My First Dare
Vanilla #26. Memorial with Sprinkles and Malt
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1261
Word Count : 997
Malt Prompt : Sylvrilyn's dare - grown up Sylvia
SPOILERS like big, fat, ugly ones - just casually tossed your way. Don't say you haven't been warned.
Sylvia paused before the cold, grey slab, ran a slender finger over its upper lip as her eyes traced, for the tenth time at least, the letters etched across its face, and sighed. It wasn’t even a proper grave, just a marker, a hunk of rock with words, a vain attempt to make it all a bit more real. Her hand slid from the stone, the other clenching over the bundle of flower stems it held against her thigh, and she sighed again.
She nearly leapt as the sound was echoed from the nearby wall. A quick glance that way found a man seated on the ground, legs spread wide in the grass, a bottle in his hand.
“Dalton?” she said, squinting and slowly cocking her head, as if she might somehow peer beneath the veil of red locks that spilled across his eyes.
In response, he raised the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back. The motion swept asaide his hair, bringing to light the royal upturned nose, the green eyes underscored with deep, dark trenches and shot with blood. Sylvia tucked her tongue between her teeth against the urge to comment on the prince’s sorry state.
“I… didn’t think I’d find anyone else here,” she said at last, her fingers working slowly up and down the flower stalks. “Coming so late and all.”
Dalton returned the bottle to his lap and fixed her with a groggy stare. “Somewhere else I should be?”
“Ah- No!” she said. “I didn’t mean… I was just a bit surprised.”
The prince’s eyes narrowed, sliding slowly over her in a bleary appraisal. “Haven’t seen you in years,” he said. She tensed as his gaze drifted from her to the gravestone. “Didn’t think the two of you parted on the best of terms.”
Sylvia frowned at the slab. She found her hand drifting back to stroke its edge. “That is hardly any reason not to wish to say goodbye.”
“True.” He turned the word over slowly in his mouth. There was a rustling, and a slow, wet gulp, before the bottle struck the earth with a hollow thump. “You’d think it’d be easier to say it without a face to say it to.’
“You would.” She passed the bouquet from hand to hand. The dainty flowers, bright bursts of red and orange on gradually yielding stalks, flopped about loosely in her grasp, gliding in and out of focus as she stared past them to the stone. “Somehow it all seems a dream.”
“Yeah,” said Dalton. “’Til you try to wake up.”
“I suppose, for you, it must…” She turned to face the disheveled mass propepd against the wall, a lump settling in her throat. “I am so sorry…”
He glared at her over the bottle as he raised it to down the last of its murky contents. Sylvia turned back to the grave, the flowers slowly twirling between her fingers.
“I can’t help but think,” she said, “if I had been more understanding…”
Dalton laughed, a grating, bitter bark that sent a chill through her, nothing like the boy she remembered from so long ago. “Of course,” he said. “What Farran wanted was a quiet life with you.”
Her hand tightened, thick green stalks pressing against her palm. “Are you implying there is something wrong with me?”
“No. I-” He toyed with the empty bottle, sweeping the base of it in a slow, stumbling dance through the grass. “My appologies. I just- Ilya…” A shaky hand ran its way though rumpled hair. “Look,” he said, “I have my own notions of what might have been to mourn. I don‘t need-”
“You don’t need to take it out on me.” She set to smoothing out the flowers. “It would break Ilya’s heart to see you like this,” she added, softly.
“Good.”
The stems crunched in her grasp again, more than a few responses dying on her lips as she stared at the man.
“Maybe I should have done this while she was alive,” Dalton continued. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been so damned understanding. Gotten some attention for myself now and then.” He gave the bottle a shove and it rolled out over the grass.
“She loved you,” said Sylvia, tears welling in her eyes.
“What would you know?”
“Not much, I suppose,” she said, straightening the flowers once more. “Look, I came to say goodbye. Give me but a moment and I… I will leave you be.”
Sylvia took the grunt that followed for an affirmation and turned her back on the prince to kneel before the stone. She traced the star before her with a hand that now refused to remain steady, as the corners of her vision flooded.
“I know,” she whispered, “that we let so many things we never meant between us, and left so many we did mean unsaid.” She drew a slow, shuddering breath. “I am not about to pretend it was perfect. We both knew it was never meant to be.” She nearly flinched at the hand a part of her expected to come flying playfully at her temple, almost smiled at the look of exaspiration she could conjure in detail. Only silent letters stood before her, and her eyes grew wetter still.
“But I had to tell you goodbye. I had to tell you…” She swallowed hard, a tear finally falling free. “…that I never forgot you. I had to tell you…” She laid the flowers at the base of the stone, smoothing them out with her palm as she drew back. “…that I still love you.”
She rocked back, fists clenched in her skirts, as tears spilled down her cheeks. How much easier would it have been to tell her to her face? How many years had she had the space to do so and never the courage? A drop slid from her chin to land on her arm, and her lips trembled as it was followed by another and another. “Goodbye.”
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1261
Word Count : 997
Malt Prompt : Sylvrilyn's dare - grown up Sylvia
SPOILERS like big, fat, ugly ones - just casually tossed your way. Don't say you haven't been warned.
Sylvia paused before the cold, grey slab, ran a slender finger over its upper lip as her eyes traced, for the tenth time at least, the letters etched across its face, and sighed. It wasn’t even a proper grave, just a marker, a hunk of rock with words, a vain attempt to make it all a bit more real. Her hand slid from the stone, the other clenching over the bundle of flower stems it held against her thigh, and she sighed again.
She nearly leapt as the sound was echoed from the nearby wall. A quick glance that way found a man seated on the ground, legs spread wide in the grass, a bottle in his hand.
“Dalton?” she said, squinting and slowly cocking her head, as if she might somehow peer beneath the veil of red locks that spilled across his eyes.
In response, he raised the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back. The motion swept asaide his hair, bringing to light the royal upturned nose, the green eyes underscored with deep, dark trenches and shot with blood. Sylvia tucked her tongue between her teeth against the urge to comment on the prince’s sorry state.
“I… didn’t think I’d find anyone else here,” she said at last, her fingers working slowly up and down the flower stalks. “Coming so late and all.”
Dalton returned the bottle to his lap and fixed her with a groggy stare. “Somewhere else I should be?”
“Ah- No!” she said. “I didn’t mean… I was just a bit surprised.”
The prince’s eyes narrowed, sliding slowly over her in a bleary appraisal. “Haven’t seen you in years,” he said. She tensed as his gaze drifted from her to the gravestone. “Didn’t think the two of you parted on the best of terms.”
Sylvia frowned at the slab. She found her hand drifting back to stroke its edge. “That is hardly any reason not to wish to say goodbye.”
“True.” He turned the word over slowly in his mouth. There was a rustling, and a slow, wet gulp, before the bottle struck the earth with a hollow thump. “You’d think it’d be easier to say it without a face to say it to.’
“You would.” She passed the bouquet from hand to hand. The dainty flowers, bright bursts of red and orange on gradually yielding stalks, flopped about loosely in her grasp, gliding in and out of focus as she stared past them to the stone. “Somehow it all seems a dream.”
“Yeah,” said Dalton. “’Til you try to wake up.”
“I suppose, for you, it must…” She turned to face the disheveled mass propepd against the wall, a lump settling in her throat. “I am so sorry…”
He glared at her over the bottle as he raised it to down the last of its murky contents. Sylvia turned back to the grave, the flowers slowly twirling between her fingers.
“I can’t help but think,” she said, “if I had been more understanding…”
Dalton laughed, a grating, bitter bark that sent a chill through her, nothing like the boy she remembered from so long ago. “Of course,” he said. “What Farran wanted was a quiet life with you.”
Her hand tightened, thick green stalks pressing against her palm. “Are you implying there is something wrong with me?”
“No. I-” He toyed with the empty bottle, sweeping the base of it in a slow, stumbling dance through the grass. “My appologies. I just- Ilya…” A shaky hand ran its way though rumpled hair. “Look,” he said, “I have my own notions of what might have been to mourn. I don‘t need-”
“You don’t need to take it out on me.” She set to smoothing out the flowers. “It would break Ilya’s heart to see you like this,” she added, softly.
“Good.”
The stems crunched in her grasp again, more than a few responses dying on her lips as she stared at the man.
“Maybe I should have done this while she was alive,” Dalton continued. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been so damned understanding. Gotten some attention for myself now and then.” He gave the bottle a shove and it rolled out over the grass.
“She loved you,” said Sylvia, tears welling in her eyes.
“What would you know?”
“Not much, I suppose,” she said, straightening the flowers once more. “Look, I came to say goodbye. Give me but a moment and I… I will leave you be.”
Sylvia took the grunt that followed for an affirmation and turned her back on the prince to kneel before the stone. She traced the star before her with a hand that now refused to remain steady, as the corners of her vision flooded.
“I know,” she whispered, “that we let so many things we never meant between us, and left so many we did mean unsaid.” She drew a slow, shuddering breath. “I am not about to pretend it was perfect. We both knew it was never meant to be.” She nearly flinched at the hand a part of her expected to come flying playfully at her temple, almost smiled at the look of exaspiration she could conjure in detail. Only silent letters stood before her, and her eyes grew wetter still.
“But I had to tell you goodbye. I had to tell you…” She swallowed hard, a tear finally falling free. “…that I never forgot you. I had to tell you…” She laid the flowers at the base of the stone, smoothing them out with her palm as she drew back. “…that I still love you.”
She rocked back, fists clenched in her skirts, as tears spilled down her cheeks. How much easier would it have been to tell her to her face? How many years had she had the space to do so and never the courage? A drop slid from her chin to land on her arm, and her lips trembled as it was followed by another and another. “Goodbye.”