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edenfallingLilith in the interstitial moments, 275 words. (Aka, "Lilith before Charn," and/or "Lilith before the Silver City," depending on which fandom you want to read this into. Or just Lilith before whatever; this can be straight-up Biblical apocrypha if you'd prefer. I am not going to impose a reading on anyone. *wry*)
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No Story But Her Own
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When Lilith returned to the garden to see if Adam had realized that compromise was better than being alone, she heard laughter through the trees: Adam's low, familiar rumble mingling with a higher, sweeter voice. She slowed on the path, terrible suspicion rising in her throat like the dust of the desert beyond the rivers.
She crept forward, light as salt-spray on the sea, and saw what she had feared: the Maker had sculpted a new woman, a thief in borrowed shape ... yet not. This person had skin the same warm brown as Adam, not her own paler, yellower shade -- made of earth and shadows, not sand and salt and burning sun. She was shorter, her shoulders and hips wider, her hair a short cap instead of a flowing cloak. And evidently she did not share Lilith's preference in sex or her temper, judging by the fond way she combed her fingers through Adam's knotted hair.
But even so, this stranger was like Lilith and Adam. She had a mind. Inevitably she too would balk at one of the restrictions on the garden. Whatever the Maker thought to forestall by writing Lilith out of his story had merely been delayed.
"Choose well, sister," Lilith murmured as she crept back to the river and thence out into the wide world beyond the garden.
She had no further part in the Maker's tale, but she was made in his image. She would write her own story in the sands of this world, or any of the thousand worlds beyond, and her tale would shine as bright as the one she left behind.
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Inspired by the 6/2/13![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15_minute_fic word #280: disappear
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Hurrah for tiny ficlets of ambiguous canon provenance!
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No Story But Her Own
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When Lilith returned to the garden to see if Adam had realized that compromise was better than being alone, she heard laughter through the trees: Adam's low, familiar rumble mingling with a higher, sweeter voice. She slowed on the path, terrible suspicion rising in her throat like the dust of the desert beyond the rivers.
She crept forward, light as salt-spray on the sea, and saw what she had feared: the Maker had sculpted a new woman, a thief in borrowed shape ... yet not. This person had skin the same warm brown as Adam, not her own paler, yellower shade -- made of earth and shadows, not sand and salt and burning sun. She was shorter, her shoulders and hips wider, her hair a short cap instead of a flowing cloak. And evidently she did not share Lilith's preference in sex or her temper, judging by the fond way she combed her fingers through Adam's knotted hair.
But even so, this stranger was like Lilith and Adam. She had a mind. Inevitably she too would balk at one of the restrictions on the garden. Whatever the Maker thought to forestall by writing Lilith out of his story had merely been delayed.
"Choose well, sister," Lilith murmured as she crept back to the river and thence out into the wide world beyond the garden.
She had no further part in the Maker's tale, but she was made in his image. She would write her own story in the sands of this world, or any of the thousand worlds beyond, and her tale would shine as bright as the one she left behind.
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Inspired by the 6/2/13
15_minute_fic word #280: disappear---------------------------------------------
Hurrah for tiny ficlets of ambiguous canon provenance!
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-06 03:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-06 03:27 am (UTC)