Here is a tiny Darkangel Trilogy ficlet I started some years ago and was never quite sure how to finish.
Today I finished it, and then tidied the beginning and middle until the whole thing flowed correctly. (180 words)
---------------------------------------------
Faith, Hope, Love
---------------------------------------------
The body Ravenna made for Aeriel is eerily true to life, but its artificiality shows in subtle ways. Her skin never darkens under Solstar's light. Her eyes weep at the bidding of her heart, but never from minor irritants like onions or dust. Her hair and nails neither grow nor break and fray, and she only breathes to speak.
Some daymonths, that changelessness stalks her dreams with nets and spears of panic, the depths of her mind convinced she is trapped in a living grave. Waking, her breath quickened to reflexive, unneeded gasps, she remains uneasy at how close her borrowed life mirrors the frozen, soulless mockery Oriencor made of her icari.
On those nights, Erin sleeps close at Aeriel's side, the warmth of her body and the rise of her chest both comfort and scourge. Each beat of her heart, each touch of her hands and lips, is a slow drip of tears on the ramparts of Aeriel's fear, until at last the rocky, jagged fastness is worn to fertile plains where hope and faith can blossom once again.
---------------------------------------------
End of Ficlet
---------------------------------------------
And now to bed. :)
Today I finished it, and then tidied the beginning and middle until the whole thing flowed correctly. (180 words)
---------------------------------------------
Faith, Hope, Love
---------------------------------------------
The body Ravenna made for Aeriel is eerily true to life, but its artificiality shows in subtle ways. Her skin never darkens under Solstar's light. Her eyes weep at the bidding of her heart, but never from minor irritants like onions or dust. Her hair and nails neither grow nor break and fray, and she only breathes to speak.
Some daymonths, that changelessness stalks her dreams with nets and spears of panic, the depths of her mind convinced she is trapped in a living grave. Waking, her breath quickened to reflexive, unneeded gasps, she remains uneasy at how close her borrowed life mirrors the frozen, soulless mockery Oriencor made of her icari.
On those nights, Erin sleeps close at Aeriel's side, the warmth of her body and the rise of her chest both comfort and scourge. Each beat of her heart, each touch of her hands and lips, is a slow drip of tears on the ramparts of Aeriel's fear, until at last the rocky, jagged fastness is worn to fertile plains where hope and faith can blossom once again.
---------------------------------------------
End of Ficlet
---------------------------------------------
And now to bed. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2020-08-07 08:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2020-08-07 09:28 pm (UTC)