Post by Valdania nó Jasmine(I) on Sept 9, 2006 20:56:44 GMT -5
((I kinda missed the part where we were to flag posts for keeping a while back so this is a revamped post of Valdania's Backstory.))
Father has died, and now I am even more alone than I used to be. Loosing Mother was hard enough, but this is worse. Now there will be no one to greet me when I come home to visit. Well, there are the maids and servants of the house, but that's not the same. Home always meant Papa and his big smile and rolling laughter, and now he's gone. There is the Night Court, with its intrigues and drama's but it has never been like home, I thought. Home has always been something more than just the place where I lived.
It had been too long. I thought as I opened the door to the room in front of me and immediately began sneezing like crazy from the frantic swirls of dust my intrusion caused. Dusk had kissed the hills, but it was light yet.
When at last my eyes cleared of tears and the fit of sneezes subsided, I was able to take in the little room before me. It was smaller than I remembered -- much smaller by far. "It hasn't been that long, has it?" I said in dismay.
The room was bare. It made me wonder if it was my imagination that painted it such a lovely countenance in my memory. The floor was old and stained by wax and dirty shoes and clouded with a blanket of dust. The walls were in desperate need of a new stain, and the only light came from the sole window on the eastern wall. What illumination it provided was filtered by the dusty layer that covered the glass as well. The place looked empty, and very bleak at that.
"This is where you used to spend your time...? I had forgotten that this room even existed." Bran said, from the doorway behind me. Though the sarcasm was obvious in his words, somehow the room seemed to drain the biting edge out of them.
"No, this is not how it was," I said, almost whispering. There was something about the place...something that made it seem almost...magical. Not the magic of sorcerers and their kind...but something that stemmed instead from memory and perhaps a reverence for what once was.
I turned towards the doorway, having come halfway into the room. I could see my footprints clearly in the dust on the wood floor.
"Come in," I said. When he made no move, I held out a hand. He looked at me for a long moment, at my smooth and perfect hands that had never even scrubbed a dish, at the un-calloused palm and the slim, tapered fingertips.
Lady's hands, he had called them often enough. It always made me blush when he said that, and that made him laugh. "Stop it," I would say. "Don't call them that. You don't understand. Not these hands. It was mother's hands that were those of a lady, never mine, no, never mine."
"Why are you getting upset with me?" he would question me with a laugh, which would only make me even more agitated.
And then, thinking of our mother, all of my troubled thoughts would seep from me, and I would say, "Because you make me think I actually have that kind of beauty when you say things like that.” And there would be something sorrowful and beautiful in the look on my face when I said this, and he would wrap his arms around me and comfort me, saying he was sorry for upsetting me.
"Come in," I said again. "Please." As I held my hand out to him, I looked at him and he saw that look in my eyes. He took a step forward and grabbed my hand in his. The light was muted within the room and sound was muffled by the layer of dust. Things seemed to stand still here, as if it was a place forgotten by time.
"What is it that you want to show me here?" he asked, standing close to me and still holding my hand.
"This is where I used to dance," I said, “when I was little anyway.” There was sadness in my voice.
"Why did you stop?" he asked, reading me as accurately as always.
"Stop dancing?" I questioned, like a child, my hand twisting the ring on my finger nervously. "Because...because I forgot how to." I said, stepping away from him.
"Forgot...? How can you just forget?" he laughed. "My dear, you have the most impeccable memory of anyone I know. How can you just forget how to dance?"
I smiled sadly. "Even I can forget things, Bran." I was silent a moment, my eyes sweeping the tiny room.
"Did you know this place was beautiful once?" I asked him. "Well, it was never perfect but it was taken care of back then. I think I remember it different because I always came here in the night. There was only candlelight and moonlight to light the room."
"Candlelight makes anything beautiful," he said.
"Ah yes." I said, my gaze lingering on the long unused candles in the room.
She stands there looking so soft, so delicate, so...ageless.... She belongs in this timeless room, Bran thought. Not because she is the spitting image of our mother, a living reminder of something long gone, but because she could possess the magic that hid in the dusty corners here, much as she would deny it.
"Please," he said, "Will you dance for me sister?" Or perhaps she had forgotten. He thought, but he doubted my words.
I hesitated, reluctance written on my face. I started to protest but my voice trailed off as I looked up at is face. And as silence folded over us and twilight set its cloak to the ground, I smiled softly and began to dance...
Father has died, and now I am even more alone than I used to be. Loosing Mother was hard enough, but this is worse. Now there will be no one to greet me when I come home to visit. Well, there are the maids and servants of the house, but that's not the same. Home always meant Papa and his big smile and rolling laughter, and now he's gone. There is the Night Court, with its intrigues and drama's but it has never been like home, I thought. Home has always been something more than just the place where I lived.
It had been too long. I thought as I opened the door to the room in front of me and immediately began sneezing like crazy from the frantic swirls of dust my intrusion caused. Dusk had kissed the hills, but it was light yet.
When at last my eyes cleared of tears and the fit of sneezes subsided, I was able to take in the little room before me. It was smaller than I remembered -- much smaller by far. "It hasn't been that long, has it?" I said in dismay.
The room was bare. It made me wonder if it was my imagination that painted it such a lovely countenance in my memory. The floor was old and stained by wax and dirty shoes and clouded with a blanket of dust. The walls were in desperate need of a new stain, and the only light came from the sole window on the eastern wall. What illumination it provided was filtered by the dusty layer that covered the glass as well. The place looked empty, and very bleak at that.
"This is where you used to spend your time...? I had forgotten that this room even existed." Bran said, from the doorway behind me. Though the sarcasm was obvious in his words, somehow the room seemed to drain the biting edge out of them.
"No, this is not how it was," I said, almost whispering. There was something about the place...something that made it seem almost...magical. Not the magic of sorcerers and their kind...but something that stemmed instead from memory and perhaps a reverence for what once was.
I turned towards the doorway, having come halfway into the room. I could see my footprints clearly in the dust on the wood floor.
"Come in," I said. When he made no move, I held out a hand. He looked at me for a long moment, at my smooth and perfect hands that had never even scrubbed a dish, at the un-calloused palm and the slim, tapered fingertips.
Lady's hands, he had called them often enough. It always made me blush when he said that, and that made him laugh. "Stop it," I would say. "Don't call them that. You don't understand. Not these hands. It was mother's hands that were those of a lady, never mine, no, never mine."
"Why are you getting upset with me?" he would question me with a laugh, which would only make me even more agitated.
And then, thinking of our mother, all of my troubled thoughts would seep from me, and I would say, "Because you make me think I actually have that kind of beauty when you say things like that.” And there would be something sorrowful and beautiful in the look on my face when I said this, and he would wrap his arms around me and comfort me, saying he was sorry for upsetting me.
"Come in," I said again. "Please." As I held my hand out to him, I looked at him and he saw that look in my eyes. He took a step forward and grabbed my hand in his. The light was muted within the room and sound was muffled by the layer of dust. Things seemed to stand still here, as if it was a place forgotten by time.
"What is it that you want to show me here?" he asked, standing close to me and still holding my hand.
"This is where I used to dance," I said, “when I was little anyway.” There was sadness in my voice.
"Why did you stop?" he asked, reading me as accurately as always.
"Stop dancing?" I questioned, like a child, my hand twisting the ring on my finger nervously. "Because...because I forgot how to." I said, stepping away from him.
"Forgot...? How can you just forget?" he laughed. "My dear, you have the most impeccable memory of anyone I know. How can you just forget how to dance?"
I smiled sadly. "Even I can forget things, Bran." I was silent a moment, my eyes sweeping the tiny room.
"Did you know this place was beautiful once?" I asked him. "Well, it was never perfect but it was taken care of back then. I think I remember it different because I always came here in the night. There was only candlelight and moonlight to light the room."
"Candlelight makes anything beautiful," he said.
"Ah yes." I said, my gaze lingering on the long unused candles in the room.
She stands there looking so soft, so delicate, so...ageless.... She belongs in this timeless room, Bran thought. Not because she is the spitting image of our mother, a living reminder of something long gone, but because she could possess the magic that hid in the dusty corners here, much as she would deny it.
"Please," he said, "Will you dance for me sister?" Or perhaps she had forgotten. He thought, but he doubted my words.
I hesitated, reluctance written on my face. I started to protest but my voice trailed off as I looked up at is face. And as silence folded over us and twilight set its cloak to the ground, I smiled softly and began to dance...