Memento Mori
Memento Mori,
by That'sMyFiasco
(original)
Words: 2053
Genre: Fantasy/Slight Horror/I'm Not Sure?
Rating: T
A/N: Wasn't planning on publihing this, but I kinda wanted to submit it for
silverontherose's challenge. So... here it is. No promises.
She slowly reached out her fingers to brush the cool china, trying to still the slight shaking of her fingers long enough to straighten the delicate dish. Eventually satisfied, she nodded, rising from her place at the head of the table to look out over the spread, dishes and cutlery gleaming, despite the thin layer of dust, in the dim candlelight. They were all precisely in place, standing erect as if waiting for a legion of guests and servants to sweep into the room, bringing light and life in with them.
The old lady made a striking, if pitiful, figure, alone at a table that could-and had, in the past- seat dozens of guests, gay and happy and wearing their very finest. Her silver-and-pearl hair was neatly coiffed, every airy strand pinned back into an old-fashioned bun. The clothes on her small frame were trim and clean as well, save for a few tell-tale moth holes nibbled in the hem of her antiquated dress. The sleeves and collar were tight and close, fastening with a few pearl buttons. A small brooch was clasped at the base of her throat, a tarnished silver locket dangling from the pin.
Next to her pale, crinkled skin, her eyes were surprisingly clear, a stunning azure blue framed by still-dark lashes. Slowly, they scanned the empty room, quite obviously seeing something beyond the venerable furniture and musty drapery. After a few moments, she blinked away the visions before her eyes, gathering a few folds of her dinner-dress in her white, twisted hands and stepping away from the table, her shoes peeping out from under her skirts and clicking against the hard, wood floors.
Dress whispering along the lines of the floor, she slipped through the slight opening in the heavy oaken doors, walking across the main entranceway and starting her slow, laborious way up the grand staircase. Her breathing grew heavier as she ascended, but she continued, seemingly uncaring.
Suddenly, some soft noise caused her head to snap up, her eyes widening as they followed the figure of a laughing young girl down the staircase, the girl's bejeweled fingers sparkling as her hand trailed down the banister. Her happy eyes were limpid, eclipsed only by her innocent, dimpled smile. She raised her other hand to wave blithely at an unseen friend below. Still smiling, the girl faded as she hit the floor, vanishing as the lights in the foyer seemed to dim even further. The old woman sighed unconsciously, pausing for just a moment before bowing her snowy head and continuing up.
The elderly woman complacently moved along her way, steadily and softly placing one foot in front of the other as she surveyed the corridors around her. Fading oil paintings of family long-dead hung on the walls, backed by musty, yellowed wallpaper. The minute sounds of her footsteps on the worn carpet held a muffled echo, the sound disappearing into the faded pattern. After a few more steps she walked up to one of the many ornate wooden doors that lined the hall, pushing it open with a great heave and standing in the doorway, hand resting limply on the brass doorknob.
The parlour inside was full of the finest of its day, with family heirlooms and gold gilding centered around a long-dormant fireplace. A long window ran along the opposite wall, the landscape without obscure all but completely by the smoky, translucent glass. As the woman looked on, she watched young women in clothes even older than her own crowd around the glow on the hearth. One whispered something to her neighbor, and the girl dropped her teacup, not even paying attention as the fragile porcelain shattered on the floor. Hands flying to cover her eyes, she ran out of the room, the apparitions shattering into pieces as she brushed by the old woman and fell through the floor.
When the colours faded into the muted tones and greys they had been previously, the old woman seemed to fade in kind, life falling from her clothes and skin- everything but her eyes. Turning, she walked down the halls, head bent under the cool stares of her ancestors. A strange sympathy shimmered within their flat eyes.
A few moments later, the elderly lady approached another door down the hall, this time letting it swing open just the smallest crack, only large enough for her to place her eyes along the gap, as a small child would do when eavesdropping on the affairs of his elders. Inside was a gentleman's office, the ghostly glow from the fireplace giving light to the newly-appeared letters of business that littered the ornate scroll-top desk. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, the worn spines of the volume straight and tall.
Silhouetted by the large casement window stood two men, one with his revolver aimed between the other's eyes. The face of the man with the gun was steely, cold, expressionless. His arm was extended and his feet firm, while the poor soul before him belied his nerves through the shaking of his knees and the sweat on his brow.
The man holding, caressing the gun smiled slightly, his cool countenance contradicting his wild eyes. With barely a flick of his finger, the world violently exploded, noise firing through the room. With a slow drop, the second man slipped to the ground, a crown of scarlet roses blooming on his temple. As his body hit the floor, the colour fled from the room, the figures turning to grey mist. The old woman pulled the door shut with a soft “click”, continuing on her path with a serene expression.
Turning up one hall and down the next, she opened a door seemingly at random, this time, with a slight gasp of exertion, pushing it open wide. The fire flared to life on the small, cozy hearth, letting colour and warmth spread through the small apartment: the Red Bedroom. Slowly, the clear blue eyes swept over the room, its silver and crimson furnishings revitalized in the strange light. Candles were scattered haphazardly around the room, the gleaming mahogany furniture reflecting their flickering light. The small criss-crossed windows were propped open, letting a sweet, heady air fill the room.
Finally, her gaze settled on the bed, where a handsome young man was kissing a beautiful young woman. Her dress and his jacket were scattered on the floor next to their shoes, her breasts heaving above the tightly-laced corset. The white of her pure skin blushed against the crimson coverlet, and her lush, brown curls were spread out over the pillow. Her lover picked up one lock as they kissed, winding it about his fingers with reverence. Their passion was almost tangible as they touched, the fire flaring more brightly than ever, as if to escape the confines of the brick fireplace. The young woman wore a yellow-gold band on her fourth finger; the young man did not. A red, red rose lay on the bedside table, wilting slightly in the warm air.
For the first time, expression touched the old woman's face- a small, bittersweet smile. Gently, tenderly, she closed the door.
Her pace was hurried now as she continued on- an almost eager look painted on her face. Walking through the halls, she passed children playing, servants doing chores, family members arguing, all vanishing as she walked by them without a second glance. Colour and light were following her, streaking over the walls and floors and unnoticedly brightening the entire house.
Up and down stairs she went, small feet tapping across one hallway and down another. Through the card room, where one girl was watching enviously as another, laughing, touched the hand of the young man that sat between them. Into a dark garret, where a girl in a nightdress was sitting at a small, cluttered desk, writing and re-writing a letter for eternity. A hushed step into the Mirror Room, where two young men were standing across from each other, perfectly still except for shaking hands and trembling lips, their reflections in cast one another's eyes and forever echoed back and forth in the mirrors around them.
The old woman was almost running now, finally, moving as fast as tired limbs could take her. Through the kitchen, where pots and pans whispered together at her passing. By the bench in the front hall, where a girl- no more than a child, really- sat crying, hot, salty tears marking dark tracks down her smooth cheeks.
Finally, she was before the great double-doors, and she stopped, standing and staring at them as her ragged breath slowed to its normal frequency. Slowly, trembling, she raised her tiny, aged, wrinkled, soft hands and placed them on the tarnished, brass doorknobs.
The metal all but glowed with heat, and for the first time in what seemed like years, her hands felt warm.
In one quick movement, she pushed the doors open with a great heave, looking into the Great Ballroom with a countenance of awe and amazement. The old room was aglow with light and laughter, crowds of friends in their absolute finest crowding around a pulsing dance floor. The great golden chandeliers were alight with that strange glow, and servants walked the floor, offering fine wine and delicacies. This was a party, a true ball, the likes of which had never been seen before on mortal earth. A giddy, almost drunken feeling permeated the air, freeing the emotions and tongues and lifting them to new heights. The dancers writhed and whirled, moving in an ecstasy of passion.
The old woman was speechless, a smile spreading over her lighted face as wrinkles and age fell away. A solemn servant offered her a glass of shimmering red wine, and she took it, never noticing the odd green cast to his eyes. Delighted, she drank, sipping it as her world was enveloped in light.
Glancing in one of the gilded mirrors that lined the walls, she gasped in astonishment, watching with wide-eyes as the girl reflected there stared back at her, wondering. Silvery hair and etched skin were replaced by the gleaming bronze locks and creamy complexion that had departed long ago. Old clothes had vanished, leaving her with a gown made of mist and gold. The girl in the mirror snapped open her fan of lace, waving it coyly before her face.
At a light touch on her braceleted wrist, the woman (no longer old!) turned, meeting the warm brown eyes of a young man. He smiled down at her, offering his arm with a needlessly questioning look. She accepted it gladly, smile gleaming. Whirling, they danced into the night, disappearing into the heart of joy.
~<>~<~>~<>~<~>~<>~<~>~<>~
The next morning, the heavy doors to the mansion creaked open, letting the dim grey light of morning touch upon the dust and cobwebs. Cautiously, timidly, a young woman stepped inside, careful of her steps. “Grandmother?” She called, bright blue eyes scanning the entrance hall with concern. “Grandmother, are you here?”
Suddenly, as she walked farther into the house, she noticed the doors to the old ball-room were left open, a small light coming through the crack. The girl ran over to the doors, pushing them open and stepping inside.
The old room had a sad, futile look to it, the once-grand furnishings covered in dust and forgotten memories. The old chandelier still hung from the ceiling, shrouded in white sheets and webs that even the spiders had forbade. As the girl spun around, a small figure in the middle of the dance floor caught her eye. Her heart pounding, beating, she ran to the dark form, only to see her grandmother lying on the floor, eyes wide open and silver hair wild about her face.
The old woman's eyes stared at the ceiling, the deep, pure blue colder somehow- somehow missing something. The old dress was pushed up about the elderly woman's pale ankles, leaving her bare feet exposed. Riverlets of cool, rosy blood ran from heel to toe. Around the body, the young girl could see bloody footprints, spinning in circles. She gasped, and leaned in towards her grandmother, not sure what she was seeing.
A beatific smile was on the old woman's face.
by That'sMyFiasco
(original)
Words: 2053
Genre: Fantasy/Slight Horror/I'm Not Sure?
Rating: T
A/N: Wasn't planning on publihing this, but I kinda wanted to submit it for
silverontherose's challenge. So... here it is. No promises.
She slowly reached out her fingers to brush the cool china, trying to still the slight shaking of her fingers long enough to straighten the delicate dish. Eventually satisfied, she nodded, rising from her place at the head of the table to look out over the spread, dishes and cutlery gleaming, despite the thin layer of dust, in the dim candlelight. They were all precisely in place, standing erect as if waiting for a legion of guests and servants to sweep into the room, bringing light and life in with them.
The old lady made a striking, if pitiful, figure, alone at a table that could-and had, in the past- seat dozens of guests, gay and happy and wearing their very finest. Her silver-and-pearl hair was neatly coiffed, every airy strand pinned back into an old-fashioned bun. The clothes on her small frame were trim and clean as well, save for a few tell-tale moth holes nibbled in the hem of her antiquated dress. The sleeves and collar were tight and close, fastening with a few pearl buttons. A small brooch was clasped at the base of her throat, a tarnished silver locket dangling from the pin.
Next to her pale, crinkled skin, her eyes were surprisingly clear, a stunning azure blue framed by still-dark lashes. Slowly, they scanned the empty room, quite obviously seeing something beyond the venerable furniture and musty drapery. After a few moments, she blinked away the visions before her eyes, gathering a few folds of her dinner-dress in her white, twisted hands and stepping away from the table, her shoes peeping out from under her skirts and clicking against the hard, wood floors.
Dress whispering along the lines of the floor, she slipped through the slight opening in the heavy oaken doors, walking across the main entranceway and starting her slow, laborious way up the grand staircase. Her breathing grew heavier as she ascended, but she continued, seemingly uncaring.
Suddenly, some soft noise caused her head to snap up, her eyes widening as they followed the figure of a laughing young girl down the staircase, the girl's bejeweled fingers sparkling as her hand trailed down the banister. Her happy eyes were limpid, eclipsed only by her innocent, dimpled smile. She raised her other hand to wave blithely at an unseen friend below. Still smiling, the girl faded as she hit the floor, vanishing as the lights in the foyer seemed to dim even further. The old woman sighed unconsciously, pausing for just a moment before bowing her snowy head and continuing up.
The elderly woman complacently moved along her way, steadily and softly placing one foot in front of the other as she surveyed the corridors around her. Fading oil paintings of family long-dead hung on the walls, backed by musty, yellowed wallpaper. The minute sounds of her footsteps on the worn carpet held a muffled echo, the sound disappearing into the faded pattern. After a few more steps she walked up to one of the many ornate wooden doors that lined the hall, pushing it open with a great heave and standing in the doorway, hand resting limply on the brass doorknob.
The parlour inside was full of the finest of its day, with family heirlooms and gold gilding centered around a long-dormant fireplace. A long window ran along the opposite wall, the landscape without obscure all but completely by the smoky, translucent glass. As the woman looked on, she watched young women in clothes even older than her own crowd around the glow on the hearth. One whispered something to her neighbor, and the girl dropped her teacup, not even paying attention as the fragile porcelain shattered on the floor. Hands flying to cover her eyes, she ran out of the room, the apparitions shattering into pieces as she brushed by the old woman and fell through the floor.
When the colours faded into the muted tones and greys they had been previously, the old woman seemed to fade in kind, life falling from her clothes and skin- everything but her eyes. Turning, she walked down the halls, head bent under the cool stares of her ancestors. A strange sympathy shimmered within their flat eyes.
A few moments later, the elderly lady approached another door down the hall, this time letting it swing open just the smallest crack, only large enough for her to place her eyes along the gap, as a small child would do when eavesdropping on the affairs of his elders. Inside was a gentleman's office, the ghostly glow from the fireplace giving light to the newly-appeared letters of business that littered the ornate scroll-top desk. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, the worn spines of the volume straight and tall.
Silhouetted by the large casement window stood two men, one with his revolver aimed between the other's eyes. The face of the man with the gun was steely, cold, expressionless. His arm was extended and his feet firm, while the poor soul before him belied his nerves through the shaking of his knees and the sweat on his brow.
The man holding, caressing the gun smiled slightly, his cool countenance contradicting his wild eyes. With barely a flick of his finger, the world violently exploded, noise firing through the room. With a slow drop, the second man slipped to the ground, a crown of scarlet roses blooming on his temple. As his body hit the floor, the colour fled from the room, the figures turning to grey mist. The old woman pulled the door shut with a soft “click”, continuing on her path with a serene expression.
Turning up one hall and down the next, she opened a door seemingly at random, this time, with a slight gasp of exertion, pushing it open wide. The fire flared to life on the small, cozy hearth, letting colour and warmth spread through the small apartment: the Red Bedroom. Slowly, the clear blue eyes swept over the room, its silver and crimson furnishings revitalized in the strange light. Candles were scattered haphazardly around the room, the gleaming mahogany furniture reflecting their flickering light. The small criss-crossed windows were propped open, letting a sweet, heady air fill the room.
Finally, her gaze settled on the bed, where a handsome young man was kissing a beautiful young woman. Her dress and his jacket were scattered on the floor next to their shoes, her breasts heaving above the tightly-laced corset. The white of her pure skin blushed against the crimson coverlet, and her lush, brown curls were spread out over the pillow. Her lover picked up one lock as they kissed, winding it about his fingers with reverence. Their passion was almost tangible as they touched, the fire flaring more brightly than ever, as if to escape the confines of the brick fireplace. The young woman wore a yellow-gold band on her fourth finger; the young man did not. A red, red rose lay on the bedside table, wilting slightly in the warm air.
For the first time, expression touched the old woman's face- a small, bittersweet smile. Gently, tenderly, she closed the door.
Her pace was hurried now as she continued on- an almost eager look painted on her face. Walking through the halls, she passed children playing, servants doing chores, family members arguing, all vanishing as she walked by them without a second glance. Colour and light were following her, streaking over the walls and floors and unnoticedly brightening the entire house.
Up and down stairs she went, small feet tapping across one hallway and down another. Through the card room, where one girl was watching enviously as another, laughing, touched the hand of the young man that sat between them. Into a dark garret, where a girl in a nightdress was sitting at a small, cluttered desk, writing and re-writing a letter for eternity. A hushed step into the Mirror Room, where two young men were standing across from each other, perfectly still except for shaking hands and trembling lips, their reflections in cast one another's eyes and forever echoed back and forth in the mirrors around them.
The old woman was almost running now, finally, moving as fast as tired limbs could take her. Through the kitchen, where pots and pans whispered together at her passing. By the bench in the front hall, where a girl- no more than a child, really- sat crying, hot, salty tears marking dark tracks down her smooth cheeks.
Finally, she was before the great double-doors, and she stopped, standing and staring at them as her ragged breath slowed to its normal frequency. Slowly, trembling, she raised her tiny, aged, wrinkled, soft hands and placed them on the tarnished, brass doorknobs.
The metal all but glowed with heat, and for the first time in what seemed like years, her hands felt warm.
In one quick movement, she pushed the doors open with a great heave, looking into the Great Ballroom with a countenance of awe and amazement. The old room was aglow with light and laughter, crowds of friends in their absolute finest crowding around a pulsing dance floor. The great golden chandeliers were alight with that strange glow, and servants walked the floor, offering fine wine and delicacies. This was a party, a true ball, the likes of which had never been seen before on mortal earth. A giddy, almost drunken feeling permeated the air, freeing the emotions and tongues and lifting them to new heights. The dancers writhed and whirled, moving in an ecstasy of passion.
The old woman was speechless, a smile spreading over her lighted face as wrinkles and age fell away. A solemn servant offered her a glass of shimmering red wine, and she took it, never noticing the odd green cast to his eyes. Delighted, she drank, sipping it as her world was enveloped in light.
Glancing in one of the gilded mirrors that lined the walls, she gasped in astonishment, watching with wide-eyes as the girl reflected there stared back at her, wondering. Silvery hair and etched skin were replaced by the gleaming bronze locks and creamy complexion that had departed long ago. Old clothes had vanished, leaving her with a gown made of mist and gold. The girl in the mirror snapped open her fan of lace, waving it coyly before her face.
At a light touch on her braceleted wrist, the woman (no longer old!) turned, meeting the warm brown eyes of a young man. He smiled down at her, offering his arm with a needlessly questioning look. She accepted it gladly, smile gleaming. Whirling, they danced into the night, disappearing into the heart of joy.
~<>~<~>~<>~<~>~<>~<~>~<>~
The next morning, the heavy doors to the mansion creaked open, letting the dim grey light of morning touch upon the dust and cobwebs. Cautiously, timidly, a young woman stepped inside, careful of her steps. “Grandmother?” She called, bright blue eyes scanning the entrance hall with concern. “Grandmother, are you here?”
Suddenly, as she walked farther into the house, she noticed the doors to the old ball-room were left open, a small light coming through the crack. The girl ran over to the doors, pushing them open and stepping inside.
The old room had a sad, futile look to it, the once-grand furnishings covered in dust and forgotten memories. The old chandelier still hung from the ceiling, shrouded in white sheets and webs that even the spiders had forbade. As the girl spun around, a small figure in the middle of the dance floor caught her eye. Her heart pounding, beating, she ran to the dark form, only to see her grandmother lying on the floor, eyes wide open and silver hair wild about her face.
The old woman's eyes stared at the ceiling, the deep, pure blue colder somehow- somehow missing something. The old dress was pushed up about the elderly woman's pale ankles, leaving her bare feet exposed. Riverlets of cool, rosy blood ran from heel to toe. Around the body, the young girl could see bloody footprints, spinning in circles. She gasped, and leaned in towards her grandmother, not sure what she was seeing.
A beatific smile was on the old woman's face.