![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Lucetific - This is me, experimenting.
Title: A Flower in Time
Fandoms:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
luceti, Tales of Legendia, Tales of Phantasia
Genre: Angst/Romance
Rating & Warnings: PG
Words: 1048
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above fandoms.
Summary: She is a flower in time, and like the sun he opens her.
Author's Notes: This is another experimental fic I wrote over a year ago, the one that "First Bloom" was going to be a part of. (You can definitely see where I stole themes from it in the first part, whoops.) This time, I decided to see if I could incorporate the lyrics of Noe Venable's "Flower in Time" into the body of a fic in any kind of coherent way. I don't think I did too badly, all things considered!
I would definitely recommend downloading and listening to the song, since it really sets the mood.
I am the prisoner of sweetness
of sweetness
"Hello, Dhaos," Grune says and smiles. "I brought you a friend."
Standing on his doorstep, she holds out a small violet in a pot. The ribbon around the container is nearly as blue as his eyes.
"Grune. You are far better suited to caring for this plant than I," he replies after a pause.
She shakes her head and continues to offer the delicate flower. Her hand are the picture of gentleness. "Oh, no. I brought her to keep you company." (I am the prisoner of sweetness) "I think she'll look very nice here." She turns a solemn look up to him. "She'll make your apartment feel more like a home."
"Grune. . . ." (of sweetness) "I have already told you that I do not wish for Luceti to feel like a home."
"Yes, but . . . I think it would be all right for it to feel a little like one. Don't you?"
Long-fingered hands cover hers, and for a moment, they hold the violet together.
*
I am a flower in time
Grune's eyes pull away from the violet where it rests on a table by the window, ready to catch the morning sun.
Dhaos is asleep in his bedroom. Two days ago, he had offered his apartment as a refuge. Her friends are too frightened of her now for her to comfortably stay in what had become her home. He fears her, too, but he allows her to stay all the same.
She reaches out and touches her fingertip to a waiting leaf.
(like the sun he opens me)
He sleeps. She does not. She no longer has any need.
(I am a flower in time)
*
Isn't it funny?
Isn't it strange
How a door can open to eternity
through hours galloping by
The Malnosso have awakened her, though it is not yet her time. Soon, she knows, her memories will be taken from her again. She has days, perhaps a week, to escape from Luceti. She doubts she will have another chance after this.
She has spent the last two days and nights learning, testing, thinking, testing again, and searching, searching, searching for an escape. She speaks with strangers, with those who admire her determination and those who mock it, and she shares every piece of her findings with Dhaos.
As they discuss and debate, he seems able to set aside his feelings of betrayal. He speaks to her as an equal for the first time.
It makes it that much more difficult to hold herself apart from her memories of him (I will keep you safe inside of me), and from what is in her heart.
(You are a flower in time
floating down love's river)
Earlier this evening, as she rested for his sake—she had nearly forgotten he is unable to work the way she can—she had asked what it was he searched for. At last, he had explained. She had vowed to continue his search, because he had confessed just one more matter to her: the reason why he can no longer carry out the work himself.
She had suspected. She ìs not surprised. It is in the nature of all but true immortals to die.
All the same, silently, she grieves.
You are a flower in time
and I am your prisoner
*
To unfold and to awake
He lies sleeping
He lies sleeping, and she is left with her thoughts. Though the windows would provide a beautiful, still view of the village below, it is the violet that keeps her attention. That simple flower, given in innocent love (I am the prisoner of sweetness) and a need to help both deep and true.
Softly, she walks through his apartment until she stands at the entrance to his bedroom. Her gaze traces where the sheet has settled over long limbs and blond curls flow where there is space for another body.
She permits herself the fantasy for only a moment, of skin again skin, of legs between legs and arms around bodies (over him I climb like vines), asleep after being sated. A joyful union in the place of his head always turning away when they bend too close together over her notes.
(Makes me want him)
She walks away.
*
Makes me wait
He lies sleeping
*
Ignoring her desires (—complete this!) is a simple matter. On every world, she is pressed by the need (—complete this!) to remain, to make a life with her new friends. And on every world, she presses back against that need and departs.
(Bite my lip and bide my time)
Luceti is no different.
She takes up her journal to see what can be learned at this hour.
*
In order to transform the beast
you first must make it beautiful
". . . Good morning, Grune," she hears him say from the edge of the main room.
"Good morning," she replies, then looks up.
He watches her with lessening uncertainty, his eyes soft with sleep. His hair curls around his face, a tousled invitation. A line from his sheet creases one cheek.
She has to look away.
She knows what he's capable of, the cruel actions, the possessive anger. In one time, he has gone mad with hatred.
She also knows his kindness, his friendship, his tentative attempts to care for her.
(In order to conquer the beast
you first must make it beautiful)
Perhaps what he needs to lay that darkness to rest is more violets given in love. More groceries delivered, more walks hand in hand, more picnics on sunny days. If she has not escaped by the time her memory is once again sealed, perhaps that is all he needs to be healed and brought to a place where Schwartz can never call him to nothingness.
If she can lead him to happiness, then that is all she needs from him. She will be content.
She sets aside her pen and rises. "I will make breakfast." She smiles briefly. "Make certain you eat it."
She walks past him, out of the room. The love she cannot allow herself to feel leaves traces of her smile on her face.
*
I am a flower in time
Fandoms:
luceti, Tales of Legendia, Tales of PhantasiaGenre: Angst/Romance
Rating & Warnings: PG
Words: 1048
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above fandoms.
Summary: She is a flower in time, and like the sun he opens her.
Author's Notes: This is another experimental fic I wrote over a year ago, the one that "First Bloom" was going to be a part of. (You can definitely see where I stole themes from it in the first part, whoops.) This time, I decided to see if I could incorporate the lyrics of Noe Venable's "Flower in Time" into the body of a fic in any kind of coherent way. I don't think I did too badly, all things considered!
I would definitely recommend downloading and listening to the song, since it really sets the mood.
I am the prisoner of sweetness
of sweetness
"Hello, Dhaos," Grune says and smiles. "I brought you a friend."
Standing on his doorstep, she holds out a small violet in a pot. The ribbon around the container is nearly as blue as his eyes.
"Grune. You are far better suited to caring for this plant than I," he replies after a pause.
She shakes her head and continues to offer the delicate flower. Her hand are the picture of gentleness. "Oh, no. I brought her to keep you company." (I am the prisoner of sweetness) "I think she'll look very nice here." She turns a solemn look up to him. "She'll make your apartment feel more like a home."
"Grune. . . ." (of sweetness) "I have already told you that I do not wish for Luceti to feel like a home."
"Yes, but . . . I think it would be all right for it to feel a little like one. Don't you?"
Long-fingered hands cover hers, and for a moment, they hold the violet together.
I am a flower in time
Grune's eyes pull away from the violet where it rests on a table by the window, ready to catch the morning sun.
Dhaos is asleep in his bedroom. Two days ago, he had offered his apartment as a refuge. Her friends are too frightened of her now for her to comfortably stay in what had become her home. He fears her, too, but he allows her to stay all the same.
She reaches out and touches her fingertip to a waiting leaf.
(like the sun he opens me)
He sleeps. She does not. She no longer has any need.
(I am a flower in time)
Isn't it funny?
Isn't it strange
How a door can open to eternity
through hours galloping by
The Malnosso have awakened her, though it is not yet her time. Soon, she knows, her memories will be taken from her again. She has days, perhaps a week, to escape from Luceti. She doubts she will have another chance after this.
She has spent the last two days and nights learning, testing, thinking, testing again, and searching, searching, searching for an escape. She speaks with strangers, with those who admire her determination and those who mock it, and she shares every piece of her findings with Dhaos.
As they discuss and debate, he seems able to set aside his feelings of betrayal. He speaks to her as an equal for the first time.
It makes it that much more difficult to hold herself apart from her memories of him (I will keep you safe inside of me), and from what is in her heart.
(You are a flower in time
floating down love's river)
Earlier this evening, as she rested for his sake—she had nearly forgotten he is unable to work the way she can—she had asked what it was he searched for. At last, he had explained. She had vowed to continue his search, because he had confessed just one more matter to her: the reason why he can no longer carry out the work himself.
She had suspected. She ìs not surprised. It is in the nature of all but true immortals to die.
All the same, silently, she grieves.
You are a flower in time
and I am your prisoner
To unfold and to awake
He lies sleeping
He lies sleeping, and she is left with her thoughts. Though the windows would provide a beautiful, still view of the village below, it is the violet that keeps her attention. That simple flower, given in innocent love (I am the prisoner of sweetness) and a need to help both deep and true.
Softly, she walks through his apartment until she stands at the entrance to his bedroom. Her gaze traces where the sheet has settled over long limbs and blond curls flow where there is space for another body.
She permits herself the fantasy for only a moment, of skin again skin, of legs between legs and arms around bodies (over him I climb like vines), asleep after being sated. A joyful union in the place of his head always turning away when they bend too close together over her notes.
(Makes me want him)
She walks away.
Makes me wait
He lies sleeping
Ignoring her desires (—complete this!) is a simple matter. On every world, she is pressed by the need (—complete this!) to remain, to make a life with her new friends. And on every world, she presses back against that need and departs.
(Bite my lip and bide my time)
Luceti is no different.
She takes up her journal to see what can be learned at this hour.
In order to transform the beast
you first must make it beautiful
". . . Good morning, Grune," she hears him say from the edge of the main room.
"Good morning," she replies, then looks up.
He watches her with lessening uncertainty, his eyes soft with sleep. His hair curls around his face, a tousled invitation. A line from his sheet creases one cheek.
She has to look away.
She knows what he's capable of, the cruel actions, the possessive anger. In one time, he has gone mad with hatred.
She also knows his kindness, his friendship, his tentative attempts to care for her.
(In order to conquer the beast
you first must make it beautiful)
Perhaps what he needs to lay that darkness to rest is more violets given in love. More groceries delivered, more walks hand in hand, more picnics on sunny days. If she has not escaped by the time her memory is once again sealed, perhaps that is all he needs to be healed and brought to a place where Schwartz can never call him to nothingness.
If she can lead him to happiness, then that is all she needs from him. She will be content.
She sets aside her pen and rises. "I will make breakfast." She smiles briefly. "Make certain you eat it."
She walks past him, out of the room. The love she cannot allow herself to feel leaves traces of her smile on her face.
I am a flower in time