spoke
in
kh_drabble
Challenge 309
Title: Closer to Complete
Challenge: 309 Worlds
Word Count: 237
Spoilers: None really, unless someone hasn't played KH2.
Notes: If every world has a heart...
They dream, at first. Quiet wisps of not quite reality, on the edges between dark and light. They are always just on the verge of an existence. There in the shadow realm, they simply... drift.
Until they come. Until he comes. Tiny beings such as some of them almost remember sheltering, and losing in their deaths (and oh the shuddering pain of that barely-grasped memory, that understanding of former true existence that raises the ghosts of trees and valleys, of cities of all kinds...).
Yet even among these small, distinct powers, he is the strongest. His is the will that reaches out to them, shaping, commanding. His is the nature most familiar, not merely held in the same dream as themselves, but made of it. So they yield, even those fragments who might have fought, because he gives them form and purpose, such as they remember having.
Infinitely more focused, his will dismisses the ghosts of trees in favor of buildings, and the faint attempts at sunshine in favor of the distant reality of the stars (the suns of other worlds, something they remember, something he promises they will have again). For him they dream of fashioned lights, and rain in the nights that never end.
To them he gives a name, speaking it to his companions. "Here we will have shelter from the reality that would destroy our kind, in this World that Never Was."
Challenge: 309 Worlds
Word Count: 237
Spoilers: None really, unless someone hasn't played KH2.
Notes: If every world has a heart...
They dream, at first. Quiet wisps of not quite reality, on the edges between dark and light. They are always just on the verge of an existence. There in the shadow realm, they simply... drift.
Until they come. Until he comes. Tiny beings such as some of them almost remember sheltering, and losing in their deaths (and oh the shuddering pain of that barely-grasped memory, that understanding of former true existence that raises the ghosts of trees and valleys, of cities of all kinds...).
Yet even among these small, distinct powers, he is the strongest. His is the will that reaches out to them, shaping, commanding. His is the nature most familiar, not merely held in the same dream as themselves, but made of it. So they yield, even those fragments who might have fought, because he gives them form and purpose, such as they remember having.
Infinitely more focused, his will dismisses the ghosts of trees in favor of buildings, and the faint attempts at sunshine in favor of the distant reality of the stars (the suns of other worlds, something they remember, something he promises they will have again). For him they dream of fashioned lights, and rain in the nights that never end.
To them he gives a name, speaking it to his companions. "Here we will have shelter from the reality that would destroy our kind, in this World that Never Was."