Circles of Eternity

MihailxIrina, HawkeyexOz. a rose, an candle, and five knights who are nothing. Though she is safe within her the crystal pagoda, the Divine Bird will never learn to fly.

Strange, and hopefully not strange enough to put you off. I'll be very, very grateful for comments, especially since this piece was very hard-worked.

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circles of eternity

i.

The angels are fast asleep—their moonstone hearts are enfolded in the starlight, their great white wings feathered over palace eaves. Deep beyond the moonlight mists blanketing the crystal rooftops, the sky is changing, again—shedding its old raven feathers to bloom in glorious wedding white.

With a sigh, the Master of Souls allows the morning to slip off his fingers. The open vaults of the sky are clearer than the bottom of a wine glass, a butterfly's powdery wings—and in a circle entrapping him, the trellis arches are pale as diamond, rich as obsidian.

Beneath the cornflower dawn, Mihail finds himself wandering. He wanders, without aim and without purpose—moving through the gardens like a careless breeze, drifting like a child lost in a new city. Around him the arches are silent, but evermore the vines are whispering—pixies swinging on the fences with glittering smiles.

The secrets they whisper, there are so many—secrets upon the rustles of vines, secrets of Erev that he will never learn, however long he stays.

But I will stay forever, and I suppose that means I'll learn to whisper like them, eventually.

How long has he walked the pathways of heaven? Perhaps a century, perhaps two—two hundred years without shield or shelter, or even an umbrella. But there are no storms in this world, no rain and no shadow to fear. Mihail is appreciative of this fact, as much as any other person who hates being caught in the drizzle. The rain will rust my sword.

Yet so occasionally, he has dreams—fever dreams, of running through rain and being drenched, drunken, in a shower of liquid cold. And spiralling like a gannet in the breezes, plunging with a silver-bell splash into waves he has never seen before. Eternally lost, in a glimmering of light.

Am I only dreaming?

He glances at masked Ickhart, a shadow on the branches. I wonder what you dream of, he muses. Do you even dream?

Then, he pauses—a whirl of spices greets his consciousness: gold and frankincense and myrrh—a wind almost heralding from desert Ariant, lilting and spiced like a snake charmer's melody. But it is not Ariant, he knows: it is only wild, windy Irina—and her lips, and her hair—as she emerges from the vines with diamonds in her eyes. Her hair is star anise, her irises are saffron; her footsteps are like cinnamon in the breeze.[/p][p]"I heard that falling in love is like falling into an ocean," she whispers, an apparition on the stairway to the pagoda.

Irina's gaze is burning—burning, and oh so untamable. She is nothing like Oz, the little match-girl who sits forever by the altar, lighting the candle whenever it goes out. She is wildness—wildness like the vines in the balcony, wildness like the golden fire flashing in her eyes.

"Mihail, don't you sometimes wish we could escape?" she asks, taking a step down. "There's a world outside—and it's more wonderful than this place, I know."

"Outside? But we are bound, Irina," he calls back, sheathing his sword. "We made an oath upon the sky—to remain in Her Majesty's service, as long as we live."

"And how long, Mihail? We can live forever, without living at all!"

She sighs and leaps down the last stairs, to where he stands. Mihail only has a moment to glance up at her—she is beside him in a twinkling, taking his hand and pressing something into his palm.

A rose hip: wrinkled and dry, but so full of life.

"Take good care of it," she whispers into his ear, "and you can plant the seeds when we finally leave." There is laughter in her words. "They are fragile, and roses are hard to grow."

"Why not give me a rose then?"

But she leaves him no answer—only an echo, and a whiff of blossom perfume where she once leaned on the rails.

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That's because a rose hip can grow and flourish, Mihail. A rose is dead, even before it is in your palms.

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WARNING: The rest of the story is in the same style, if not stranger. If this isn't your cup of tea, you can stop here. It's fine.

Nice to see you, I thought you weren't gonna stick around. Cool story.

@Luna: Hehe, yep. But it's slow everywhere! I came here when I FF.net was too slow for my requirements. But it seems it's slow everywhere...

Any comments on the story? It's incomplete. I'd better get going with the next bit of it...

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ii.

How did we wind up here? Oz wonders, gazing out into the panorama beyond the window frame. In her window, the feathers are dancing, white butterflies bound to the window. She smiles to see the way they struggle in their bonds.

A breath of wind slips, unnoticed, into the incense-clouded altar room. Mastered by the breeze, the candle flame fades.

There now, she murmurs, turning to light the wick again, setting the candle aglow once more. Shine just a little longer, just a little brighter—just a little more like the Queen who gave us life.

Her eyes trail across the treasures on her altar again—dusty peac-ock feathers, glinting odds and ends pilfered from Kirium's store, a statue of Queen Cygnus.

(Or is it a statue of the Goddess? I don't know; their eyes are the same.)

But there is something she treasures more than these. Something that cannot be placed on her mantel—something as vast as the shore-gilded sea...

The girl hears a ringing knock on the windowsill, and a bright smile illuminates her soft-featured face. From the window Hawkeye smiles back, the lost pirate's eyes as blue as the roaring ocean below.

"Why are you here?" she questions, standing. He grins widely as she approaches.

"Why are we here?" he replies with silent sorrow, leaning over the sill into the candlelit room. "We must leave one day."

"But who will lead us? We're bound here until we die, remember...?"

Hawkeye says nothing. Then, gazing up at her eyes again, his smile returns. "Don't you sometimes dream of it, though?"

She wants to say yes, but the Goddess is watching.

He turns to the sky over his shoulder, sighing. Then, returning his gaze to her, his eyes grow sad. "Ah—when we escape Erev, I know just where I'll return. But where will you go, Oz?"

The Witch of Flames smiles. "Into the flames," she murmurs. "Inside a volcano and away from the sky..."

"But close to the sea?" he replies earnestly. "I'd be glad, Oz. Will you change your road, and come with me?"

She blinks her green eyes, wishing he wouldn't gaze at her so. It's like falling into an ocean, she thinks, turning away. It's ever so thrilling, ever so beautiful. This is—falling in love.

He carefully takes her wrist, the rage of all the waves behind his smile—waves in all their glory, the tang of salt sharp—rushing, crashing on thousand-mile granite cliffs, like white horses with manes of sea spray. She smiles back, leaning close so he may kiss her.

Behind her, Oz feels the Goddess' gaze, piercing gimlet from the dusty altar. You swore, She whispers severely. You made an oath. Of chastity, and poverty, and eternal binding with the land.

But they had been mere children then, engendered and blinded in the sepulchre of the sun.

"Will you come with me?" Hawkeye asks again, forgetting his sorrow, his smile like a breeze on a distant beach.

She laughs back. "Yes," she says. "Because I know you'll take me along." But somehow, when she thinks of escape, she can only think of the pain and shadows beyond the terraces of Erev.

To stay trapped is to stay safe forever. Is that not true?

Still the wind whirls, a dragon spiralling through her flaming hair, through his. For a moment, she rides the overwhelming, everlasting flow, forgetting all her obligations—kissing his cheek as he runs his fingers through her hair.

On the empty altar beside the Queen, the candle has gone out, yet again.

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Falling in love is like falling into an ocean. It is a thrill, but it always ends in a dark, crushing coldness.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by absol_master

The angels are fast asleep—their moonstone hearts are enfolded in the starlight, their great white wings feathered over palace eaves. Deep beyond the moonlight mists blanketing the crystal rooftops, the sky is changing, again—shedding its old raven feathers to bloom in glorious wedding white.

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Okay, don't get me wrong, I love your stories and I can understand the challenges of writing as well, but even if I may be the most active fanfic-writer here [thought I don't write often], sometimes I simply cannot focus on the story because the large amount of descriptors is distracting.

Heh, that's because I wrote this fanfic solely for the purpose of doing that.
I'll definitely put up something more reader-friendly some other time. Just fyi, it's not a real problem--my usual style is very different from this, and I'm just experimenting.
Thanks for reading anyway!