Double Drabble: In My Father's House Are Many Mansions
Title: In My Father's House Are Many Mansions
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing/Characters: Alfred Pennyworth
Rating: G
Warnings: None needed.
Summary: The skies are red, and Alfred is putting the house in order.
Word Count: 200
Notes: For the prompt "Alfred+Batclan- Thoughts and beginnings."
The sky above the Manor is red.
It's not the red of half-remembered times before: not old blood, not rust. This red is the fresh, bright scarlet of poppy petals.
Alfred goes about the Manor, putting things in order. He smooths rumpled beds and dusts photographs of laughing faces, touching them all lightly. As he walks, he enters rooms he has never entered before and which have always been there. He closes doors and turns to find blank walls where once were doorknobs. The Manor is always slightly different, each time.
He does not find this strange.
He dusts the bust of Shakespeare that once held a secret button. He polishes the grandfather clock that sometimes conceals a staircase. His own face, half-seen in mirrors, is always different and always familiar. So many memories. Footfalls and laughter echo down wavering hallways; tears and grief lurk behind the doors that come and go. Friendship and sorrow, loss and comfort. The Manor holds them all, and they are never truly gone: waiting around each corner like beloved shadows.
The sky shines like a ruby as Alfred opens all the windows and doors to the strange new dawn.
He and the Manor wait.
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing/Characters: Alfred Pennyworth
Rating: G
Warnings: None needed.
Summary: The skies are red, and Alfred is putting the house in order.
Word Count: 200
Notes: For the prompt "Alfred+Batclan- Thoughts and beginnings."
The sky above the Manor is red.
It's not the red of half-remembered times before: not old blood, not rust. This red is the fresh, bright scarlet of poppy petals.
Alfred goes about the Manor, putting things in order. He smooths rumpled beds and dusts photographs of laughing faces, touching them all lightly. As he walks, he enters rooms he has never entered before and which have always been there. He closes doors and turns to find blank walls where once were doorknobs. The Manor is always slightly different, each time.
He does not find this strange.
He dusts the bust of Shakespeare that once held a secret button. He polishes the grandfather clock that sometimes conceals a staircase. His own face, half-seen in mirrors, is always different and always familiar. So many memories. Footfalls and laughter echo down wavering hallways; tears and grief lurk behind the doors that come and go. Friendship and sorrow, loss and comfort. The Manor holds them all, and they are never truly gone: waiting around each corner like beloved shadows.
The sky shines like a ruby as Alfred opens all the windows and doors to the strange new dawn.
He and the Manor wait.