Post by devante on Oct 1, 2011 19:17:48 GMT -1
[[ I always pictured Devante like a Raven, mistaken for a mocking bird. In this story Devante takes the history of Michael and Sarah and portrays it into that of a forbidden love.]]
Devante's Monologue: "I hate the word "Fate". Birth, encounters, partings, success and failure, fortunes and misfortunes in life. If our lives are already set in stone by fate, then why are we even born? There are those born into wealthy families, those born of beautiful mothers, and those born in the middle of war or poverty. If that is all caused by fate, then God is incredibly unfair and cruel. Why are people born? If people are born only to suffer and fret over everyday life is it meant to be some form of punishment? Or a cynical joke? If that is the case, animals that adhere to the survival strategies programmed into their DNA are far more elegant and simple. If there really is an existence worthy of being called a God, I'd want to ask him just one thing, is there really fate in the universe? If man ignored the fate, and his instincts and DNA to love someone else...'O'Dea God' is he really human?' I hate the word 'Fate'."
An endless field of flowers...
A memory of long ago. Another time, another place. The Wheel of Life turning, ages passing before my eyes. And nothing seems to have changed. I may very well be a child again, running through endless fields of green. And through it all... bliss. Peace everlasting, life free of worries and pain...
A child will trust the world around it, for that is the nature of its existence. The price of age and wisdom is the loss of innocence, the lost of trust. Devante suppose that means he was forced to grow up earlier than most, in the midst of this harsh land and unique family.
He stands in that same field, years later... and still it feels as if it were simply the next day of that time long before. The wind still blows a cloud of petals into the air with each passing breeze, the sweet but deadly fragrance of the weeping lily saturating the air. The sun sets in the background, leaving only a brilliant splash of light upon the sheer faces of rock... a flash that seems to set them aflame...
The Gods must have cursed, or perhaps blessed, this place... it seems that history itself, or at the very least his own personal history, revolves around this place. Perhaps the history of others as well.
It is said that weeping lilies will only grow where a God has fallen... in sorrow over such a passing, if the legends are correct.
"All of these years and nothing has changed. It's like a piece of the world held in stasis, forever unchanging," He murmured, looking off into the fog-shrouded distance. It seemed odd talking about this place to anyone besides Sabriel... but perhaps his companion would be able to understand what he felt here.
He could feel a flash of pain as he looked at her, a bittersweet ache of the heart rather than any physical pain. The priestess... his saviour, and his curse. For almost as long as he had known her she had projected an aura of detachment, a sense of distance from the world around her, but now... there is something else. Something familiar, but just beyond his reach...
No one who has seen her could dispute that she was more than a mere mortal. Beauty that could only be described as divine, a sense of perfection and grace, of absolute confidence, that no human could attain. He glanced at her for a fleeting moment as she knelt down, gently lifting one of the glowing white lilies from the ground. She smiled as she ran a delicate finger around the edge of a petal, her light blue eyes taking in the beauty of this place.
Humans did not often come to this place... the deadly fragrance of the weeping lilies ensuring the sanctity of this valley for all time. But nothing seemed to be out of place... perhaps a reward for braving the dangers to arrive here. Even a Priestess, with her sky blue robe and silver crown, seemed to belong here. She was beauty and power melded together, righteous wrath tempered by a boundless compassion. A goddess with the wisdom of ages, and a simple innocence that seemed ever so familiar...
She looked so much like Victoria... was it that very resemblance that made his heart ache so? Her hair was like quicksilver, liquid moonlight spun into a single braid that spilled down to her waist. Her eyes were a silver-blue, shining with that same intelligence and devotion. Except for the differences in age... but it was impossible. Perhaps his friend had been right after all...
Thinking of his friend brings up a momentary flash of guilt... she had been correct, after all. He had forced her to live with a ghost, a memory that she would never be able to compete with or touch... Victoria's ghost had always watched over his shoulder, a constant reminder of his weakness... his failure.
"Really... it amazes me that you immortals have such fascination with the passage of life, and the changes it brings. But I suppose that is what gives your own existence definition," his companion replied, her voice very soft as she looked out towards the mountains. That voice did not quite match the mental image that he held of her... either of the images. The first time that he had met the Priestess was when she appeared as a human woman, no more, no less. The second time was in her more official capacity, at the time of his own death...
"We have very little else in this world, Lady," Hee responded in a similarly hushed voice. That was consistent with his other mental image of her. Victoria would have appreciated the beauty of this place... and even if she had not, she would have sensed that a moment had arrived between them. But... "Nothing has changed here..."
He didn't think that he could have been any vaguer with that statement... but how can he say anything more than that? Part of his self wonders why he even dared come to this place. But his heart ached when he looked at her, the old familiar pain.
But... a Priestess?
"They look the same... heaven help me, but they both look almost exactly the same. I have to know the truth, I have to know what has happened to Victoria... and to Milady Priestess..." This must be more than mere coincidence... surely fate would not be so cruel as to offer this temptation, this one sparkle of hope, simply to snatch it from his fingers...
The wind raced across the meadow, a light zephyr that teased at her silver hair. He prayed that she did not notice how nervous he was, standing here with her... that simply being in her presence was enough to make his knees turn to water and speech nearly impossible. But he had brought her here, and he must follow this to its conclusion...
"This is the place that we came to... more of a place that we stumbled upon, as we ran through the forest," He said, his voice barely more than the faintest whisper. He knew that she could hear him... He just feared the consequences of remembering the past, should he be overly bold in speaking of it. The memories come regardless... the sense of fear, exhaustion. And then came the terror, and the pain... the sense of incalculable loss that we suffered on that day. "But Victoria... she breathed in the pollen of the weeping lily and... she died..."
"It was my fault... if I hadn't brought her with me, then none of that..." Again the pain took him, robbing him of speech. What can you say when someone dies in your arms... your friend... your love? There are no words, especially when her semblance is standing beside him, an angel of glowing light...
Was he mad? Certainly it was a question he could not ignore... The Priestess had asked me that very question several times as he sat pondering his fate. He simply did not know how to tell her how he felt, to describe his feelings. Not until they had came to this place.
He had never been one to suffer flashes of intuition. But in this time, in this place...
"May I ask you a favour...?" He said quietly, turning to face the young Priestess. "Would you please remove your crown?" She hesitated for a moment, with a look of... anxiety? Whatever the emotion, it passed in a flash as she reached up to lift her crown, and pull it from her head.
He could not have been as shocked if a thunderbolt had fallen from the heavens and struck him down. What had been an uncanny resemblance was now something undeniable. The fresh beauty of a young girl might one day have blossomed into the radiant beauty of the woman who now stood in front of him.
"You look exactly like her..." He whispered, his voice subdued, almost reverent. He raised one of his hands slightly, driven by an unconscious desire to touch her, to physically confirm the impossibility which he saw in front of him.
"Like that girl, Victoria?" she asked me, a note of fascination in her voice. Her eyes had narrowed slightly, her head leaning to the side as she watched him. All he could do was nod slightly, not trusting his own voice.
She smiled after a moment, and took a single step towards him. That was enough... she had not moved away, had not rejected him as obsessed, or crazed, or lost within his own tormented mind...
"I know that it isn't right, to feel this way about a complete stranger..." Mad, he must be mad...! She's a human Priestess, and he must be the fabric of distain in her eyes, a Devil. "...but nothing has changed. I still love her."
His life must have hung in the balance in that moment... He dared not even breathe for fear that it would destroy the fragile balance that hung between them. At some point he had moved even closer to her, until they stood so close that we could touch each other. Close enough that the scent of the wind and rain that he always associated with her teased at his senses. And still she was silent as she gazed at him... thoughtful, as if she searched his soul... or her own.
She raised her hand, still silent, and gently placed her fingers on his cheek. Feather soft, her fingers gently pulled him towards her as she leaned against him. And her silver blue eyes searched his own for a moment...
He didn't think that he could describe the moment when their lips met... how does one describe ecstasy, or absolute bliss? His knees buckled after a moment, and they both slid down into that sea of flowers, never once breaking that kiss. Almost reflexively he wrapped his arms around her as they landed, cradling her against him. The breeze washed over the two, mixing in the heady fragrance of the flowers with the small of clear wind and sunshine. Of all of the outcomes of this encounter that had passed through his mind, this had never...
The Priestess broke the kiss almost reluctantly, her fingers sliding down hiss cheek in a tender caress. Something caught in his throat for a moment, and when he did speak it was in the gentlest whisper, his face buried in her silver hair. "My Lady..." he said, not willing to trust himself to say anything more. What can he say now...? What can he promise, that reflects what he feels in his heart?
She placed a fingertip over his lips, quietly silencing him before she spoke in turn. "Don't make any promises... you still serve Dragos, and the final battle looms ever closer on the horizon. We can never forget that, regardless of anything else. You are still an inquisitor... and I still a Priestess."
And... does that also mean that they can be nothing more? Milady? Victoria...? He wouldn't accept it... he will not accept it! Even if it kills him, he'll find a way... he swore it...
***
Michael...
When you look at me, you see a semblance of your lost love.
But love cannot exist between mortals and Gods...
None the less...
I hope that you shall survive, Michael... that we shall have a chance to meet again.
I think that I would like to know you better, in the future.
Dear Michael...
Devante placed the piles of paper in front of Michael grinning lightly as he reached across the smoke littered room to pick up Jeremy his Penguin. Michael stared with his jaw wired shut, his thoughts completely sealed as he contemplated this short story Devante had created to not mock him and his past, not even try to understand. Simply to create some form of literature for his own enjoyment, a pleasure that made this immortal unique and strange. Devante gently stroked the penguin under it's beak as it chewed a fish "I doubt we'll see each other for a while old friend, but if you could I would like you to do something for me." Michael looked up and quirked a brow finally loosening his jaw as he found his voice "What would that be Devante?" The strange immortal smirked as his golden eyes caught the fluorescent yellow light from the lamp on the table, glinting their usual mischievous look that only foretold he had a plan he'd not back down of. "Follow your heart." Before Michael could protest, the man has disappeared leaving a joker card on the table. Michael smirked lightly "I never did like Greak Tragedies."
Devante's Monologue: "I hate the word "Fate". Birth, encounters, partings, success and failure, fortunes and misfortunes in life. If our lives are already set in stone by fate, then why are we even born? There are those born into wealthy families, those born of beautiful mothers, and those born in the middle of war or poverty. If that is all caused by fate, then God is incredibly unfair and cruel. Why are people born? If people are born only to suffer and fret over everyday life is it meant to be some form of punishment? Or a cynical joke? If that is the case, animals that adhere to the survival strategies programmed into their DNA are far more elegant and simple. If there really is an existence worthy of being called a God, I'd want to ask him just one thing, is there really fate in the universe? If man ignored the fate, and his instincts and DNA to love someone else...'O'Dea God' is he really human?' I hate the word 'Fate'."
An endless field of flowers...
A memory of long ago. Another time, another place. The Wheel of Life turning, ages passing before my eyes. And nothing seems to have changed. I may very well be a child again, running through endless fields of green. And through it all... bliss. Peace everlasting, life free of worries and pain...
A child will trust the world around it, for that is the nature of its existence. The price of age and wisdom is the loss of innocence, the lost of trust. Devante suppose that means he was forced to grow up earlier than most, in the midst of this harsh land and unique family.
He stands in that same field, years later... and still it feels as if it were simply the next day of that time long before. The wind still blows a cloud of petals into the air with each passing breeze, the sweet but deadly fragrance of the weeping lily saturating the air. The sun sets in the background, leaving only a brilliant splash of light upon the sheer faces of rock... a flash that seems to set them aflame...
The Gods must have cursed, or perhaps blessed, this place... it seems that history itself, or at the very least his own personal history, revolves around this place. Perhaps the history of others as well.
It is said that weeping lilies will only grow where a God has fallen... in sorrow over such a passing, if the legends are correct.
"All of these years and nothing has changed. It's like a piece of the world held in stasis, forever unchanging," He murmured, looking off into the fog-shrouded distance. It seemed odd talking about this place to anyone besides Sabriel... but perhaps his companion would be able to understand what he felt here.
He could feel a flash of pain as he looked at her, a bittersweet ache of the heart rather than any physical pain. The priestess... his saviour, and his curse. For almost as long as he had known her she had projected an aura of detachment, a sense of distance from the world around her, but now... there is something else. Something familiar, but just beyond his reach...
No one who has seen her could dispute that she was more than a mere mortal. Beauty that could only be described as divine, a sense of perfection and grace, of absolute confidence, that no human could attain. He glanced at her for a fleeting moment as she knelt down, gently lifting one of the glowing white lilies from the ground. She smiled as she ran a delicate finger around the edge of a petal, her light blue eyes taking in the beauty of this place.
Humans did not often come to this place... the deadly fragrance of the weeping lilies ensuring the sanctity of this valley for all time. But nothing seemed to be out of place... perhaps a reward for braving the dangers to arrive here. Even a Priestess, with her sky blue robe and silver crown, seemed to belong here. She was beauty and power melded together, righteous wrath tempered by a boundless compassion. A goddess with the wisdom of ages, and a simple innocence that seemed ever so familiar...
She looked so much like Victoria... was it that very resemblance that made his heart ache so? Her hair was like quicksilver, liquid moonlight spun into a single braid that spilled down to her waist. Her eyes were a silver-blue, shining with that same intelligence and devotion. Except for the differences in age... but it was impossible. Perhaps his friend had been right after all...
Thinking of his friend brings up a momentary flash of guilt... she had been correct, after all. He had forced her to live with a ghost, a memory that she would never be able to compete with or touch... Victoria's ghost had always watched over his shoulder, a constant reminder of his weakness... his failure.
"Really... it amazes me that you immortals have such fascination with the passage of life, and the changes it brings. But I suppose that is what gives your own existence definition," his companion replied, her voice very soft as she looked out towards the mountains. That voice did not quite match the mental image that he held of her... either of the images. The first time that he had met the Priestess was when she appeared as a human woman, no more, no less. The second time was in her more official capacity, at the time of his own death...
"We have very little else in this world, Lady," Hee responded in a similarly hushed voice. That was consistent with his other mental image of her. Victoria would have appreciated the beauty of this place... and even if she had not, she would have sensed that a moment had arrived between them. But... "Nothing has changed here..."
He didn't think that he could have been any vaguer with that statement... but how can he say anything more than that? Part of his self wonders why he even dared come to this place. But his heart ached when he looked at her, the old familiar pain.
But... a Priestess?
"They look the same... heaven help me, but they both look almost exactly the same. I have to know the truth, I have to know what has happened to Victoria... and to Milady Priestess..." This must be more than mere coincidence... surely fate would not be so cruel as to offer this temptation, this one sparkle of hope, simply to snatch it from his fingers...
The wind raced across the meadow, a light zephyr that teased at her silver hair. He prayed that she did not notice how nervous he was, standing here with her... that simply being in her presence was enough to make his knees turn to water and speech nearly impossible. But he had brought her here, and he must follow this to its conclusion...
"This is the place that we came to... more of a place that we stumbled upon, as we ran through the forest," He said, his voice barely more than the faintest whisper. He knew that she could hear him... He just feared the consequences of remembering the past, should he be overly bold in speaking of it. The memories come regardless... the sense of fear, exhaustion. And then came the terror, and the pain... the sense of incalculable loss that we suffered on that day. "But Victoria... she breathed in the pollen of the weeping lily and... she died..."
"It was my fault... if I hadn't brought her with me, then none of that..." Again the pain took him, robbing him of speech. What can you say when someone dies in your arms... your friend... your love? There are no words, especially when her semblance is standing beside him, an angel of glowing light...
Was he mad? Certainly it was a question he could not ignore... The Priestess had asked me that very question several times as he sat pondering his fate. He simply did not know how to tell her how he felt, to describe his feelings. Not until they had came to this place.
He had never been one to suffer flashes of intuition. But in this time, in this place...
"May I ask you a favour...?" He said quietly, turning to face the young Priestess. "Would you please remove your crown?" She hesitated for a moment, with a look of... anxiety? Whatever the emotion, it passed in a flash as she reached up to lift her crown, and pull it from her head.
He could not have been as shocked if a thunderbolt had fallen from the heavens and struck him down. What had been an uncanny resemblance was now something undeniable. The fresh beauty of a young girl might one day have blossomed into the radiant beauty of the woman who now stood in front of him.
"You look exactly like her..." He whispered, his voice subdued, almost reverent. He raised one of his hands slightly, driven by an unconscious desire to touch her, to physically confirm the impossibility which he saw in front of him.
"Like that girl, Victoria?" she asked me, a note of fascination in her voice. Her eyes had narrowed slightly, her head leaning to the side as she watched him. All he could do was nod slightly, not trusting his own voice.
She smiled after a moment, and took a single step towards him. That was enough... she had not moved away, had not rejected him as obsessed, or crazed, or lost within his own tormented mind...
"I know that it isn't right, to feel this way about a complete stranger..." Mad, he must be mad...! She's a human Priestess, and he must be the fabric of distain in her eyes, a Devil. "...but nothing has changed. I still love her."
His life must have hung in the balance in that moment... He dared not even breathe for fear that it would destroy the fragile balance that hung between them. At some point he had moved even closer to her, until they stood so close that we could touch each other. Close enough that the scent of the wind and rain that he always associated with her teased at his senses. And still she was silent as she gazed at him... thoughtful, as if she searched his soul... or her own.
She raised her hand, still silent, and gently placed her fingers on his cheek. Feather soft, her fingers gently pulled him towards her as she leaned against him. And her silver blue eyes searched his own for a moment...
He didn't think that he could describe the moment when their lips met... how does one describe ecstasy, or absolute bliss? His knees buckled after a moment, and they both slid down into that sea of flowers, never once breaking that kiss. Almost reflexively he wrapped his arms around her as they landed, cradling her against him. The breeze washed over the two, mixing in the heady fragrance of the flowers with the small of clear wind and sunshine. Of all of the outcomes of this encounter that had passed through his mind, this had never...
The Priestess broke the kiss almost reluctantly, her fingers sliding down hiss cheek in a tender caress. Something caught in his throat for a moment, and when he did speak it was in the gentlest whisper, his face buried in her silver hair. "My Lady..." he said, not willing to trust himself to say anything more. What can he say now...? What can he promise, that reflects what he feels in his heart?
She placed a fingertip over his lips, quietly silencing him before she spoke in turn. "Don't make any promises... you still serve Dragos, and the final battle looms ever closer on the horizon. We can never forget that, regardless of anything else. You are still an inquisitor... and I still a Priestess."
And... does that also mean that they can be nothing more? Milady? Victoria...? He wouldn't accept it... he will not accept it! Even if it kills him, he'll find a way... he swore it...
***
Michael...
When you look at me, you see a semblance of your lost love.
But love cannot exist between mortals and Gods...
None the less...
I hope that you shall survive, Michael... that we shall have a chance to meet again.
I think that I would like to know you better, in the future.
Dear Michael...
Devante placed the piles of paper in front of Michael grinning lightly as he reached across the smoke littered room to pick up Jeremy his Penguin. Michael stared with his jaw wired shut, his thoughts completely sealed as he contemplated this short story Devante had created to not mock him and his past, not even try to understand. Simply to create some form of literature for his own enjoyment, a pleasure that made this immortal unique and strange. Devante gently stroked the penguin under it's beak as it chewed a fish "I doubt we'll see each other for a while old friend, but if you could I would like you to do something for me." Michael looked up and quirked a brow finally loosening his jaw as he found his voice "What would that be Devante?" The strange immortal smirked as his golden eyes caught the fluorescent yellow light from the lamp on the table, glinting their usual mischievous look that only foretold he had a plan he'd not back down of. "Follow your heart." Before Michael could protest, the man has disappeared leaving a joker card on the table. Michael smirked lightly "I never did like Greak Tragedies."