The Horn Gate
Feb. 6th, 2015 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marinabeauvaisA companion drabble (204 words...a record for me) to the Eskil reviving logs.
"So very blue"
Colours that barely exist in the Neath, among all the grey and green and black silver-streaked. But you remember it, and perhaps you are comforted.
It was quite exhausting to break down; even more so to put oneself back together. But, with his body pressed against hers, fingers entwined, she felt like she could try to do it. Just try.
That’s the last thought she had before she started to dream.
She dreamed of memories, less nightmarish than her recent recollection of them awake. Once again, she remembered the ocean and the hand of her mere holding hers, touch always lingering as she submerged and reemerged like some bizarre aquatic butterfly.
But she had forgotten one thing, she realized dimly in the haze of sleep, as the memory went on longer than she thought it did, the little girl she once was lying on her back—calme et immobile, Marina, ne oubliez pas—on top of the water, looking up into a cloudless morning, floating and flying at the same time.
Between two worlds, she said not aloud to no one. The sky and the sea. I felt like I was swathed in the Virgin's mantle, with all that blue.
In deep slumber, a single shiny trail downwards marred the calm of her face.
She grips Eskil’s hand tighter.
"So very blue"
Colours that barely exist in the Neath, among all the grey and green and black silver-streaked. But you remember it, and perhaps you are comforted.
It was quite exhausting to break down; even more so to put oneself back together. But, with his body pressed against hers, fingers entwined, she felt like she could try to do it. Just try.
That’s the last thought she had before she started to dream.
She dreamed of memories, less nightmarish than her recent recollection of them awake. Once again, she remembered the ocean and the hand of her mere holding hers, touch always lingering as she submerged and reemerged like some bizarre aquatic butterfly.
But she had forgotten one thing, she realized dimly in the haze of sleep, as the memory went on longer than she thought it did, the little girl she once was lying on her back—calme et immobile, Marina, ne oubliez pas—on top of the water, looking up into a cloudless morning, floating and flying at the same time.
Between two worlds, she said not aloud to no one. The sky and the sea. I felt like I was swathed in the Virgin's mantle, with all that blue.
In deep slumber, a single shiny trail downwards marred the calm of her face.
She grips Eskil’s hand tighter.
