[hallowe'en] blood and apples
Oct. 1st, 2017 10:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lyseandpurge posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
castle_perraultThe fearful mist descends on the garden in the middle of the night, on tireless pink light hidden in the depths of the water. Refracted through the myriad mist droplets the immortal cell is visible, a million brilliant pinpoints, a will-o'-the-wisp glow, stars floating over the fountains, secret no longer.
All at once there is a great inrush of air, a clap of thunder, and the light flares once, screeching static, the earth heaving beneath the mound of glass—and goes out.
= <o> =
This is the sight in the garden in the morning: a creature slumped at the foot of the glass hill. She is covered by a thick layer of downy golden feathers that trail along the ground like a great cloak, like great wings, too heavy to fly. She
is human-shaped, lying still on her side, the thick dark tresses of her hair matted and ragged around her head, her pale palms stained with mud. From her own arms, tearing through the shoulder of her garments and reaching to the ends of her little fingers, grow the feathers, rows and rows of them bursting starkly from her dark skin, so that it swells and bruises around them.
There is only one sight in the gardens, the feathers, bright and beautiful and perfect. There is only one feature of the gardens, the feathers, lovely and precious and worth anyone's fortune. There is only one odour in the gardens, the odour of the feathers, as sweet and as delicious as the best thing you have ever tasted.
This strange bird, flightless, stirs.
She opens her eyes—sclera of molten gold, beautiful, squinting narrow as she rises in the dull grey morning; her feathers are as bright as any firelight. She gasps a shuddering, difficult breath; golden teeth flash in her mouth, precious.
She struggles to her feet: first one knee then the other; first one foot and then the other; first one stumbling and giving way and then the other—she cannot bear the weight of the golden mantle—she falls hard, panting, blood dripping from the bruised pores of her arms: bright, golden, and delicious.
Golden feathers sweep across the ground as she plants her hands in the grass to support herself, and remains there for a while. Then at last she heaves back and falls, almost supine, at the base of the hill, to listlessly watch the sun rise.
ooc. || hey everyone!! here's a little explanation, in case my silly post is too confusing.
i've basically transformed Judgement into a human for the hallowe'en event, with the small change that the feathers she grows from her body (and the other golden parts of her) have magical properties.
the feathers are profoundly alluring, although not irresistibly so: just by looking at them you know that they taste delicious and can fill you up for weeks, that any clothing you sew them into will become beautiful, that if you trim them and set them to paper they will write beautiful poetry and music. they can be powdered and cure any illness, they can be cut and turn into gemstones, they can be melted and forged into magical weapons and tools, they can fletch arrows that fly true and come back, and even just having them with you will bring good luck.
that's not all—basically, they can help you in almost any way you can imagine! and best of all, there's no limit to how many there are! even if you pluck all the feathers, she'll grow more in just the blink of an eye.
so come one and come all! take what you need, what you want, and maybe some spare just in case. you know you want to!
All at once there is a great inrush of air, a clap of thunder, and the light flares once, screeching static, the earth heaving beneath the mound of glass—and goes out.
= <o> =
This is the sight in the garden in the morning: a creature slumped at the foot of the glass hill. She is covered by a thick layer of downy golden feathers that trail along the ground like a great cloak, like great wings, too heavy to fly. She
is human-shaped, lying still on her side, the thick dark tresses of her hair matted and ragged around her head, her pale palms stained with mud. From her own arms, tearing through the shoulder of her garments and reaching to the ends of her little fingers, grow the feathers, rows and rows of them bursting starkly from her dark skin, so that it swells and bruises around them.
There is only one sight in the gardens, the feathers, bright and beautiful and perfect. There is only one feature of the gardens, the feathers, lovely and precious and worth anyone's fortune. There is only one odour in the gardens, the odour of the feathers, as sweet and as delicious as the best thing you have ever tasted.
This strange bird, flightless, stirs.
She opens her eyes—sclera of molten gold, beautiful, squinting narrow as she rises in the dull grey morning; her feathers are as bright as any firelight. She gasps a shuddering, difficult breath; golden teeth flash in her mouth, precious.
She struggles to her feet: first one knee then the other; first one foot and then the other; first one stumbling and giving way and then the other—she cannot bear the weight of the golden mantle—she falls hard, panting, blood dripping from the bruised pores of her arms: bright, golden, and delicious.
Golden feathers sweep across the ground as she plants her hands in the grass to support herself, and remains there for a while. Then at last she heaves back and falls, almost supine, at the base of the hill, to listlessly watch the sun rise.
ooc. || hey everyone!! here's a little explanation, in case my silly post is too confusing.
i've basically transformed Judgement into a human for the hallowe'en event, with the small change that the feathers she grows from her body (and the other golden parts of her) have magical properties.
the feathers are profoundly alluring, although not irresistibly so: just by looking at them you know that they taste delicious and can fill you up for weeks, that any clothing you sew them into will become beautiful, that if you trim them and set them to paper they will write beautiful poetry and music. they can be powdered and cure any illness, they can be cut and turn into gemstones, they can be melted and forged into magical weapons and tools, they can fletch arrows that fly true and come back, and even just having them with you will bring good luck.
that's not all—basically, they can help you in almost any way you can imagine! and best of all, there's no limit to how many there are! even if you pluck all the feathers, she'll grow more in just the blink of an eye.
so come one and come all! take what you need, what you want, and maybe some spare just in case. you know you want to!
(no subject)
Date: 2017-11-05 03:56 pm (UTC)LOVE, he guesses. "I don't want to kill you -" He wants to take from her, yes (would that kill her? one feather, or two, or a handful...) but he can't, he won't, won't be that person again -
"I don't want to hurt you at all, darling, I want to help!" He crouches, so he's not standing over her, less of a threat, he hopes. He hopes. "You're bleeding..."
Is that blood? It's very beautiful. He reaches out toward it, catches himself, pulls the hand away sharply.
"Who - what hurt you?"
(no subject)
Date: 2017-11-25 10:23 am (UTC)"I'm sorry," she wheezes. "I'm... hurt. I am hurt. I am pain. I don't remember who, but look at me, look..."
As if of their own accord, the heavy golden feathers unfurl from her arms and back, bristling straight up from her skin, a shining corona around her. The force of them lifts her arms slightly from her sides. Their roots in her skin have swollen up like sores, many of them bleeding.
"Why would you ask that, metal and soul?" she asks him. "It's too late, I've already been born, and you—" her eyes focus on his hand, his clenched fingers— "you have the reason for my existence in your heart already."
(no subject)
Date: 2017-11-25 11:52 pm (UTC)But it's the feathers themselves that are hurting her, it seems. Too many of them, golden blood spilling from their roots.
He looks down at his own hand as she does, unfolds his fingers slowly. He can't entirely follow the way she speaks, but he thinks, he hopes, he understands enough. What's in his heart? He wants to be whole again, he wants his shining perfect fantasy existence back, he wants -
"...I know, beauty, but I'm t-trying to be better." A little glitch in his voice there. "The castle changed you, didn't it? It's been changing a lot of people."
Including him.(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-15 12:26 pm (UTC)She clears her throat, loudly, but nothing comes up.
"Pain," she spits, "I have not seen this pain... something's different in you, than in the living—who are consumed by desire." She squints, leaning forwards, gold feathers tilting and waving of their own accord. "But I can't... see. Only ideas, only impressions."
The feathers collapse with a ringing crash, and she slumps to her knees again. "Do you want—do you want—to help me?" There is no hope in her voice, there is only a cold tension, though her breath is as hot as the breath of an oven.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-15 05:00 pm (UTC)He's full of desire, as far as he knows. But also guilt, and shame, and a different desire, the wish to atone. To be the hero he was chosen to be, way back when.
Maybe things would be going differently, if he hadn't been changed by the castle himself. Or maybe not. They certainly would have been a year ago.
At least her last question is one he can answer. "Yes, I do! I don't know how to, but I promise you, I do."
(no subject)
Date: 2017-12-29 11:42 am (UTC)Her eyes glaze over—she is seeing this happen. She crosses her arms over her chest, great plumes of feathers dragging, a mantle of gold.
"If you don't want to be part of that, then go away. Go away. I can't give you anything."
(no subject)
Date: 2018-02-28 10:47 pm (UTC)It's an all too familar scenario that she paints. Monsters lose HOPE, and they Fall, minds and bodies becoming twisted, and if there's no one there to SAVE them...
There's an ache in the cracked jewel at his waist, thin threads of grey that reach out from the fracture growing deeper. He doesn't think to look.
"I'm not going to just leave you! This is what I do. I need to help you! Why won't you let me?"