Gilt
For
eloiselovelace , who is super cool and helpful, even when my problems maybe are non-existant. ♥
It was so tempting to summarise this as "Cause Fleur is preeeetty. And Percy thinks so too." But I resisted.
Title: Gilt
Summary: It filled him as she danced.
Rating: G
Words: 216
Fleur’s hair floated as she spun, a mist of gold held up by the amber candlelight flickering through the room. As the music swelled and surged, filling every corner and crevice and teapot in the Burrow, Percy sat with his back to her, watching her feet twist in the air that her hands flew through.
The mirror was edged in gilt, layered on in a Baroque monstrosity that could not match the shine of the French woman’s skin. The thrumming of violin strings (they must be white hot by now, with anger, with pain) seemed to be wound through her, pulsing at her wrists and neck and long, pale feet with soft blue gentility. Light struck the glass, and ran back to her, happily settling around her bright eyes and bright, bright ring. The diamond winked at Percy, kaleidoscopically harsh.
A flick of the hips, and her skirt flared out, ivory lace shot with gold, bridal robes cinched at her waist, only to flow out and down around her knees. The gilt in the mirror spangled and blinged, all hard mockery, like the gilt worn by his heart, so thick he could hardly feel it beat, and only hear the blood rushing in his ears in time with the music as he watched her reflection dance.
ETA: The music that Fleur's dancing to.
Partita No. 2 in D Minor - Allemanda - Bach
Because one can never have enough Bach, oh no.
eloiselovelace , who is super cool and helpful, even when my problems maybe are non-existant. ♥
It was so tempting to summarise this as "Cause Fleur is preeeetty. And Percy thinks so too." But I resisted.
Title: Gilt
Summary: It filled him as she danced.
Rating: G
Words: 216
Fleur’s hair floated as she spun, a mist of gold held up by the amber candlelight flickering through the room. As the music swelled and surged, filling every corner and crevice and teapot in the Burrow, Percy sat with his back to her, watching her feet twist in the air that her hands flew through.
The mirror was edged in gilt, layered on in a Baroque monstrosity that could not match the shine of the French woman’s skin. The thrumming of violin strings (they must be white hot by now, with anger, with pain) seemed to be wound through her, pulsing at her wrists and neck and long, pale feet with soft blue gentility. Light struck the glass, and ran back to her, happily settling around her bright eyes and bright, bright ring. The diamond winked at Percy, kaleidoscopically harsh.
A flick of the hips, and her skirt flared out, ivory lace shot with gold, bridal robes cinched at her waist, only to flow out and down around her knees. The gilt in the mirror spangled and blinged, all hard mockery, like the gilt worn by his heart, so thick he could hardly feel it beat, and only hear the blood rushing in his ears in time with the music as he watched her reflection dance.
ETA: The music that Fleur's dancing to.
Partita No. 2 in D Minor - Allemanda - Bach
Because one can never have enough Bach, oh no.