" I hear his panicked voice from down the hall, and finally I can suck air into my lungs. "Rose!" I scream, unable to hear her. I can't hear her thoughts, I can't hear her heartbeat I can't I can't I can't---

Part of my mind registers that the world has gone quite insane as I run blindly into the night. It's raining, and I think hail is pelting me and scratching across my skin as I tear down Main, then Silk. I see lights flashing, and I think Kent is somewhere behind me, and I hear people screaming. I think I am one of them. I can't hear my daughter!

I don't know how I know where to go; I just do. She's knit into me so tightly, I can find her even if I can't hear her. I can't hear her! Just over the bridge---

It's gone. There's no way across the river, but just on the other side I can see the outline of the carnival when the lightning flashes, and just on the other side---

For a moment, I think it can't be her. That girl is too big, but I also know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is Rose. That pale, lovely, unmoving slip of a young woman is--- my Rose is---

My scream pierces the night. A long, keening wail that can be heard over everything else. Kent finally catches up, and when he see's what I do, he sinks to his knees, weeping. The earth shakes again, and this is what He always planned. This... our daughter's dea--- it was always planned. It is the beginning of the end, and he used His own---

I lean down and kiss my husband; fast and fierce. I murmur a 'I love you' against his ear... then I jump into the river and try to make my way to the other side. I will not be kept from my baby, my own heart I can't hear her!... even if it may very well be the last thing I do.

(Closed)
[identity profile] atrarosa.livejournal.com
Early July

It's such a bright warm day. I swing myself on the swing in the park. I'm big enough to do that now, I don't need Mama or Kent to push. And sometimes I like to be by myself these days. I've got a lot of things to think about. Sometimes I feel so sad and scared, but I push it down so Mama can't tell. I'm good at hiding things. Father showed me how.

I climb off the swing and dust down my dress. I should get home. Mama will be home from work soon.

[Open to Wanda]
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Evening; late. June 30th
The Mayor's front porch

Can't sleep. Wish I could. I'm tired. Not just 'it's been a long day' tired... no. It's a "my mind won't freakin' shut down" sort of tired. Thought sitting out here in the fresh air would help, but it's not.

Went over to the Carnival to talk to their management. At least, I think I did. I know I went over, I know I was admitted to a very normal looking wagon... and I remember walking away from it. As for the meeting? Fucked if I can recall a single damn thing we talked about. Only that some of the people working here looked... relieved when I came out.

So. I guess that went as well as I could hope?

Rose has been disappearing more and more. I wish I could chalk it up to wanting to be independent and out on her own to explore... but firstly she's three. Most other children her age would be learning to speak in broken sentences, put on their own clothes. My daughter was reading The Canterbury Tales... in middle English. Secondly---

her sire has been like a howl in my head. I have the sinking feeling she has been going to find him. Which is more worrisome than... well, everything.

Tired and worried enough that I can't shut out the music anymore tonight. Song after song filters through, but not enough to cover the howl of the desert from the North of town. With a sigh, I close my eyes and lean my head against the railing.

(Open to Rose, Kent, or anyone familiar enough with the family to drop in late)
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Going on midnight
Outside of town


It was a big sign, bigger than I realized for all the times I must have passed it.

Welcome to Excolo
Population: 4500


est deus in nobis

The town had it re-done in the last two years, new wood and a in-lay of a sun rising over green fields.

Very cheery.
Very welcoming.

What a lie.

Training with a sword helped, but it almost took everything I had to chop it down. By the time I have it reduced to a pile of timbers, the axe nearly slips from my hand, my arms shaking and trembling like jelly. I toss it to the side and perch myself on top of the wreck. I brought a bottle of The Tavern's best fire whiskey with me, and I take a deep pull from it as I sit.

Est deus in nobis.

"God dwells within us." I murmur to no one, finding I am having a very odd craving for a cigarette. I wonder how many gods actually dwelled here, or still do. I wonder who might be gods in hiding, or who has it within them to aspire to godhood.

I wonder what Rose's father plans, and so much more importantly; I wonder if Rose has any idea of father wants her for, if she knows? Oh, my Rose.

I shake my head, and leap off the pile of wood. Something in me died today, or awakened. Not sure which. But once I realized I could not leave, and may never leave...

The whiskey is poured over the sign. What is left of it. I pull out a box of matches from my pocket, and light one. It's bright and vital in the dark, and it makes a lovely picture as it arcs across the sky---

The pyre is bright, it is swift, and it is right. The ground is wet enough, and it burns quick enough that the flames will not spread. Nod my head, as if this could bring some sort of satisfaction. I am ready for whatever comes, even if it is the end. I just want it over with.

I turn to leave when I hear a gasp and a shuffle of feet behind me. I turn back to see a wandering vagabond, looking from me to the sign. "Excolo's closed." I say simply, and smile as I swing the axe over my shoulder. "Try Dry run, it's about 40 miles that way." I offer as I turn and head back to town. My town.

The only town.

Abandon all hope...

Closed
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Saturday the 23rd of June
Afternoon, on the road


Don't care if it's a little too warm for my tastes. Don't care that it's raining on and off and I'll get wet. I have to know.

Tommi let me borrow one of her horses. Now that her grandson has been born and thrived, she rides back and forth to Oakridge more often. The ride is a straightforward one, and I should get there at an easy pace within two hours, maybe three. It's a whole day wasted to just ride out and back...

but it's the riding out that's so damn important.

Rose, Kent and I spent our Saturday morning at the market like we always do, then I changed into jeans and a t-shirt, strapped on my sword, kissed them both and headed over Tommi's with a promise to be careful. Tommi was waiting with Spirit saddled and a hundred questions in her eyes. Thankfully, she did not ask any of them.

I head out, and although I can ride, and I have... it has been quite some time since I have ridden more than the town limits. Once we cross the bride and pass the carnival, I nudge Spirit and we take off into a gallop. It feels wonderful, this freedom as the farms drift by. We're getting towards the edge of town limits and the rain starts coming down softly, but it's fine. Spirit moves easily and even though we've slowed we're still moving at a good clip. Smile and tilt my face up to the sky, letting it get wet even as the sun tries to peak though. The road rolls on and I feel something close to exhilaration, for we must have passed town limits. It's been over a hour now, we must have left Excolo. I've left Excolo...

I make a noise something close to what could only be called a 'whoop' and urge Spirit to a run. I'm out, I'm Out, I'M OUT! Think I may be laughing and crying at the same time as I crouch low over Spirit's back and we race up a rise and crest the hill---

Spirit skitters to a stop and rears up on her hind legs, whinnying sharply. I manage to stay saddled and it takes a moment to figure out what spooked her so.

There, up the road... The Kincaid farm. And past that, on the horizon... the water tower. I am back in Excolo, beyond all rational explanation as to how.

"God damn you." I whisper under my breath as I stare at the rise of white in the distance.

Closed
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Monday, the 11th of June
The Dormouse, afternoon


I have found, quite curiously, now that I am no longer surrounded by tea I want a cup almost every day. It might be because it is no longer work; but I would bet that it has more to do with the way Hope blends them. It's like she has a sixth sense about what will taste good together.

It's raining and blah and I have no interest in being 'Mayor von SacherMosch' today. I just want to sit and have tea and sweets and not be in charge of anything. So much so I forgo all the pretty dresses in my closet and opt to wear a pair of old, comfortable jeans and a t-shirt I found at the flea market. I have no idea why anyone would want a shirt advertising hardware, but the 'Pretty Hate Machine' part amused me greatly.

With my hair up in a pony tail and a walk that clearly states "I'm off the clock!" I head over to The Dormouse for lunch. I silently pray it's not too busy as I shake raindrops from my hair and push open the door.

(open)
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Saturday, the 9th of July, Early afternoon
Tavern of Hell


I've already been up for several hours now. Did the rounds at the market, and it looks as if we'll be a go for expanding to Fridays as well come the end of the month. Most of the stall owners and small farms are able to make it, and the towns people seem equally excited.

The council voted to renovate the outlying barn into a secondary school, and besides the initial grumblings and panic, there has been no trouble from the carnival. Those that worried just stay away and the newer residents to Excolo find it a thrilling diversion from the every day.

Kent is at home with Rose, there is no more official town business that needs attending to, no one looking for me...

The Tavern is not busy yet. I suppose it will be in a few hours, but right now it is just empty enough that I can enjoy some of those rarest of moments; me time. Settled at the piano with a glass of meade, I can indulge the music in my head and let it out for a while. The townsfolk that frequent the Tavern used to laugh at the singing mayor, now they ask when I'll be in next. So here I am, letting whatever song wants to pop in my head out. Have to head home soon, but for now... it's just me and the music.

I find it looks the same, but everything has changed
I find remembering gets harder every day
Sometimes I still believe who I pretend to be
Sometimes, well everything's exactly how it seems

I see the color of your eyes turn to gray
I feel the wind is growing colder every day
Sometimes I open up the walls and disappear
Sometimes the crashing of the waves is all I hear

Ocean, help me find a way
Ocean, wash us all away


(Open)
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
"When I consider this carefully, I find not a single property which with certainty separates the waking state from the dream. How can you be certain that your whole life is not a dream?” --- Rene Descartes

Tuesday, June 5th
The ballroom


"She's so big now, you would not believe she was only three." I laugh as we waltz about the dance floor with a fluid grace that only he and I had together. "Oh, I visit her every now and again." Lucien assures me with his easy smile as he turns me. "You certainly have your hands full." I cannot help but laugh. "She turned the house purple, purple! Do you believe it?" "She's your daughter, I would believe anything."

The music ends and we stop to bow and curtsy to one another before applauding the band. "Shall I get us some wine my dear, before that husband of your wakes you up and steals you away?" I smirk at him and swat his arm. "Stop it. He's perfectly nice and you know it. But yes, please." I kiss his cheek and he gives me a wink before head off to find the refreshments.

With a happy sigh, I gather up my skirts and wonder where Kent got to and why on earth he would wake me up when---

Oh.

Look around and the head of long, blonde hair has disappeared. Like it always does once I realize I am dreaming. Where else would I see Lucien but in my dreams? Lucien is now just a memory, a very good one, that I can apparently make walk and talk. At least my subconscious can. Although sometimes I wonder if he's more than just a ghost in my head...

Enough speculation, for now at any rate. There are other's that are still here, that are not just memories. Those I can walk, talk and dance with, and it's more than just a memory of a friend.

"Damien?" I call out, finding a place to sit and wait as the band strikes up again. "Are you busy?" After all, what's the good of being all dressed up with no one to dance with?

Closed
[identity profile] kent-whitman.livejournal.com
Though my soul may set in darkness, It will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

Saturday Night, June 2nd
The Mayor's office, then elsewhere


The day started out fine enough; a bright, sunny day filled with promise and no real obligations. Wanda wanted to wake early enough to go to the market to talk to the vendors, Rose was babbling something about strawberries, and since I had no pre-set plans I was more than happy to tag along with my two beautiful girls.

And for a hour or so, it was just as I imagined it would be. Rose's dress and fingers stained red, Wanda chatting and animated... then the first person trotted up to talk to her in worried tones. Then the second. Before long the whole market was abuzz with the news; the Carnival Diabolique had returned. I had no real memory of it, but it seemed that everyone else did, and those memories were not of the kind variety. With a false smile and a tightness around the eyes, Wanda abandoned the market to head to her office and assess the problem...

that was roughly twelve hours ago. Now it's my turn to do damage control. Tommi was happy to come over and watch her favourite 'Niece', and after a story and a goodnight kiss, I grab a bottle of meade and head over to fetch my wife.

The front of the building and main room is dark as I let myself in, but I see a light from the private office in the back. I shake my head and push her door open.

"Madame Mayor, I believe quitting time was several hours ago. Racking up the overtime on the tax payers dime, are we?" I ask with a mock stern look as I lean in the doorway.

Closed
[identity profile] hermia-sophia.livejournal.com
Friday, June 1
Day 1461
The garden behind the Whitechapel


I think that today I will stay in the garden. The sun is shining, and I can sit on the chaise longue with my shoes off and my feet up, and I have all of the books that I need with me - and the notebook for my project with Alice, too. I shall have to speak with her about that when she returns from work.

Luc doesn't seem to mind staying at home as long as he can still run about. He has decided that he must pick one of every kind of plant and flower to bring to me, and he has lined them all up in a neat row along the edge of my chair. Why? I have already learned not to ask, even though Luc would happily tell me at great length, just as he tells me long chattering stories about every one of the flowers. My son's logic obeys its own rules, and they are rules that even we who are closest to him cannot understand.

Reason or no, logic or no, it still makes me smile to see his small face screwed up in serious thought - so like his father's expression in the same mood! - as he sorts out his plants.

A sharp kick breaks my reverie, and I press my hand down, rubbing at the spot where the kick landed. Not much longer, I think, as I shift on the chair to try to find a more comfortable position. The huge swell of my belly has dropped lower in the last few days, and something feels different. No, not much longer at all. Soon there will be another little one playing in our garden.

[Open to anyone who wants to play in the garden]
[identity profile] marbasthefallen.livejournal.com
Wednesday, September 24th
Late enough that it is way too early
The backyard of The Dormouse


Lilith chided me to no end; calling me a sentimental fool and overly attached to the talking monkey.

And she was not wrong, not in the slightest. I was... I could not call Lucien Constantine a friend, but I had a great deal of respect for the man. Perhaps, many eons ago, before... we might have even liked one another.

In the form of smoke on the air, I slipped into the Tavern. For the obvious reasons, I could not attend in human form, but I felt the need to be there. To hear the stories, the taste the tears, to smile at the laughs and ridiculous stories. There were many of those. And there were many stories of how he helped, how we saved, how he cared. In the end... Lucien was a good man, respected and loved. It sat well with me, and it was odd that I felt it needed to.

Perhaps I am still too much of what I once was, and could never truly be again.

Dawn is coming, and My Lady waits on me for us to depart this accursed town, but I have one thing left to do. For him. I settle into my human form, and wait under her tree.

Open to Wanda
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Tuesday, the 23rd of September
The Dormouse, Late morning


The sky is grey and the air is damp; it's going to rain at some point today. Good. It should rain today. The world and the heavens and all the people below it should weep. As much as Lucien would have hated it. Tonight we shall drink, and we shall laugh, and we shall surely weep; and then tomorrow we will all continue to live and laugh and love and cry without him.

It is only right that the sky open up today, for him.

I gave Romana the day off; I wanted to keep busy until tonight and waiting tables is just the right type of normalcy my life needs so badly right now. War gods in the basement, dreams come walking in the spare room, a daughter that can create with a thought and the devil in the details... my life may never be normal again but tea is a soothing constant.

With a sigh, I pin up my hair and smooth out my grey dress. I'll put on colors later tonight, I still have Lucien's turquoise shirt, that will do. I sit down at the window table with my tea and stare out the window at nothing in particular as the few tables of customers I have provide a pleasing drone of noise in the background.

Open to Mab, Fiona and Dana
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
Sunday, 21 September
The Dormouse

Now our luck may have died and out love may
Be cold but with you forever I'll stay
We're goin' out where the sand's turnin' to gold
So put on your stockings cos the night's getting' cold
And maybe everything dies
That's a fact but maybe everything that dies
Some day comes back

Something curious happened. Not the disruption to the world from the breach into Dream; that, while unusual, is hardly an unknown event, and the resulting chaos was mundane. No, I mean something more interesting, and pertaining to my daughter. Wanda's hapless dream of Kent - her abiding devotion to a phantom would be touching if I did not find it pitiable - meant a little aspect of myself turned from conjured flesh into real man, like Eve born from Adam's bone. But my daughter unstitched him from the fabric of dream... And gave him a soul. Not much of one, true, but he is no longer a mere flesh doll that walks and talks. There is some spark inside him that means he is nothing of me any more. How very curious.

It is easy enough for me to shrug on a new version of him, of course. The idea of Wanda having to deal with the two of us at once is vaguely amusing to me. And I want to see my daughter. So I cross through the town and knock gently on her door.

[Open to Wanda's household]
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Friday, September 19th
Late afternoon on the bank of the Pontalier


I can hear the howling. I think everyone can, but they're too wrapped up in the 'now what's?' and dealing with the aftermath of what just ended to really pay it any attention.

But it's not some stray dog baying for food, or lost from it's master or...

it's the song of grief. The howl rings of love and loss and a pain that cannot find words. I know that song. I know it well. Didn't I just keen it to the heavens myself a dream ago? A lifetime ago... it seems.

I follow the sound, and I am not surprised that it leads me down to the river's edge. There, up ahead... I press a hand to my mouth to choke back a sob. I knew he was gone, I heard him say goodbye...

but now it's real. The limp, lifeless body with the gash of scarlet across his throat is real, and not a dream, and he's not coming back this time, is he? Oh Gods Lucien, I know why you did it, but... did it have to be you? It actually takes me a moment to register the wolf by his side, howling and whimpering and licking his face.

I think I know why Rose calls her 'fluffy'.

"I'm so sorry." I whisper as I walk over and kneel down next to them.

(Closed)
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
When we are dreaming alone it is only a dream. When we are dreaming with others, it is the beginning of reality.

After the storm, back at the Dormouse

After making sure everyone else was okay, and that Damien would be looked after, I slipped away from the Abbey. From happy tears and reunions. There will be none of those for me.
I need to go see if I can find Lucien. I need to make arrangements, if I can find him. I need---

I need to check on Rose. Make sure she's okay. She's sleeping, I know that much, but now that the dreams have stopped leaking into reality, Kent will--- Rose will be alone.

Too much loss for one day. Too much. I need to find Lucien but...

I need to change. I need to shower.
I may need to have a nervous breakdown.

Cut around to the backdoor, glad to see the graveyard is gone. No purple bunnies either. Rose will be quite put out, once she realizes they gone. Amongst other things. Lock the door behind me, drop the plated armour to the floor and start to wrestle myself out of the riding coat as I climb the stairs.

"Rose sweetling..." I call softly, hissing a bit when the coat peels away from the gash on my arm. I'll have to have Lu-- no. I can't, can I? "Mummy's home. Are you alright?" I turn the corner, and stop dead. Rose is still asleep, that is not what shocks me.

Kent, not my ex-husband in the Kent form, but Kent Whitman, is holding her. The dreams have receded, and Kent is... still...

"Rose said 'Ent 'tay... the world went bright... and here I am." He informs me simply.

"Oh, I see." I reply just as simply.

Then the world goes bla

Closed
[identity profile] lord-icelus.livejournal.com
Some time, in a place that was and is the abbey, that is in this world and in Dream

She is coming.

I can feel her, that nasty bitch, like a tooth ache or a splinter. She nearly killed me, and I still suffer for it. Partly it was my own fault, for not remembering that silly service gods like her love to throw themselves on their own swords to look after their people. As if we should be in service to them!

I want her to get here. I want to kill her slowly, and lick her bones clean, and then I want to dance as the new king of this little town. A nasty pisspot of a place, it is, but it's better than oblivion, yes. They may not worship me, here, but they'd fear me: and for a god of nightmare, that's really good enough.

She's bringing friends, though. I disliked that last time. And so I conjure up a labyrinth, turning the stone of this abbey into twisting pathways of dead ends and trap doors. She'll lose some along the way. And then I will tear out her heart.

[OPEN]
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Wednesday            17th       479Thursday, September 18th (day 480)]
[The Abbey]
[In a late strange time]


The air is cool, and still, and waiting to burn.

The graveyard here is different to what it was a day ago; it's the one I've dreamt of, I think, where and a year and more ago I saw Nanshe come walking from the north; graveyard north, not town north. But the ground seethes like bothered ants, and the grass does not whisper. If I left off on looking, I think it would pull itself free and crawl away.

And I leave off looking, as that is not where we are going.

You feel no especial call to goodness, do you, Glass? No. It's not in me, not rooted; but I have come to hate the other, and what it works, and may be that is a beginning.

The Abbey's stone is weeping, and there are shapes even I cannot see in the shadows. This is not the Shuck's night; this is safety twisted to fear. And we have come.

[Open]
[identity profile] mistresswanda.livejournal.com
Saturday, September 13th
The Market and park, early afternoon


Early fall is one of the best times of the year. The air is cooler, the apples are being harvested, the leaves are changing... it's the type of day where I cannot resist being outside. I dress Rose up in one of her new dresses, dropped off by Juliet Parson's mother a few days ago, and we head over to the market. The morning was spent roaming from stall to stall, sipping apple juice from the Abbey and picking up a few odds and ends while talking to half the town. Most everyone remarked on how big she is for only half a year old, and so bright, and such a delightful and beautiful child. Such lovely compliments made me beam with pride, and made my day even better... but Rose just grew quiet and thoughtful. The more people we talked to, the worse she got, so I left the market and headed over to the park.

As we walk along, I keep my thoughts light; pointing out the changing of the leaves and all the colorful mums as Rose keeps her arms around my neck and buries her face in my hair...

...but it takes someone special to be a  )
"Mama... luff... Mama." Rose says aloud in her halting speech, and I laugh and fall back on the grass and fly her above my head as I laugh happily. "And Mama luffs her Rose!" I laugh as I rise and spin about as I hold her in my arms.

"Ready to go back to the market?" I ask her as we start heading back towards Main Street. "Yes! Jooohse!"

"Juice and applesauce and pies and..."

Closed

January 2014

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