satindesire
Queen of Geeks
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2005
- Posts
- 13,101
Looking up from the canvas, Narilka Lessing was startled to discover that the sun had long set. A bloom of nervous energy shivered through her, stricken eyes glanced up at the loft where Joshua was hammering stoicly on a length of steel.
Cleaning her brushes as quickly as she could, she closed the paint pots and washed her hands, biting back the plea she could feel forming at her lips. "Please, please walk me home." But she knew he would only sneer at her fear, pointing, as he did many times, to the intricatly braided wards that held back her hair, was the clasp of her cloak. "You wear enough wards to outfit an entire city, girl! They'll bind enough magic to keep even the greater demons at bay! Nothing's gonna happen. Nothing ever has. Just go home."
Trembling, and not just with the cold, she shut the shop door behind her and caught sight of herself reflecting in the polished surface of the window. Black hair, glossed and curling fell well past a boyishly narrow waist. Eyes dark as velvet framed by lashes nearly as thick. Fear and a cold autumn night had her cheeks flushed shell pink, bright on honey-toned skin. Slight, not even the agressive bulk of her voluminous skirts and heavy cloak could disguise her svelt figure.
She cursed the window, as she cursed herself. Why did she have to be born like this? Why couldn't she had been born plainer, or at least of sturdier stock than she was? Then she would have been able to enjoy the evening as her school friends had, theatre, dinner dates, hay rides, concerts. Her parents would not have sheltered her so, they would have said, "Go in company. Take a lantern with you. Rise up a ward should some demon approach." And then that would be the end of their warnings, and she could have lived a more normal life.
But being the sole inheriter of her father's coloring and her mother's petite heritage, they had instilled within her a terror of the sunset that made her steps carelessly quick in the cold evening, each footfall a scream in the night.
From paved concerete to cobblestones to dust and finally, to mud, the cold trickling through the bottoms of her slippers making her limbs stiff and uncooperative. Again, she cursed...this time Joshua and his heartless need to make her work well past moonrise when the seasons changed.
"You'll be home soon." She murmured, aloud, to the trees who loomed ominously above her, their skeletal branches seeming ready to pluck her from the ground at a moment's notice. She knew her parents would be frantic with worry, and would probably write Joshua an angry letter (which he would promptly ignore), but as soon as she crested the hill to their farm, all would be well.
Then, quite suddenly, she realized that the forest had gone quiet around her. Silent like the grave would be. No insects droned, no birds chirrped, only the sound of her ragged breathing and the slow footfalls that sucked wet mud sounds with each unsure step.
Silence.
Silence and...smoke?
Narilka's pace juddered to a loping jog, heedless of the wet mud that squelched frostily into her woefully inadequate footwear, then broke into a panting run as she saw the golden flicker of flames up ahead.
How did the forest catch light so quickly? Had she not noticed this sooner, or was there some other cause to the fire?
Gods, the farm! She crested the hill, thighs pulling, lungs burning. Soot-tinged wind dusted icicle cheeks, washed in streaks as acid-hot tears cleared the dust from her eyes.
The screams of panicked animals from the stable drowned out her cries for her parents. Smoke rolled thickly from the damp trees that surrounded them, choking her, stealing her voice. Holding a scarf ineffectually to her mouth, she stumbled as close as she could towards the smoldering house, jiggling the locked door handle in blind instinct.
Locked.
Frantic eyes locked onto a window, too high up for her petite self to climb unassisted. A nearby ladder gave her both the means to break the glass and reach it. Falling ungracefully inside, blinded and smothered by smoke and fumes, she could only grope through the hall towards her parent's bedroom.
"Daddy! Mama! Daddy! Hello?! Anybody!!??"
Her foot caught something warm and solid, and with disbelieving eyes she looked down upon the slack, open-mouthed visage of her father. Choking suddenly with the overwhelming urge to retch, animal instinct backed her away from the corpse.
Her back met a wall, where she slid down, clutching her knees, scarf forgotten. Coughing and gagging, heedless of the increasing heat and thickening fumes, she stared.
Her father's eyes in the shop window. His worried, angry face meeting her at the top of the hill. "Nari! We were so worried! Did he make you stay so late again?" Her father's hair, thick and curling. The smell of pipe tobacco and cologne...
"Na-Nari..." She whirled so fast her neck cracked.
"Mama!" Crawling through the dense plume that rolled above her like a live thing, hungry and waiting, to her mother's open arms.
She was bloody, and very pale. "Nari, baby...oh gods...Your father..!" Not realizing she was sobbing, she watched tears fall with strange detachment wetly onto her mother's bare arm, washing away soot-blackened blood in long stripes. "Nari-you....you,*coughcough* need to g-get out...Fire..."
"Mama, mama, no, come on, we have to get you out of he-"
"No, baby, the werewolf...*coughcough* Get out. Hurry!"
Sucking in the poisoned air in great lungfuls, Narilka backed away from her mother's now unconscious body, wiping blood on the soft woolen nap of her surcoat. "Oh gods, mama....no...!"
The door opened easily from the inside. She left it open, collapsing on the charred lawn.
Gasping for breath, she watched her childhood home burn down to ashes.
Cleaning her brushes as quickly as she could, she closed the paint pots and washed her hands, biting back the plea she could feel forming at her lips. "Please, please walk me home." But she knew he would only sneer at her fear, pointing, as he did many times, to the intricatly braided wards that held back her hair, was the clasp of her cloak. "You wear enough wards to outfit an entire city, girl! They'll bind enough magic to keep even the greater demons at bay! Nothing's gonna happen. Nothing ever has. Just go home."
Trembling, and not just with the cold, she shut the shop door behind her and caught sight of herself reflecting in the polished surface of the window. Black hair, glossed and curling fell well past a boyishly narrow waist. Eyes dark as velvet framed by lashes nearly as thick. Fear and a cold autumn night had her cheeks flushed shell pink, bright on honey-toned skin. Slight, not even the agressive bulk of her voluminous skirts and heavy cloak could disguise her svelt figure.
She cursed the window, as she cursed herself. Why did she have to be born like this? Why couldn't she had been born plainer, or at least of sturdier stock than she was? Then she would have been able to enjoy the evening as her school friends had, theatre, dinner dates, hay rides, concerts. Her parents would not have sheltered her so, they would have said, "Go in company. Take a lantern with you. Rise up a ward should some demon approach." And then that would be the end of their warnings, and she could have lived a more normal life.
But being the sole inheriter of her father's coloring and her mother's petite heritage, they had instilled within her a terror of the sunset that made her steps carelessly quick in the cold evening, each footfall a scream in the night.
From paved concerete to cobblestones to dust and finally, to mud, the cold trickling through the bottoms of her slippers making her limbs stiff and uncooperative. Again, she cursed...this time Joshua and his heartless need to make her work well past moonrise when the seasons changed.
"You'll be home soon." She murmured, aloud, to the trees who loomed ominously above her, their skeletal branches seeming ready to pluck her from the ground at a moment's notice. She knew her parents would be frantic with worry, and would probably write Joshua an angry letter (which he would promptly ignore), but as soon as she crested the hill to their farm, all would be well.
Then, quite suddenly, she realized that the forest had gone quiet around her. Silent like the grave would be. No insects droned, no birds chirrped, only the sound of her ragged breathing and the slow footfalls that sucked wet mud sounds with each unsure step.
Silence.
Silence and...smoke?
Narilka's pace juddered to a loping jog, heedless of the wet mud that squelched frostily into her woefully inadequate footwear, then broke into a panting run as she saw the golden flicker of flames up ahead.
How did the forest catch light so quickly? Had she not noticed this sooner, or was there some other cause to the fire?
Gods, the farm! She crested the hill, thighs pulling, lungs burning. Soot-tinged wind dusted icicle cheeks, washed in streaks as acid-hot tears cleared the dust from her eyes.
The screams of panicked animals from the stable drowned out her cries for her parents. Smoke rolled thickly from the damp trees that surrounded them, choking her, stealing her voice. Holding a scarf ineffectually to her mouth, she stumbled as close as she could towards the smoldering house, jiggling the locked door handle in blind instinct.
Locked.
Frantic eyes locked onto a window, too high up for her petite self to climb unassisted. A nearby ladder gave her both the means to break the glass and reach it. Falling ungracefully inside, blinded and smothered by smoke and fumes, she could only grope through the hall towards her parent's bedroom.
"Daddy! Mama! Daddy! Hello?! Anybody!!??"
Her foot caught something warm and solid, and with disbelieving eyes she looked down upon the slack, open-mouthed visage of her father. Choking suddenly with the overwhelming urge to retch, animal instinct backed her away from the corpse.
Her back met a wall, where she slid down, clutching her knees, scarf forgotten. Coughing and gagging, heedless of the increasing heat and thickening fumes, she stared.
Her father's eyes in the shop window. His worried, angry face meeting her at the top of the hill. "Nari! We were so worried! Did he make you stay so late again?" Her father's hair, thick and curling. The smell of pipe tobacco and cologne...
"Na-Nari..." She whirled so fast her neck cracked.
"Mama!" Crawling through the dense plume that rolled above her like a live thing, hungry and waiting, to her mother's open arms.
She was bloody, and very pale. "Nari, baby...oh gods...Your father..!" Not realizing she was sobbing, she watched tears fall with strange detachment wetly onto her mother's bare arm, washing away soot-blackened blood in long stripes. "Nari-you....you,*coughcough* need to g-get out...Fire..."
"Mama, mama, no, come on, we have to get you out of he-"
"No, baby, the werewolf...*coughcough* Get out. Hurry!"
Sucking in the poisoned air in great lungfuls, Narilka backed away from her mother's now unconscious body, wiping blood on the soft woolen nap of her surcoat. "Oh gods, mama....no...!"
The door opened easily from the inside. She left it open, collapsing on the charred lawn.
Gasping for breath, she watched her childhood home burn down to ashes.
