Everything that dies some day comes back

[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]

Comments

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

I would laugh at the idea of Tony and my ex-husband downstairs chatting over a cup of tea...

but maybe Kent is downstairs and this is... I would not put it past Him. It would be a vicious little mind fuck for Him to make me believe he was Kent, standing here and speaking to me. After all, Dada 'ere. I open myself up and listen to the sounds of the music within the house. Rose, Kent, Ares, and Rose's father, but it is Kent that stands before me now. There is no endless grief within him, nor the howling of wind over a bottomless pit or the scream of a storm. That comes from downstairs.

"I'm fine," I assure Kent, and lean against his arm for a moment. We have not broached the subject of 'us' yet, but I am thankful for the comfort he offers without expecting anything in return.

I take a deep breath and steel my nerves. I've never been truly frightened of Him before, not going to start now. "Kent, will you get Rose dressed and bring her down while I try to make nice?" I ask and turn to leave, but turn back as a thought occurs to me. "Unless you would rather not deal with Him. I would understand."

[kent-whitman.livejournal.com]

I let her lean into me and smile as I lay my cheek against the top of her head. Wanda then pulls away, and I see a look of resolve on her face. She said he would come, and I know she's braver than most, but I still hate that she has to deal with him.

"Of course I'll get her dressed." Rose holds out her arms to me, and I take her as Wanda starts to walk away. "What colour would you like to wear to see your... your visitor in?" I am loathe to call him a father. Rose deserves more than that thing downstairs, wearing my face. Or do I wear his?

"Unless you would rather not deal with Him. I would understand."

"Wanda, I would never have you face anything you do not care to alone." My answer is automatic, and she smiles a little at it. "We shall be right down."

Wanda whispers a 'thank you' and leaves Rose and I. "What do you think? Purple or green today?" Rose just sighs and hugs me closer. "Well, I like the blue best, what do you think..."

I must admit I feel a little bit of petty satisfaction when she chooses my favourite colour.