The changing of the tides...
Oct. 8th, 2008 03:54 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annwfyn.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
zg_shadows2 am and the tide has changed.
What do you feel?
Carla Obertus can feel something, although she doesn’t know what yet. She just knows that something shifted in the small hours of the morning. It felt a little like a set of scales somewhere had tipped, the balance undone at last.
But what is now ascendant? That is the question.
She scurries, rather like a small bird, across the library to the series of books which Mr Corwin normally keeps locked up, and fumbles for her key. The answer will be somewhere in amidst the Elder Tzimisce’s library. There are over a thousand years’ worth of documents there. Somewhere, someone will have written of this moment.
She reaches for the index first, which is a great fat book of its own, written in her father’s cramped and crawling hand, in ink which has long since faded. She doesn’t know when her father first catalogued these books. She suspects it was longer ago than she wishes to know about, for sure.
She turns to the chapter headed ‘P’, and begins turning pages rapidly. She’s looking for ‘prophecy’.
Far away, in a house with brightly coloured walls, Firinne Devon feels something that twists inside her, a little like a knife. Something has changed, and she dislikes change.
She pulls away from the man she is with, and ignores the hurt expression on his face, and pads across to the window.
Outside, the sky looks overfull, as if it could spill over at any moment. The clouds broil and churn, and the moon is lost. That’s not a healthy sign, she thinks, although Firinne knows nothing of omens and portents.
What has changed?
She thinks, for no reason, really, of Jimmy Pin. She isn’t sure why he floats across her mind, but he does. Maybe she just thinks of him every time she feels the chaos beating against the thinly held together order that she surrounds herself with.
The chaos is out there, she thinks. And it’s trying to break through.
Tegan O’Riordan feels nothing. She’s asleep, you see, wrapped up in a patchwork quilt she’s been making for herself, out of a dozen scraps and tatters. Her daughter is asleep in the same bed, with a great fan of dark hair splayed out across her pillow, shifting restlessly with dreams which won’t let her go.
Tegan dreams too.
She dreams of a room with a golden ceiling, and a man who smiles at her with Michael Stands Ready’s familiar smile. But in her dream that smile carries no comfort, and she feels a strange sickness rise up inside her.
Something is very wrong, and she doesn’t know what.
This man, this Michael-Yet-Not, glances over at her and gestures to her to come towards him. She takes a few steps, for that seems the right thing to do. It has always felt like the right thing to do.
He slides an arm around her waist, and buries his head in her neck and she knows she should feel comforted by this. She always has done. Yet in this dream she feels a great fear rising up in her.
She has done something very wrong, and she doesn’t know what. She only knows that the weight of her sin is tearing at her, like a stolen trinket, or a broken promise.
In a tiny flat in London, Caitlin wakes up with a start. Her mother says something in her sleep which she can’t make out, and she feels the world around her twist, almost imperceptibly.
Caitlin tilts her face towards the window and towards the bright shining moon in the sky.
When Tegan wakes up, skin clammy and heart pounding from a dream that makes no sense, Caitlin has gone.
Sunshine Edwards, a corax with a dozen names, feels the tide change, and wonders what it means.
Is it a change in her? Certainly, the moment that it changes is the moment she changes her mind on whether or not she needs to see someone dead. Yet she thinks it is more than that; she’s not quite so important as to set off shivers in the air with her moral judgments.
So, something is changing.
And as she looks up into the sky, where the red star pulses still, she wonders if the world is running out of time.
What do you feel?
Carla Obertus can feel something, although she doesn’t know what yet. She just knows that something shifted in the small hours of the morning. It felt a little like a set of scales somewhere had tipped, the balance undone at last.
But what is now ascendant? That is the question.
She scurries, rather like a small bird, across the library to the series of books which Mr Corwin normally keeps locked up, and fumbles for her key. The answer will be somewhere in amidst the Elder Tzimisce’s library. There are over a thousand years’ worth of documents there. Somewhere, someone will have written of this moment.
She reaches for the index first, which is a great fat book of its own, written in her father’s cramped and crawling hand, in ink which has long since faded. She doesn’t know when her father first catalogued these books. She suspects it was longer ago than she wishes to know about, for sure.
She turns to the chapter headed ‘P’, and begins turning pages rapidly. She’s looking for ‘prophecy’.
Far away, in a house with brightly coloured walls, Firinne Devon feels something that twists inside her, a little like a knife. Something has changed, and she dislikes change.
She pulls away from the man she is with, and ignores the hurt expression on his face, and pads across to the window.
Outside, the sky looks overfull, as if it could spill over at any moment. The clouds broil and churn, and the moon is lost. That’s not a healthy sign, she thinks, although Firinne knows nothing of omens and portents.
What has changed?
She thinks, for no reason, really, of Jimmy Pin. She isn’t sure why he floats across her mind, but he does. Maybe she just thinks of him every time she feels the chaos beating against the thinly held together order that she surrounds herself with.
The chaos is out there, she thinks. And it’s trying to break through.
Tegan O’Riordan feels nothing. She’s asleep, you see, wrapped up in a patchwork quilt she’s been making for herself, out of a dozen scraps and tatters. Her daughter is asleep in the same bed, with a great fan of dark hair splayed out across her pillow, shifting restlessly with dreams which won’t let her go.
Tegan dreams too.
She dreams of a room with a golden ceiling, and a man who smiles at her with Michael Stands Ready’s familiar smile. But in her dream that smile carries no comfort, and she feels a strange sickness rise up inside her.
Something is very wrong, and she doesn’t know what.
This man, this Michael-Yet-Not, glances over at her and gestures to her to come towards him. She takes a few steps, for that seems the right thing to do. It has always felt like the right thing to do.
He slides an arm around her waist, and buries his head in her neck and she knows she should feel comforted by this. She always has done. Yet in this dream she feels a great fear rising up in her.
She has done something very wrong, and she doesn’t know what. She only knows that the weight of her sin is tearing at her, like a stolen trinket, or a broken promise.
In a tiny flat in London, Caitlin wakes up with a start. Her mother says something in her sleep which she can’t make out, and she feels the world around her twist, almost imperceptibly.
Caitlin tilts her face towards the window and towards the bright shining moon in the sky.
When Tegan wakes up, skin clammy and heart pounding from a dream that makes no sense, Caitlin has gone.
Sunshine Edwards, a corax with a dozen names, feels the tide change, and wonders what it means.
Is it a change in her? Certainly, the moment that it changes is the moment she changes her mind on whether or not she needs to see someone dead. Yet she thinks it is more than that; she’s not quite so important as to set off shivers in the air with her moral judgments.
So, something is changing.
And as she looks up into the sky, where the red star pulses still, she wonders if the world is running out of time.
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Well, that's fairly ironic...
Date: 2008-10-08 02:56 pm (UTC)I like it, although it's got me kinda worried...
Is anyone else feeling anything at the minute?
no subject
Date: 2008-10-08 03:38 pm (UTC)