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Entry tags:
[fic] shaken; Final Fantasy VIII
Written for August 29's theme for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days: The woes of my heart having glimpsed you, but I fell asleep before I finished and suddenly it's 7:30 am August 30. Ha ha.
Yes, yes. One day I'll actually write something longer, I swear.
Title: --
Day/Theme: August 29; The woes of my heart having glimpsed you
Series: Final Fantasy VIII
Characters: Irvine, Edea
Rating: G
Word count: 345
Jumbled up, almost stream-of-consciousness thingamajig. Bleh.
He has glimpsed her beauty and he is shaken by it. She is dressed in darkness and majesty and glory, all draped around her like an aura of such familiarity. Did she like black before? He couldn't quite remember, but he knows there are more colours in their world of his memories than just black and white. Her hair is a curtain of midnight falling from her headdress. He remembers the sway of her hair as the sea breeze blew in, and the smell of lilacs and the flutter of petals, and flowers everywhere in the small house by the sea and a lot of laughter and a lot of love—
lowlifes. shameless filthy wretches. how you celebrate
—and her laughter now grates against his already high-strung nerves. She raises her hand and her fingers are talons, tapered and sleek, and power danced at her fingertips at each simple move, at each careless gesture. Her palm—
was cool as she traced his knee, the cut tingling as the magic dissipated.
Now, now. It doesn't hurt any more, does it?
She kisses his forehead, a promise that everything will be all right and he looks up at her and—
she is looking at him, and her eyes are golden, like the colour of the sea and the sky when the sun sets and it's reflected just right. Her lips are parted, yet he couldn't hear her voice, but he knows it's (supposed to be) gentle and comforting and familiar, because he hears her in his head, telling him things about kindness and chivalry and love.
His gun feels too heavy in his grasp. His heart is pounding, a constant thumping in his ears like the sound of waves crashing against shore as the storm creeps in, drowning everything else, everyone else, until nothing remained but her.
She smiles at him, a small curl of her red, red lips, a hint of a secret for him alone. She is beauty and grace: she is everything he remembers and more.
He pulls the trigger, because she is everything he remembers and more.
31_days: The woes of my heart having glimpsed you, but I fell asleep before I finished and suddenly it's 7:30 am August 30. Ha ha.Yes, yes. One day I'll actually write something longer, I swear.
Title: --
Day/Theme: August 29; The woes of my heart having glimpsed you
Series: Final Fantasy VIII
Characters: Irvine, Edea
Rating: G
Word count: 345
Jumbled up, almost stream-of-consciousness thingamajig. Bleh.
He has glimpsed her beauty and he is shaken by it. She is dressed in darkness and majesty and glory, all draped around her like an aura of such familiarity. Did she like black before? He couldn't quite remember, but he knows there are more colours in their world of his memories than just black and white. Her hair is a curtain of midnight falling from her headdress. He remembers the sway of her hair as the sea breeze blew in, and the smell of lilacs and the flutter of petals, and flowers everywhere in the small house by the sea and a lot of laughter and a lot of love—
lowlifes. shameless filthy wretches. how you celebrate
—and her laughter now grates against his already high-strung nerves. She raises her hand and her fingers are talons, tapered and sleek, and power danced at her fingertips at each simple move, at each careless gesture. Her palm—
was cool as she traced his knee, the cut tingling as the magic dissipated.
Now, now. It doesn't hurt any more, does it?
She kisses his forehead, a promise that everything will be all right and he looks up at her and—
she is looking at him, and her eyes are golden, like the colour of the sea and the sky when the sun sets and it's reflected just right. Her lips are parted, yet he couldn't hear her voice, but he knows it's (supposed to be) gentle and comforting and familiar, because he hears her in his head, telling him things about kindness and chivalry and love.
His gun feels too heavy in his grasp. His heart is pounding, a constant thumping in his ears like the sound of waves crashing against shore as the storm creeps in, drowning everything else, everyone else, until nothing remained but her.
She smiles at him, a small curl of her red, red lips, a hint of a secret for him alone. She is beauty and grace: she is everything he remembers and more.
He pulls the trigger, because she is everything he remembers and more.
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(Sorry for the late reply!)