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ultima
The word struck her – disheartened. It wasn’t quite a slap but more like a flick to the nose, her eyelashes swiping once, twice with the faintest surprise; it was a loss of confidence, wasn’t it? A loss of drive? Diving into it, though, it felt more physical, like having the organ outright removed. With an involuntary shiver, she thought that crocodile teeth wouldn’t be any good for that – no precision, too wild.
But then again, disheartening someone didn’t have to be a neat, methodical surgery. It was just as effective to let it persist over a long period of time, the muscle pulverized into fine red dust, slipping steadily through the neck of an hourglass or the gaps in a craggy jaw. There in the grass, staring both at and through the strange, taciturn man who’d appeared before her, Ultima felt that realization click into place like a long-lost gear. “Yes,” she thought, not realizing she’d spoken aloud. Her tone was not unreadable in its flatness – it was like plains, like seeing for miles and miles in every direction. The words echoed in her chest and then settled on the floor like Orangemoon leaves.
“That’s right.”
In this light she could almost perfectly remember the goldfish pond, wide and curved like a cup, brimming with pondskaters and watercress on the north edge. Beneath the surface was the constant flash of black and orange scales, scattering ripples like capricious raindrops. At night the ripples slowed, though. Then it was only her, and the lemon tree, and the smell of darkness like silver or mint. It was so real. So close.
And then her eyes flashed open, and again the memory flew away across the flatland for miles, miles, miles.
Nothing. For several moments, nothing. With time, though, the little determination that mustered in her shoulders fell away, leaving only the fledgling behind.
“And if I want it back?” she spoke again, softly, a faint wind threading through her rumpled forelock. “If it belongs to me, if I need it, if it’s my right?” Her breath fogged faintly, clouding as she turned towards him.
“What then? Do I fight the world, sir? Is that what you do?”
But then again, disheartening someone didn’t have to be a neat, methodical surgery. It was just as effective to let it persist over a long period of time, the muscle pulverized into fine red dust, slipping steadily through the neck of an hourglass or the gaps in a craggy jaw. There in the grass, staring both at and through the strange, taciturn man who’d appeared before her, Ultima felt that realization click into place like a long-lost gear. “Yes,” she thought, not realizing she’d spoken aloud. Her tone was not unreadable in its flatness – it was like plains, like seeing for miles and miles in every direction. The words echoed in her chest and then settled on the floor like Orangemoon leaves.
“That’s right.”
In this light she could almost perfectly remember the goldfish pond, wide and curved like a cup, brimming with pondskaters and watercress on the north edge. Beneath the surface was the constant flash of black and orange scales, scattering ripples like capricious raindrops. At night the ripples slowed, though. Then it was only her, and the lemon tree, and the smell of darkness like silver or mint. It was so real. So close.
And then her eyes flashed open, and again the memory flew away across the flatland for miles, miles, miles.
Nothing. For several moments, nothing. With time, though, the little determination that mustered in her shoulders fell away, leaving only the fledgling behind.
“And if I want it back?” she spoke again, softly, a faint wind threading through her rumpled forelock. “If it belongs to me, if I need it, if it’s my right?” Her breath fogged faintly, clouding as she turned towards him.
“What then? Do I fight the world, sir? Is that what you do?”
command me to be well.
@ryouta
 | please tag ultima in all posts! force/magic a-ok, shy of killing/maiming her! |
