[ week 12, day 7 / merged dream ] continued story
Who: C.C. and Lelouch
Status: Closed
Style: Third-person, present
Where: dream-wise, a random field, real world, their hut in Kusasato
When: Week 12, Day 7
Rating: To be determined? Pretty G to start.
Warnings: None for now.
It is a quiet place, a serene place the witch finds herself in; free of burdens, free of tortures, free of anything at all, save lush, rolling fields, the occasional chirp of wildlife, and a peaceful, unassuming sky. Gently, her chest rises and falls, and from a distance, perhaps she seems dead, a murky spot in a sea of green. On occasion, she shifts against the grass, but her eyes remain shut, body lying undisturbed. She comes here often, because it is the scene she knows best, the scene she likes best, innocuous and inviting beneath a warm, welcome sun. There are no battles to be fought, no wars to be won, no pain or despair, nothing to think about and nothing to suffer. A great shadow towers over her, the sculpted figure of a Knightmare, a robotic sentry with its golden nose and emerald eyes pointed towards the horizon; she pays little attention to it, rolls onto her side and heaves another gradual breath.
This world is a white one - the white soldier, the white straitjacket, the white clouds, the white doves that pass overhead, and the white form of a man next to her, white face, white robes. He's sleeping, too (forever, she would've noted awake). Quite a contrast to the world of red that swallowed her up in a previous dream, the black shadow, the black serpent, the black look in his eyes as he faded to gray. She hates those colors. She'll only favor white from now on, because it reminds her of a happier time (even if that happiness was ultimately a lie, she'd never admit). Time does not pass here; she wills it not to, as the gods will it so in reality, if only for herself and no one else.
A sudden breeze stirs her hair, but won't wake her. This is her fantasy, curled up with the emperor who now defies death, joined in eternal rest, and she refuses to be taken from it.
Status: Closed
Style: Third-person, present
Where: dream-wise, a random field, real world, their hut in Kusasato
When: Week 12, Day 7
Rating: To be determined? Pretty G to start.
Warnings: None for now.
It is a quiet place, a serene place the witch finds herself in; free of burdens, free of tortures, free of anything at all, save lush, rolling fields, the occasional chirp of wildlife, and a peaceful, unassuming sky. Gently, her chest rises and falls, and from a distance, perhaps she seems dead, a murky spot in a sea of green. On occasion, she shifts against the grass, but her eyes remain shut, body lying undisturbed. She comes here often, because it is the scene she knows best, the scene she likes best, innocuous and inviting beneath a warm, welcome sun. There are no battles to be fought, no wars to be won, no pain or despair, nothing to think about and nothing to suffer. A great shadow towers over her, the sculpted figure of a Knightmare, a robotic sentry with its golden nose and emerald eyes pointed towards the horizon; she pays little attention to it, rolls onto her side and heaves another gradual breath.
This world is a white one - the white soldier, the white straitjacket, the white clouds, the white doves that pass overhead, and the white form of a man next to her, white face, white robes. He's sleeping, too (forever, she would've noted awake). Quite a contrast to the world of red that swallowed her up in a previous dream, the black shadow, the black serpent, the black look in his eyes as he faded to gray. She hates those colors. She'll only favor white from now on, because it reminds her of a happier time (even if that happiness was ultimately a lie, she'd never admit). Time does not pass here; she wills it not to, as the gods will it so in reality, if only for herself and no one else.
A sudden breeze stirs her hair, but won't wake her. This is her fantasy, curled up with the emperor who now defies death, joined in eternal rest, and she refuses to be taken from it.