IP: 78.149.235.51
Posted on August 26, 2012 at 06:36:49 AM by Dyna Bowmore
 The faintest tinge of colour lit upon Dyna’s cheekbones, and she hardly moved as he spoke, her body simply turning on the spot to follow him as though she were the tiny figure which spins within a music box. At first, she hardly heard his words for her own heartbeat thrummed within her ears and she thought, oh, how I hate people, how I hate them, in time with it, but then his steady voice broke through that, and her starved heart and inflamed mind paused to listen. His gentleness and air of secrecy drew her, although she did not quite believe him. Christoph had always made being caught sound like the worst possible fate, as though the creatures who publically inhabited the castle would tear her away from all that she knew. And yet, here was the owner of the castle telling her he would not make her go anywhere. Perhaps he thought she’d been given permission. Whatever the reason, she took the permission as a hungry child takes a cookie, eyes hopelessly grateful. The library – of course, but she was disappointed in her clumsiness, she used to be silent as the damp which might slide a tower into ruination before anyone looked up. But that was her fault, not his, and she finally dropped her gaze, horrified by his asking for her forgiveness. How could she possible respond to him, he hadn’t made her laugh, he wasn’t angering her any more, what should she do with him. She wanted him to leave, to stop confusing her, or at least to just stay still for a moment, but as she looked up he somehow had crossed back to the door, her own bafflement masking his movements. No, don’t – Her voice now sounded strangely husky, and she darted towards him, alighting behind him, her delicate fingers pinching his clothes. Beckoning, she gently took his hand again and turned back into the attic, pulling him along, past various useless objects, an enormous crumbling organ, its pipes broken, keyboard shattered, and across all of these, the labour of a decade of grey spiders had woven their webs into a shawl of lace. Not pausing to listen to anything he or her own conscience might say, she dove past them impetuously, to a half-rotted ladder, which she bounded up as carelessly as though they had been of the same stone as the walls, avoiding the broken ones with a reckless confidence. The rafters above the steps were warped into a sagging curve so that it was not possible to obtain more than a restricted view of the room beyond, and as she rose it was as though there was a ripping away of clouds. Dyna had never spent time with anyone who ruled anything before, and had assumed that they would like unhappiness. She saw in happiness the seeds of independence, and in independence, the seeds of revolt. Anyone who ruled, therefore, must encourage miserableness, and was to be avoided. However, this man was not, in fact, simply the figure head she would have eschewed. He seemed so very fairy, so close, so present. She paused at the top of the stairs and whirled around, leaving him only a small space to balance upon, her face very close to his. Lingering is so very lonely… when one lingers all alone. And then she spun back to the forsaken shore of the room, the smallest and highest of her attics, and, with a happy sigh, brushed the dust from the mouldering books which lay about, the quills and ink pots, the moth-eaten blankets and fabulous, broken furniture. She leapt to one angle of the roof and swept open the shuttered windows which graced this one small portion of the room, allowing syrupy light to filter into the room. Sweeping a scarf, clotted with dust and spiderwebs, from a futon, she tossed herself upon it, and looked up at him through heavy lashes, gesturing regally for him to sit where he should please. I apologize, She began, slightly sullenly, for my abruptness. I spent many hours – nights, days, weeks – in these attics, in my childhood, and on returning, fancied I should be as invisible now as I was then. However, I do not need to be alone – I am always alone. You are Arthur? You must have some marvelous stories, and I adore a good story. Tell me one. She gazed at him expectantly, the light highlighting the freckles on her face, light as the dots which come when one presses one’s eyes closed, her chest rising and falling gently with the excitement of this risk. DYNA BOWMORE
there's a bell in my ears... there's a wide white roar...
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Replies:
- nothing you can say, nothing you can do - By arthur & pendragon August 27, 2012 at 02:48:33 AM
- my own quietness - By Dyna Bowmore August 27, 2012 at 05:25:41 AM
- I am always here - By arthur & pendragon August 27, 2012 at 11:20:38 PM
- but once you've known love how can you find it? - By Dyna Bowmore August 29, 2012 at 06:50:04 AM
- I am always here - By arthur & pendragon August 27, 2012 at 11:20:38 PM
- my own quietness - By Dyna Bowmore August 27, 2012 at 05:25:41 AM
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