Blue Moon - Willow/TarabutterbunsJune 11 2007, 01:18:38 UTC
Arms around the redhead in her arms, Tara rested her head lightly atop her shoulder, a soft sigh of happiness slipped from her lips. The moon was up and the two were stretched out on a blanket in the park, watching it while they waited for a vampire to rise. Things between them were starting to get back to normal, and something as mundane as slaying was a relief to get back to. She found it fitting that there was a rare blue moon in the sky as moments like this between them had been so rare lately. It was relaxing to lay in the moonlight with the woman she loved and not have to worry.
It was at the ends of the earth that he found the key. deep on the icy glacier that is Antarctica there was a small hut, almost completely obscured by the snowdrift. The two beings trod soundlessly to the door, and using his robotic strength forced it open. The room they found was bare except for a simple wooden table. And on that table there was a small harp. No bigger then the length of your pinky.
"Well, that was a bloody waste of time" said Marvin as he left the room. "I hope you're completely happy with this."
Blue Moon; Willow/TaramediasavantJune 11 2007, 01:26:03 UTC
Twice in one month, that's all it means. The blue moon rises on the twenty-eighth day, and the Julian calendar isn't geared for the lunar cycles. She knows this. It's logical. It's scientific. It's what she relied on before the Magics got to her and soaked into her blood and bones. It's what she knew before Tara.
Now that second moon shines in her window, across their empty bed, and Willow knows why it's blue. Stupid color to express sadness. Loss. Heartbreak. Horrid feelings should be some horrid color, like the artificial orange of macaroni and cheese powder, or the matte brown of dried blood (the kind that never washes out of a white blouse).
Full moons had been the height of power, when they could raise the most energy, when they did the most complex spells. Now it was gone. Over.
Warren got off easy. The moon didn't shine on him anymore.
When he made the oath to protect and serve, to follow me wherever I may go, I don't think he understood quite what I required of him.
Well and true, he knows it now, fourteen-some years that he has followed me, oath-sworn; we have walked into hell itself and back, and we still have our love through it all, stronger than any love I ever could have known.
And one day, years after our journey into madness, when the night winds call my name, I find myself faced with a choice that I dared not ever hope to have to make. "Phedre," the night winds say, and I know it is Hyacinthe, calling on me as he promised he would.
But Joscelin, ah! There is Joscelin to think of, not to mention Imriel. Joscelin has followed me to the very end of the world, to Jebe-Barkal and beyond, in search of the lost tribe and of the very name of God that could set my Hyacinthe free
( ... )
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I love it!
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"Well, that was a bloody waste of time" said Marvin as he left the room. "I hope you're completely happy with this."
"Oh, I am. I am." God replied.
The End
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Now that second moon shines in her window, across their empty bed, and Willow knows why it's blue. Stupid color to express sadness. Loss. Heartbreak. Horrid feelings should be some horrid color, like the artificial orange of macaroni and cheese powder, or the matte brown of dried blood (the kind that never washes out of a white blouse).
Full moons had been the height of power, when they could raise the most energy, when they did the most complex spells. Now it was gone. Over.
Warren got off easy. The moon didn't shine on him anymore.
Reply
When he made the oath to protect and serve, to follow me wherever I may go, I don't think he understood quite what I required of him.
Well and true, he knows it now, fourteen-some years that he has followed me, oath-sworn; we have walked into hell itself and back, and we still have our love through it all, stronger than any love I ever could have known.
And one day, years after our journey into madness, when the night winds call my name, I find myself faced with a choice that I dared not ever hope to have to make. "Phedre," the night winds say, and I know it is Hyacinthe, calling on me as he promised he would.
But Joscelin, ah! There is Joscelin to think of, not to mention Imriel. Joscelin has followed me to the very end of the world, to Jebe-Barkal and beyond, in search of the lost tribe and of the very name of God that could set my Hyacinthe free ( ... )
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