Dec. 19th, 2007

arsenicwaltz: (Default)
She does not know how to deal with the pressure in her chest, and so she simply breathes, eyes closed briefly, past the fluttering. In front of her is a new frame of the Gallery, the image inside shifting and roiling with liquified pages of copperplate manuscript as if thumbed through at high speed. The images dance before her eyes and fill her head with beautiful architecture, and in another sudden spell of dizziness she sits, abruptly, against the opposite wall, unseeing eyes still trained towards the frame.

She blinks, slowly, trying to feel out the shape and the contour of the connection, surprised when her talisman stays cold and inert.

"So... sudden. And yet, so deep. Like jigsaw puzzle pieces fitting together after being jostled in seperate boxes for years." She stands then, advancing to brush fingers against the smooth wood of the frame, trying not to let her eyes cross wandering over the blurring pages contained therein. The scar that runs across her left breast throbs, and she steps away, bewildered.

"What do I call him? What other realms will grow in mine from this portal? How am I supposed to-"
"You won't. That's the beauty of it." Desire's high cheekbones accent a slanting smile, and the girl blinks.
"Who let you in? I thought you'd gone when Hope did."
"Who said I didn't? And who said you'd got it all? Hope, I mean. Hope is a dash tricky thing to exterminate."
The girl's hands go to her mouth nervelessly, and Desire laughs, a rich sound like falling honey. As she turns blindly, fully intending to flee the Gallery entire, she is brought up short to find herself standing before a tall figure cloaked in stars, with galaxies for eyes.
"Lord Shaper, pray excuse me, I did not-"
The tall form is silent, the features impassive, but those depthless eyes conveying somehow a hint of kindly amusement. Dream inclines his head, once, then fades quickly from view, like ink spreading into a pool of water, except in reverse.

Baffled, the girl looks behind her at the now-empty Gallery, the still-roiling pages framed upon the wall. Her knees give out then, and she collapses into a rustling flower of skirts and petticoats and helpless, joyous laughter.


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