SCRIBES OF ANGEL
FanFic
________________________________
Title: Just Twilight
Author: Elektra
Rating: PG
Archivists: Please do, just email me and tell
me where it is going
Disclaimer: Joss, David and family own
everything. I own nothing and am just
showing my gratitude for the creation.
Just waking.
The sun sets
across the ocean's waters, fading, falling, sinking. With a hand on her face, she watches, closes her eyes, remembers.
Just
touching.
The colors of
night darken the sky like a nocturnal blossom, budding, opening, rising. She closes her hands over her shoulders,
cupping herself in embrace, recalls.
That first moment. Of moon fall
drifting over her skin when he came to her.
Encumbered and pained. His
shoulders heavy with guilt, pulled down with gravity. Words jumbled, broke,
failed him. Yet she saw every
definition, every passion, every sin he confessed.
Just knowing.
The western
wind cleanses the air, whispering, professing, revealing. She turns to peer at the slumberer, his eyes
fluttering, his lips parting, his soul lifting. Unblemished, unburdened, he lies within the cradle of her
care. For just the moment, the dusk of
twilight, he is at peace. But the
memories call, to hunt him, to haunt him, to terrify him. She knows, she's witnessed it before and the
thoughts cause her to gasp in sympathy and in horror. For he came to her, his seer, his last wish to confide. Only she could absolve him of his
transgressions, only she could bathe his soul and clean him.
Just
speaking.
In hushed
tones to mimic the very breath of the wind, he opens to her, disclosing,
declaring, divulging. His hands shape the air as he speaks as if he might paint
the pictures of his past plight before her.
He is no instrument of the divine, but something less, something
godless. Something to be despised and hated. Not cared for and loved. He explained these things as if to explain
the concept of death to a child. There
is no right or wrong to it, it just exists.
Just
breathing.
The purples
of night dissolve to black, darkening, obscuring, diminishing. And she curls her legs as she sits next to
him, observing the first flicker of consciousness flutter over his face. In
those memories, she had not let him falter.
But caught him and saved him from his fall from grace. He struggled from her, not deserving in his
self-flagellation of compassion, understanding, empathy. His abandonment of her
would be complete if he left her, if he refused her. Relenting, he stood there in the archway of the balcony before
the sun rose. His form inked out the
crystal of the city, the sparkle, the life.
Yet she saw only him, felt only his presence. Knew for the first time her place.
Just kissing.
Beaten,
broken, shattered, he presented himself to her and she accepted. She closed the distance between them. Forgave him of his leaving. Forgave him of his thoughtlessness. Instead she touched him, hand to cheek. Soothed the trembling, the loathing. In the last glimmer of moonlight, she looked
upon his face and told him. Her words
were whispered so no other could hear.
The veil of deception had clothed her as well. She'd hidden under its folds and cover for too long. The pain she experienced from his departure
came from the realization. Of love.
Just loving.
He wakes,
hand to his eyes, tumbling from sleep.
She slides into the safety of his arms.
And it feels sacred, secure, right.
Feedback is much appreciated on this little
piece....just a surrealistic vision.