a_pretty_fire: (human)
Little Anne was born in the spring, the time of new life and fresh starts. Flowers bloomed wherever she walked. She was Persephone and Isis and Maia. She was dryad and nymph and woodland spirit. Her clothes always smelt of lavender, because she scattered dried flowers between the layers in her trunk. Her fingers were stained red from strawberry picking, and, whenever she returned to the house from one of her walks, her hair and clothes were covered in burdocks and other clever little seeds. They couldn’t let such a wonderful girl pass without clinging on and trying to become a part of her. She was everyone’s favourite.

Drusilla was born in the autumn, in the in-between time. It was too busy to be winter and too quiet to be summer. The world hovered on the edge of things, unsure which way to fall, and Drusilla lived her life in the same way. Poised between good and evil, between summer and winter, between childhood and adulthood. It didn’t matter. Anne loved her. Anne – who was everything that was good in the world – picked posies for her elder sister, and they sang special songs which nobody else could understand.

Then the Beast came. )

Prompt: 'Ancient Eyes' Picture Prompt
Word Count: 1298
a_pretty_fire: (could have been a saint)
"He's coming, Mama."

The words were barely above a whisper and Drusilla gathered the bedsheets to her chest as she spoke, staring at the open window. A gaping hole, letting the night pour in. Swallowing up the light. Just like a mouth. Big and black and hungry. So very hungry.

"Who, sweetheart? Who's coming?"

Her mother set the candle down on the bedside table, reaching for her daughter's hand. Her skin was cold and clammy, worn from years of honest work and diligent prayer. Drusilla snatched her hand away immediately.

"The Beast! He's waiting in the darkness. Waiting for me."

"Drusilla! You shouldn't say such wicked things!"

No, she shouldn't. Mama was right and Drusilla was wrong. Bad and wrong and wicked.

But not as wicked as the Beast. Not yet.

"He's a hunter. Like a cat. I'm just a mouse. Just a little mouse."

"Drusilla, stop this."

Her mother sounds frightened, but she isn't frightened of the Beast. She believes in him, of course, and prays to God every day to make sure he delivers from her family from his evil clutches. She believes, but she doesn't understand. She's frightened of her own daughter. She doesn't know what Drusilla has seen. She doesn't know what is really lurking in the darkness.

With a whimper, Drusilla rolls over, burying her face in her pillow.

After a moment of heavy silence, her mother reaches out and strokes her hair.

"Run and catch, run and catch," she sings softly.

"The lamb is caught in the blackberry patch," Drusilla whispers.

She knows that outside, in the darkness, the Beast is waiting.

Prompt: Cat and Mouse
Word Count: 268


a_pretty_fire: (Default)

April 2012

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