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05 March 2014 @ 05:51 pm
Seeds of Destruction  
Title: Seeds of Destruction
Characters: The Green Lady, The Red Lady, Rahil, Far Dorocha, Jack, Zachariah
Word Count: 1,141
Summary: She sewed the seeds of her own destruction. He was never meant to kill her, she only made it that way.

Frost has killed your flowers.

Your kingdom is perpetual summer and your gardens overflow with colour and perfume. But here are flowers dead on the vine in the morning sun. You pick away the buds with green fingers, bemused but ultimately unconcerned as they fall to the ground to rot into the soil. Flowers are naturally fleeting things. You forget about it after a while.

But it happens again, a year later, and the damage is more extensive. The blue morning glories glare at your back as you viciously prune away the death brought on by a frosty kiss. You mention it to your pet witch in passing and she frowns, just as confused. You both pass it off as winter managing to weasel its horrid little way in to a domain it has not touched in centuries.

It was just a fluke. Just a passing whimsy of Nature who is far grander and mysterious than the tiny part of it you embody, but you were never good at reading the signs—your blind red gem-eyed sister was more in tune with the fates.

But then, one day, you dream of snow.

It falls, sparkling and white to melt on the still sun-warmed leaves. Its kiss is brief but cold on your skin. But soon it gathers and the colours are buried under a white blanket and a black sky. You stand shivering in the middle of your garden and the snow melts on your cheeks like tears.

“I love this type of weather,” a baritone confides to you, half laughing with childish joy.

A man is standing next to you. He’s at least a head taller with hair like the night sky and skin like the snow on the ground. He sticks his tongue out to catch snowflakes and there is a type of innocence in the gesture you yourself once possessed.

“The land is so beautiful dressed in white,” he continues, turning to look at you with a benevolent and friendly smile. You’ll never forget his face for the rest of your life. “Don’t you think?”

“No,” you reply, lips curling into a snarl. “Winter is death, the end of all things.”

It is funny how the things we say can seem so trivial.

“Oh,” he says, his pretty smile faltering.

It is funny how a simple choice can set us down a bad path.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he adds, blue eyes suddenly unreadable. “Winter is both an ending and a beginning. Winter is rebirth.”

You find his philosophising grating your nerves. “If summer never ends then there is no need for rebirth.”

It is funny how we never realize we even made a choice to begin with.

He moves away from your side, over to some snow smothered hydrangeas. He bends down and blows the snow away; creating a cloud of shimmering silver glitter that hangs in the air like little stars. “You have a lovely garden,” he compliments, stroking the petals with the back of a finger.

You say nothing in return. You’re bored of him and want him gone, him and this snow.

“It would be a shame if something were to happen to it,” he comments absently, standing up. You see your hydrangeas change from lustrous blues to bruised purples, wilting as frost grows like parasitic crystals on the dying petals.

The air grows colder. The snow falls harder.

“Long live the Queen,” he says, mockingly toasting you with a saccharine smile. Somehow he’s just a little different from when you first met but in the horror that grips your heart and makes it difficult to breathe you don’t even realize that. He was always the hidden enemy.

You wake up cold and run crying to your sister for the first time in millennia. She listens quietly, petting your hair blindly as you rage about prophetic dreams and the death you wish to escape. You’re too self-absorbed to see her unseeing eyes gleam with tears and her lips curve with sadness.

Later, she’ll betray you—because she must, because she loves you, because she lost you long ago.

You go to your girl witch, fear turning to rage. She’ll consult bones cast into the fire, read the portents in the gutted entrails of ravens and seek answers in her coloured cards. You learn things. You make plans and preparations for the future ahead. She watches you sink into self-absorbed madness.

Later, she’ll betray you—because she must, because she loves someone you hurt, because you used and abused her.

You consult your faithful servant, discuss your plans and begin to weave the web you need. All the while he watches you with carefully masked disdain. Just like you he does not like the way destiny is shaping itself.

Later, he’ll betray you—sooner than everyone else, because he wants to, because he’s grown without your tutelage, because he knows you won’t step aside for him.

You trick your pretty little blond descendant to save time and think yourself clever as the real threat, lying dormant in his wife’s womb, is sent away across the ocean. You become complacent and conceited in this little victory of yours. You enjoy their shared misery, drink it like wine. Death is put on hold and your influence only spreads. You’ve always had power but now you’re quite drunk with it.

Later, he’ll betray you—because he was always meant to, because you never really controlled him, because he’s ready to die.

All the while winter keeps coming to your garden and your flowers and your fruit die in a vicious cycle of death and rebirth. You’re losing the control you had and you are too much of a fool to realize you never had it at all.

You get petty. You get mean. You break him. You break him into a thousand little fragments, this young man you’ve only met once in a dream. You drink his tears and his fears like nectar. You cannot wait to watch him die at his own hands.

Inexplicably, he doesn’t.

He comes for you instead. He comes to tear everything down.

“Why,” you ask him, spitting acid rage. “Why won’t you just DIE!?”

“It’s not time yet,” he tells you softly, tiredly. He looks so tired, why won’t he just die? WHY WON’T HE DIE?! “But I will soon… probably in the next few minutes.”

“I am patient,” you tell him jokingly, laughing hysterically.

“You aren’t,” he corrects you quietly.

“You’re right,” you agree, your teeth sharp. “I’m not.”

“Wouldn’t you like to kill me with your own hands?”

There was no way you could have lost.

“Just end the curse,” he says. “There would be nothing stopping you then.”

The price was just so right, so natural—perfect, even.

Unfortunately, you sewed the seeds of your own destruction.
Current Music: Daughter - Winter
Nostalchiquenostalchique on June 27th, 2014 05:57 am (UTC)
/came back to this
/rolls in it

forever loving the green lady setting herself up and fulfilling the prophecy in trying to avoid itttt