Free-Write #6
Title: Mirrored Happiness
Characters: Calligra, Nira
Time: 9 minutes
Rating: G
Words: 441
Notes: From daily15; Prompt #50; Year 6
The word is cure.
For a while, Nira seemed to be everything he had ever needed, ever wanted, ever longed for, ever dempted of, ever known. True, she was with him under less than wonderful circumstances, and sure, it would have been nice to have her want to be with him, unstead of being unwillingly bound to him, but life was life, and such things were taken in stride by Calligra Rathore.
She had to do as he said; that was the first perk, the first thing that tugged him from his depression and revealed the brighter side of light to his midnight form. True, her actions were performed with the utmost scorn and hatred brimming in those crystaline eyes, but the actions were performed none-the-less. He said "jump," she jumped. He said "tell me a story," she told him a story. He said "be my friend," she was his friend.
Well, the last wasn't exactly true. He said "be my friend," she growled that she would rather die than be friends with a piece of scum such as himself. But, after years of isolation, with only his mind to keep him company, even her insults were sweet music to his ears. Sitting in the commons, the fair beauty at his side, Calligra could not care less what she was actually thinking, so long as she was acceptable content on the outside.
He knew that this was no way to go about building a relationship, and deep down, he did not wish to make her unhappy. But how else does one who has been mocked his entire life gain companionship? Winning a friend seemed to be the only way to go about it, binding her to him through the law and traditions of her people, the people who were supposidly his as well but who had thrown him out long ago. They had called him "monster," "demon." They had also called him Doom, but that name he liked, and had adopted; it was what he had first introduced himself to her as.
And he had been Doom for many years, living in darkness, blending with the shadows, hissing at the strangers, terrorizing the night and making himself an all-around neuscence. But when the Battle happened, when Nira happened, that had changed. The Battle had brought Nira, after all, and Nira had brought a new life, a pure life, a life that mirrored happiness. Nira had brought health where there had only before been disease.
Nira was the cure.
Characters: Calligra, Nira
Time: 9 minutes
Rating: G
Words: 441
Notes: From daily15; Prompt #50; Year 6
The word is cure.
For a while, Nira seemed to be everything he had ever needed, ever wanted, ever longed for, ever dempted of, ever known. True, she was with him under less than wonderful circumstances, and sure, it would have been nice to have her want to be with him, unstead of being unwillingly bound to him, but life was life, and such things were taken in stride by Calligra Rathore.
She had to do as he said; that was the first perk, the first thing that tugged him from his depression and revealed the brighter side of light to his midnight form. True, her actions were performed with the utmost scorn and hatred brimming in those crystaline eyes, but the actions were performed none-the-less. He said "jump," she jumped. He said "tell me a story," she told him a story. He said "be my friend," she was his friend.
Well, the last wasn't exactly true. He said "be my friend," she growled that she would rather die than be friends with a piece of scum such as himself. But, after years of isolation, with only his mind to keep him company, even her insults were sweet music to his ears. Sitting in the commons, the fair beauty at his side, Calligra could not care less what she was actually thinking, so long as she was acceptable content on the outside.
He knew that this was no way to go about building a relationship, and deep down, he did not wish to make her unhappy. But how else does one who has been mocked his entire life gain companionship? Winning a friend seemed to be the only way to go about it, binding her to him through the law and traditions of her people, the people who were supposidly his as well but who had thrown him out long ago. They had called him "monster," "demon." They had also called him Doom, but that name he liked, and had adopted; it was what he had first introduced himself to her as.
And he had been Doom for many years, living in darkness, blending with the shadows, hissing at the strangers, terrorizing the night and making himself an all-around neuscence. But when the Battle happened, when Nira happened, that had changed. The Battle had brought Nira, after all, and Nira had brought a new life, a pure life, a life that mirrored happiness. Nira had brought health where there had only before been disease.
Nira was the cure.