yousei-san (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flair) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
metamorphosis2012-02-05 07:00 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2012-02-05 07:00 pm
Entry tags:
306;
Title: unmovingly
Rating: G
41/365. ancient book, ancient evil - that sort of thing. a continuation of 304.
it's a bright, beautiful day when she decides to visit her old friend, a curious book collector named greschowick; she is, after all, in town for once, and they have (in her opinion) quite a bit of catching up to do. the closer she gets to his house on market street, though, the more a feeling of anticipation and dread grips at her heart and makes her step faster and faster until she's sprinting, forearms tight against her sides although the rest of her arms are up and she moves with her shoulders, ducking through crowds and past stalls. she stops at his door and raises a shaking fist to the wooden door, flinching away when the world starts to shake. it almost makes her lose her footing and she grips the bronze knob, throwing the wooden door open and rushing in.
"greschowick," she calls, looking around the messy home. there isn't an answer and she shrieks when a shelf of pots and plates crashes to the ground beside her. it prompts her into moving away from the walls and toward the center of the room, leaning against a large dining table for support. "greschowick?"
a shout sounds from below and she ducks past falling debris and down into the basement, where she sees him holding onto an old book. his eyes are wide and clouded, and she knows he's reading whatever invisible words are written in it, but there isn't time for that. she grabs his arm and tries to drag him away from his work, but he shakes his head and keeps on.
"i'm nearly done, samantha," he whispers, and she shakes her head and tugs him. "there isn't time to be finish, gresch! you're going to die here if you stay -- just drop it and let's go!"
"i can't!"
samantha scowls at his refusal and jerks him away, feeling him flinch when pages tear away in his hand and the chalk screeches against the board. they make their way out of the house with difficulty, and heave heavy breaths on the streets. the sky is blue, tinged with red and black (as if it was really burning, although maybe it is, if the smell of smoke is anything to go by), and it starts over greschowick's house and spread like a hole. she has a feeling it has to do with that book, and greschowick seems to think it, too, if the way he peers at the pages that ripped away in his hands is any indication; she has half a mind to demand answers, truth be told --
she doesn't think he'd know anyway, and she chooses the next best course of action: leaving the city before anyone else realizes the center of destruction is the book collector's house.
Rating: G
41/365. ancient book, ancient evil - that sort of thing. a continuation of 304.
it's a bright, beautiful day when she decides to visit her old friend, a curious book collector named greschowick; she is, after all, in town for once, and they have (in her opinion) quite a bit of catching up to do. the closer she gets to his house on market street, though, the more a feeling of anticipation and dread grips at her heart and makes her step faster and faster until she's sprinting, forearms tight against her sides although the rest of her arms are up and she moves with her shoulders, ducking through crowds and past stalls. she stops at his door and raises a shaking fist to the wooden door, flinching away when the world starts to shake. it almost makes her lose her footing and she grips the bronze knob, throwing the wooden door open and rushing in.
"greschowick," she calls, looking around the messy home. there isn't an answer and she shrieks when a shelf of pots and plates crashes to the ground beside her. it prompts her into moving away from the walls and toward the center of the room, leaning against a large dining table for support. "greschowick?"
a shout sounds from below and she ducks past falling debris and down into the basement, where she sees him holding onto an old book. his eyes are wide and clouded, and she knows he's reading whatever invisible words are written in it, but there isn't time for that. she grabs his arm and tries to drag him away from his work, but he shakes his head and keeps on.
"i'm nearly done, samantha," he whispers, and she shakes her head and tugs him. "there isn't time to be finish, gresch! you're going to die here if you stay -- just drop it and let's go!"
"i can't!"
samantha scowls at his refusal and jerks him away, feeling him flinch when pages tear away in his hand and the chalk screeches against the board. they make their way out of the house with difficulty, and heave heavy breaths on the streets. the sky is blue, tinged with red and black (as if it was really burning, although maybe it is, if the smell of smoke is anything to go by), and it starts over greschowick's house and spread like a hole. she has a feeling it has to do with that book, and greschowick seems to think it, too, if the way he peers at the pages that ripped away in his hands is any indication; she has half a mind to demand answers, truth be told --
she doesn't think he'd know anyway, and she chooses the next best course of action: leaving the city before anyone else realizes the center of destruction is the book collector's house.