Mr. James (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mrjames) wrote,@ 2002-04-26 10:38:00 |
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Giovanni Chronicles: Interlude
He frowned, staring out over the sea. To suit his mood, there should be a storm. Violent winds, flailing at the ocean. Whitecapped waves crashing into the rocks below. Salty spray filling the air as though the Earth itself were wounded, bleeding.
Instead, the cresent moon offered gentle light to a sea as placid as glass. Stars decorated the sky like jewelry on her graceful neck.
He frowned again. It pained him to think of her.
He knew her better than she knew herself. It wasn't arrogance on his part to say so, it was simple fact. Had he not explored every corner of her mind? Had he not spent decades in her dreams? Had he not forged dark pacts with unnamed forces to examine her every possible future? She was just a woman, really. Fickle. Whimsical. Teasing, even, the way she toyed with his heart. But she was so much more...
Casting out his thoughts, away from Gibraltar, away North, he sought her out. Again.
She sat in her garden, alone. A wolf lay at her feet, sleeping. A viola case adorned her lap, and the sight of it caused his breath to still. It had been a gift to her, half a century ago. She caressed the engravings he had carefully etched into the cherrywood, her eyes lingered on the moonlit finish he had applied layer by layer. After a time, she set the instrument case aside, unopened, and surveyed the garden. Her expression was composed. Almost regal. But touching the instrument had made her think of him, and her mind was pensive. He sighed, saddened. He knew how she had loved to play, and it grieved him that because of his gift to her, his attempt to share in that joy, she had chosen to set it aside. How long since she had played? How long had she chosen silence, rather than share in the music?
He noticed the pistol nearby, handle done in ivory and chased silver. It was a lovely weapon. What did it say of his darling Veronique that she kept her weapon close, and left the music unlistened to in its case?
Perhaps that she was forgetting.
For the first time that night, Vayle smiled.
He returned his thoughts to his own location, and was pleased to see lightning far out over the water. A storm was coming. He idly dropped the body of the boy off the rock, watching it tumble and bounce on the way down. "Like a dancer with no bones," he whispered, and he laughed aloud. He laughed much of the way home, too, because he liked the sound of it.
He frowned, staring out over the sea. To suit his mood, there should be a storm. Violent winds, flailing at the ocean. Whitecapped waves crashing into the rocks below. Salty spray filling the air as though the Earth itself were wounded, bleeding.
Instead, the cresent moon offered gentle light to a sea as placid as glass. Stars decorated the sky like jewelry on her graceful neck.
He frowned again. It pained him to think of her.
He knew her better than she knew herself. It wasn't arrogance on his part to say so, it was simple fact. Had he not explored every corner of her mind? Had he not spent decades in her dreams? Had he not forged dark pacts with unnamed forces to examine her every possible future? She was just a woman, really. Fickle. Whimsical. Teasing, even, the way she toyed with his heart. But she was so much more...
Casting out his thoughts, away from Gibraltar, away North, he sought her out. Again.
She sat in her garden, alone. A wolf lay at her feet, sleeping. A viola case adorned her lap, and the sight of it caused his breath to still. It had been a gift to her, half a century ago. She caressed the engravings he had carefully etched into the cherrywood, her eyes lingered on the moonlit finish he had applied layer by layer. After a time, she set the instrument case aside, unopened, and surveyed the garden. Her expression was composed. Almost regal. But touching the instrument had made her think of him, and her mind was pensive. He sighed, saddened. He knew how she had loved to play, and it grieved him that because of his gift to her, his attempt to share in that joy, she had chosen to set it aside. How long since she had played? How long had she chosen silence, rather than share in the music?
He noticed the pistol nearby, handle done in ivory and chased silver. It was a lovely weapon. What did it say of his darling Veronique that she kept her weapon close, and left the music unlistened to in its case?
Perhaps that she was forgetting.
For the first time that night, Vayle smiled.
He returned his thoughts to his own location, and was pleased to see lightning far out over the water. A storm was coming. He idly dropped the body of the boy off the rock, watching it tumble and bounce on the way down. "Like a dancer with no bones," he whispered, and he laughed aloud. He laughed much of the way home, too, because he liked the sound of it.
