Natasha tat
Jan. 8th, 2009 10:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lanfykins.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
zg_shadowsNot very good, I'm afraid; I just couldn't get it to flow right.
It wasn't the sunlight she missed.
She said it was, and because it was socially acceptable to miss sunlight everyone smiled and nodded and moved on. Nobody stopped to wonder, as the obsessive and perfectionist ghoul to an obsessive and perfectionist Toreador, how much sunlight she had ever seen to miss.
Sometimes the sun had been shining when Christian had dragged her from her neck-aching crouch over her workbench to the cafe for lunch. They had sat picking at lasagna and salads and smiling shyly at one another as they talked about things that only the other could understand.
She had tentatively told him about her magic, and he had showed her his; and she had sympathised with the price he paid for it. And each had understood as only a ghoul could the other's devotion to their domitor, which was why, she thought later, they had never asked anything of one another but lunch and small talk.
His domitor had died. She remembered scrubbing James's blood out of the carpet, crying for horror, gripped with fear for Christian's sake, and she remembered the relief she had felt when he had found her, wracked with grief and in need of the company of the only person who might understand.
It had been a long, cold night, sitting outside the Court with her mistress in her head, knowing all along that his magic would take him away from her now and doing all that she dared do to protect him when he went. Jade had wanted to strip his mind, of her, of James, of everything relating to his time with the Kindred. The very thought had filled her with revulsion and terror; how could she lose her only friend? But somehow she had managed to find a way to keep alive his memories of her; and his letters had been her rock and her joy through everything that came after.
She looked over his latest letter again.
"Dear Natasha," it began in handwriting more familiar to her than her own. "I think we have an understanding between us," and once again her heart leaped into her throat before she sternly told herself that he only meant the friendship, and the letters, and the gifts.
Because he was a child of the fae, and she was a vampire, and her very existence was inimical to him. So it would be horrible if he meant anything else. Because it was too late.
She missed the sunlight...
It wasn't the sunlight she missed.
She said it was, and because it was socially acceptable to miss sunlight everyone smiled and nodded and moved on. Nobody stopped to wonder, as the obsessive and perfectionist ghoul to an obsessive and perfectionist Toreador, how much sunlight she had ever seen to miss.
Sometimes the sun had been shining when Christian had dragged her from her neck-aching crouch over her workbench to the cafe for lunch. They had sat picking at lasagna and salads and smiling shyly at one another as they talked about things that only the other could understand.
She had tentatively told him about her magic, and he had showed her his; and she had sympathised with the price he paid for it. And each had understood as only a ghoul could the other's devotion to their domitor, which was why, she thought later, they had never asked anything of one another but lunch and small talk.
His domitor had died. She remembered scrubbing James's blood out of the carpet, crying for horror, gripped with fear for Christian's sake, and she remembered the relief she had felt when he had found her, wracked with grief and in need of the company of the only person who might understand.
It had been a long, cold night, sitting outside the Court with her mistress in her head, knowing all along that his magic would take him away from her now and doing all that she dared do to protect him when he went. Jade had wanted to strip his mind, of her, of James, of everything relating to his time with the Kindred. The very thought had filled her with revulsion and terror; how could she lose her only friend? But somehow she had managed to find a way to keep alive his memories of her; and his letters had been her rock and her joy through everything that came after.
She looked over his latest letter again.
"Dear Natasha," it began in handwriting more familiar to her than her own. "I think we have an understanding between us," and once again her heart leaped into her throat before she sternly told herself that he only meant the friendship, and the letters, and the gifts.
Because he was a child of the fae, and she was a vampire, and her very existence was inimical to him. So it would be horrible if he meant anything else. Because it was too late.
She missed the sunlight...
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