(no subject)

[castorlion.livejournal.com]

It had been raining most of the afternoon and now, as the daylight started to fade, the clouds hung heavy and low outside the window, looking sickly and ill as the orange backwash from London’s lighting illuminated the murky room.

Daniel sat on the very edge of his side of the bed, turning a statuette over and over in his hands. It was made from crystal, sculpted and moulded to resemble two people in a stylised lover’s embrace that finished at the base of the statue with the two figures melded into one. It had been Daniel’s present to Max when they moved in together.

It had been something of a risk – firstly in the making, since the curves of the piece hid a large flaw that ran down the centre, making the shaping of it something of a challenge. But Daniel was certain of his skill, even back then, and besides which he hadn’t been able to find that perfect thread of scarlet in any of the other pieces. In the end the risk had paid off, and Daniel had managed to hide the flaw so perfectly that even he couldn’t spot it.

The giving was even more of a risk than the making – Daniel had worried that it was too much, that he’d been too strong, too heavy handed, maybe too quick. But he’d taken the chance and presented it to Max anyway, as a gift to furnish the new home, and Max had just smiled that smile he had, the one that was sure to make Daniel’s knees think they were water, and together they’d christened the new house properly.

Ever since then it had stood in the hall, perfectly placed in its own little alcove, perfectly framed and perfectly surrounded by a perfectly smooth white plaster archway. It had stood there, perfectly secure, until this evening when a soaked Daniel had returned from his trip to Kew.

It had been the first thing Daniel had seen, as he stood there dripping rainwater onto the polished floorboards. For reasons Daniel didn’t quite understand he’d picked up the statuette, had clung on to it like a drowning man clings on to a piece of decking. He’d brought it with him as he went upstairs to wait for Max to come home.

Fae are all about illusions. Beautiful, lovely dreams and illusions…

So now here he sat in the bedroom he shared with Max, turning the statuette over and over, looking for flaws he couldn’t see

Prose tat...

[portilis.livejournal.com]

( Murderous intent )