Beyond the Veil
Title: Beyond the Veil
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Sirius
Word Count: 274
A/N: I see this happening sometime during the war, given that it lasts more than a year or so. Whether or not Sirius and Harry actually had any romantic history is up to you.
__________
No soul to keep you, I’m in love with your ghost.
A whisper of breath drifts over my cheek in sleep and my dreams turn to darkness as they saturate with thoughts of you. I don’t see doors or glass orbs or flashes of red light (your laughter softening the jagged edges), just matted hair and hollow eyes and pale skin so reminiscent of crumbling stone.
I awake with love in my heart and a baleful light in my eyes, reflecting the ashen smother of my guilty and tortured soul. (Close your mind, Harry.) Callous to all lexis, any echoing din that could capture my conscience with the intention of salvation, I am not sure why I bother to wake at all.
You’ve been gone (dead) for years.
I remember the smooth tone of your voice but I cannot hear it, and you linger silently in the shadows without whispering a single word into my ear. (Maybe hearts don’t exist in the afterlife.) Your hands encircle my neck, effervescent and somehow soft as down, and in my last seconds of consciousness I feel closer to you than I ever have before. (Conversely, perhaps they are only magnified.)
On the brink of pain I feel release, and dirty sheets receive me as greasy hair covers my face (lightening-shaped scar) and my head falls onto my pillow. Shattered, my eyes fall closed again, eyelashes grating against crimson tears that I am not yet bitter enough to shed. Slipping into restless sleep, I don’t see you leave me with the darkness, and another night passes without the sound of your voice. (Soon I will forget it entirely.)
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Sirius
Word Count: 274
A/N: I see this happening sometime during the war, given that it lasts more than a year or so. Whether or not Sirius and Harry actually had any romantic history is up to you.
__________
No soul to keep you, I’m in love with your ghost.
A whisper of breath drifts over my cheek in sleep and my dreams turn to darkness as they saturate with thoughts of you. I don’t see doors or glass orbs or flashes of red light (your laughter softening the jagged edges), just matted hair and hollow eyes and pale skin so reminiscent of crumbling stone.
I awake with love in my heart and a baleful light in my eyes, reflecting the ashen smother of my guilty and tortured soul. (Close your mind, Harry.) Callous to all lexis, any echoing din that could capture my conscience with the intention of salvation, I am not sure why I bother to wake at all.
You’ve been gone (dead) for years.
I remember the smooth tone of your voice but I cannot hear it, and you linger silently in the shadows without whispering a single word into my ear. (Maybe hearts don’t exist in the afterlife.) Your hands encircle my neck, effervescent and somehow soft as down, and in my last seconds of consciousness I feel closer to you than I ever have before. (Conversely, perhaps they are only magnified.)
On the brink of pain I feel release, and dirty sheets receive me as greasy hair covers my face (lightening-shaped scar) and my head falls onto my pillow. Shattered, my eyes fall closed again, eyelashes grating against crimson tears that I am not yet bitter enough to shed. Slipping into restless sleep, I don’t see you leave me with the darkness, and another night passes without the sound of your voice. (Soon I will forget it entirely.)