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metamorphosis2013-01-01 11:35 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2013-01-01 11:35 pm
Entry tags:
483;
Title: breathe, love, breathe
Characters: Markus, Eliza
Rating: G
i'm never going to write in a consistent tense ever.
He watched over her after the ritual. Her condition had to be monitered carefully, although he knew he would not fail. She would likely be out for a day or two; a week at most. This, he told to her maids. They accepted it quietly and thanked him for his help. He watched their eyes flick to their lady's doorway and knew they were apprehensive about if he had truly done as he said he would. They were distrustful of the handome young man who had stepped into their midst. It was written all over their faces, as bright as the neon lights that populated the backwater edges of the city. He didn't mind. In all his years of servitude, he had never met a maid or matron who had trusted him. He rarely found a woman who did, even though they were so thankful once he had taken their illness from them. They put up quite a fight before the ritual, screaming how they were going to be damned for all eternity.
But he was not a being who went back on his word. Once they asked for his help and he accepted their plea, they were sealed. He took their illness from them, even if it was through force. He slid fire beneath the skins of those dying from the cold and watched them fill with color, watched their frigid breaths turn to happy sighs; he let electricity jump between his fingers and into the nerves of those who were paralyzed, and he watched them shriek when their limbs moved once again; and he lifted voices from the heads of those with more than a conscience, watched their eyes light up when they were free. All contracts had a limit, but he was lenient. They could have their freedom until they died, he ruled.
They were so thankful. But he could not give eternal life to the girl he had just 'cured'. His bosses were angry he had done such a thing before, because it had meant life-long servitude to those women. He couldn't do his job if he was out serving people for decades. It clashed with their demeanor, they scolded him. They put a limit of ten years on his lengthening. He failed to see the problem in taking care of women until they were old - although many died young, through unforseen circumstances involving poison, knives, or rivers - but took the punishment. He could do nothing else.
He left through the front door and, once the house was quiet again and himself forgotten, gently crept through the attic window and found his way back to her room. There he sat on her bed and watching her eyes move beneath their lids. It was fascinating to watch her kind sleep. They were idiosyncratic without control. Some spoke in their sleep and some whined, clutched at their blankets and shook from some unknown dream. She did nothing of the sort. She only breathed and turned every so often, little shifts to fix her internal temperature with the cold sheets of the bed.
She awoke nine hours later, an incredibly impressive feat. He watched her eyes flutter open and regard him with curiosity, before she realized who he was. She forced herself up and sat back against her pillows, then pushed the blankets aside. He smiled and slipped closer to feel her head, then her pulse. Normal and nothing, not even the smallest of beats. She shoved his hand aside when he took a moment too long and frowned.
"Am I better?" She asked. It was a silly question; of course she was, depending on how you looked at it.
"You're not sick anymore." He chose his words carefully, measuring their tone in his mind the second before he said them. "You have a clean bill of health for the next seven years. That'll give you enough time to find a suitable husband and have a child."
"Was that the condition," but it wasn't a question; it was stated and accompanied by a small sigh. "I don't even want to think about that sort of thing, I'm much too young."
"Then don't. Enjoy your time until you have suitors clammoring around you. And I know you will. You are a very beautiful young girl right now. You're going to be even more beautiful when you're older."
Red dusted her face as he spoke and he raised his eyebrows at it. He felt her cheeks and trailed his fingers down her neck and the concave of her collarbones,. When she tensed underneath his touch he pulled away and gripped one of her hands instead.
"I never got your name," he murmured. She smiled.
"I never got yours either." He had to admire her audacity. Not everyone so blatantly pointed it out.
"I'm Eliza Hickory," she continued. She ran her fingers through her hair, a loose form
of brushing it. "Who are you?"
"Markus. Just Markus." He raised the hand he was holding to his lips and ran his tongue over her knuckles, biting back a smile at her small jump. "It's very nice to meet you, Eliza."
"You, too."
Characters: Markus, Eliza
Rating: G
i'm never going to write in a consistent tense ever.
He watched over her after the ritual. Her condition had to be monitered carefully, although he knew he would not fail. She would likely be out for a day or two; a week at most. This, he told to her maids. They accepted it quietly and thanked him for his help. He watched their eyes flick to their lady's doorway and knew they were apprehensive about if he had truly done as he said he would. They were distrustful of the handome young man who had stepped into their midst. It was written all over their faces, as bright as the neon lights that populated the backwater edges of the city. He didn't mind. In all his years of servitude, he had never met a maid or matron who had trusted him. He rarely found a woman who did, even though they were so thankful once he had taken their illness from them. They put up quite a fight before the ritual, screaming how they were going to be damned for all eternity.
But he was not a being who went back on his word. Once they asked for his help and he accepted their plea, they were sealed. He took their illness from them, even if it was through force. He slid fire beneath the skins of those dying from the cold and watched them fill with color, watched their frigid breaths turn to happy sighs; he let electricity jump between his fingers and into the nerves of those who were paralyzed, and he watched them shriek when their limbs moved once again; and he lifted voices from the heads of those with more than a conscience, watched their eyes light up when they were free. All contracts had a limit, but he was lenient. They could have their freedom until they died, he ruled.
They were so thankful. But he could not give eternal life to the girl he had just 'cured'. His bosses were angry he had done such a thing before, because it had meant life-long servitude to those women. He couldn't do his job if he was out serving people for decades. It clashed with their demeanor, they scolded him. They put a limit of ten years on his lengthening. He failed to see the problem in taking care of women until they were old - although many died young, through unforseen circumstances involving poison, knives, or rivers - but took the punishment. He could do nothing else.
He left through the front door and, once the house was quiet again and himself forgotten, gently crept through the attic window and found his way back to her room. There he sat on her bed and watching her eyes move beneath their lids. It was fascinating to watch her kind sleep. They were idiosyncratic without control. Some spoke in their sleep and some whined, clutched at their blankets and shook from some unknown dream. She did nothing of the sort. She only breathed and turned every so often, little shifts to fix her internal temperature with the cold sheets of the bed.
She awoke nine hours later, an incredibly impressive feat. He watched her eyes flutter open and regard him with curiosity, before she realized who he was. She forced herself up and sat back against her pillows, then pushed the blankets aside. He smiled and slipped closer to feel her head, then her pulse. Normal and nothing, not even the smallest of beats. She shoved his hand aside when he took a moment too long and frowned.
"Am I better?" She asked. It was a silly question; of course she was, depending on how you looked at it.
"You're not sick anymore." He chose his words carefully, measuring their tone in his mind the second before he said them. "You have a clean bill of health for the next seven years. That'll give you enough time to find a suitable husband and have a child."
"Was that the condition," but it wasn't a question; it was stated and accompanied by a small sigh. "I don't even want to think about that sort of thing, I'm much too young."
"Then don't. Enjoy your time until you have suitors clammoring around you. And I know you will. You are a very beautiful young girl right now. You're going to be even more beautiful when you're older."
Red dusted her face as he spoke and he raised his eyebrows at it. He felt her cheeks and trailed his fingers down her neck and the concave of her collarbones,. When she tensed underneath his touch he pulled away and gripped one of her hands instead.
"I never got your name," he murmured. She smiled.
"I never got yours either." He had to admire her audacity. Not everyone so blatantly pointed it out.
"I'm Eliza Hickory," she continued. She ran her fingers through her hair, a loose form
of brushing it. "Who are you?"
"Markus. Just Markus." He raised the hand he was holding to his lips and ran his tongue over her knuckles, biting back a smile at her small jump. "It's very nice to meet you, Eliza."
"You, too."