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The waltz is languidly slow, and she moves in the circle of his arms like the sweep of the waves across the beach. Their bodies move in a perfect time, neither pulling nor pushing against the other. She wonders vaguely behind the dazzling ballroom's crushing impression on her brain, if the two of them would move this same way were they yards apart instead of merely inches. She imagines that the answer would be yes.

It is not her own Ballroom she dances in now, but somewhere else entirely; a sort of bridge between many worlds, where dreamers come to consort with others of their ilk, dancing nights away with joyous grace. The man who's arms hold her now is the same one whose bushes she once crouched in several years ago, yearning after his blinding brightness. His glow warms her now as the waltz slows, and he swings her into a slow turn and into a dip. For a heart pounding second their lips are but a thought's breadth apart, and she blinks up into his startled eyes. Fear.

The girl wakes, heart pounding from the nightmare. No, no nightmare, for these were events that truly transpired. The Glimmer's eyes had been lanced with fear, though she'd felt through him the urge she too had had, to close that infinitesimal distance in a kiss. He had backpedaled then, explaining awkwardly of his duties, of the Lady with whom he shared his realms. She had stood back quietly, safely outside his bewitching presence, and nodded and smiled in agreement with him to try to hide the hammering of her heart.

She pulls the covers around her, sliding deeper into her bed. One arm reaches out for the bell-pull by the headboard, but Eddie is at her bedside before her fingers touch the silken cord.
"Some cocoa Eddie, please. And put a little warmth into it."

The Shadow is gone from her bedside before she can blink, and she stares up at the moving lights of the City on her ceiling. Their twirling does nothing to soothe her, and with a sigh she pulls at the coverlet and gropes for her kimono, toes smarting at the chill of the floor beneath them. After a moment's thought, she heads towards the Presence Room, her footsteps quiet over the marble threshold. Torches burn on either side of the throne, and although the place looks somber in the half-light, there is a sense of warmth to it as well.

She kneels before the throne, hands clasped before her in the expectant silence.

"I refuse to dirty him." The words are broken when they come; a self-reassurance torn from the lips of one who despairs.

"The saints of the path he follows were hallowed for driving out the likes of me, centuries ago. I will not see him cast him down in the eyes of his fellows for my sake."

Her hands clench in her lap. "I will pull back. I don't know if you can hear me, but I could use a little help. I know that his god and my gods don't always get along, but..." She shakes her head miserably, then looks up at the empty throne.

"Please, please send solid distractions my way. I could use the help."
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arsenicwaltz: (Default)

May 2009

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