Rache, not Rachel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stillnotrachel) wrote2014-11-09 02:30 am
stillnotrachel) wrote2014-11-09 02:30 am
the darkest timeline: in the room where you sleep
[continued from here]
The first thing she notices is that the music is back.
"Why are we here?" Rache demands, rounding on Arthur. "What is so important that you have...that you had to..."
The music is getting louder. She staggers, braces herself against the bed.
Listen, Arthur says. Just listen.
It's not so much the sound as the feeling of it, the feelings it engenders. It's her first possession all over again, her first breath of air, bite of food, first kiss. The ducal palace in flames.
But more than that.
It's everything she could have, could yet become. Something ageless and boundless, slicing through realities like a hot knife. Benevolence and vengeance, a thousand burning worlds that sing her name.
The music reaches its crescendo. It would be enough to shake her bones, if she had bones, but she is light and air. She is the chains that hold the stars in their orbit. The universe resonates like a struck chord and she is at the heart of it.
This is what we are, Arthur says. We are scholars. We study experience: sensation without limits, beyond the boundaries of simple flesh. We think...I think you could contribute something very valuable.
Rache is still reeling from the sensation of the music; it takes a moment for Arthur's words to sink in. She drifts closer to him, leans down, presses her mouth to his. She can feel the threads incinerate between their lips.
Her hand against his neck catches fire soon after. He gasps, the sound more ecstatic than pained. She smiles.
I will consider your offer, she says. But first, we have some study of our own to conduct, I think.
Rache's body lies curled on the bed, forgotten, empty.
The first thing she notices is that the music is back.
"Why are we here?" Rache demands, rounding on Arthur. "What is so important that you have...that you had to..."
The music is getting louder. She staggers, braces herself against the bed.
Listen, Arthur says. Just listen.
It's not so much the sound as the feeling of it, the feelings it engenders. It's her first possession all over again, her first breath of air, bite of food, first kiss. The ducal palace in flames.
But more than that.
It's everything she could have, could yet become. Something ageless and boundless, slicing through realities like a hot knife. Benevolence and vengeance, a thousand burning worlds that sing her name.
The music reaches its crescendo. It would be enough to shake her bones, if she had bones, but she is light and air. She is the chains that hold the stars in their orbit. The universe resonates like a struck chord and she is at the heart of it.
This is what we are, Arthur says. We are scholars. We study experience: sensation without limits, beyond the boundaries of simple flesh. We think...I think you could contribute something very valuable.
Rache is still reeling from the sensation of the music; it takes a moment for Arthur's words to sink in. She drifts closer to him, leans down, presses her mouth to his. She can feel the threads incinerate between their lips.
Her hand against his neck catches fire soon after. He gasps, the sound more ecstatic than pained. She smiles.
I will consider your offer, she says. But first, we have some study of our own to conduct, I think.
Rache's body lies curled on the bed, forgotten, empty.