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31_days2008-02-04 05:26 pm
maajna.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2008-02-04 05:26 pm
4 Feb | Greek Mythology | What Remains
Title: What Remains
Day/Theme: 4 February ; when all the world dissolves
Series: Greek Mythology
Character/Pairing: Pandora
Rating: G
Word Count: 220
In a more figurative sense, her eyes held the contents of the jar as a hand holds an object in complete darkness. She stared imbued with a sense of uncertainty; it had the right form and color, but it was wrong, somehow. Not wrong. Unclear.
The jar itself had evoked nothing but pure curiosity, a disease so adept that neither music nor medicine could cure it. This was different. Patient and fleeting, nervous, warm around the edges, what remained was indiscernible from the shadows of the container but unerringly present. Rheumatism, when it escaped, had stirred her bones; Spite pulled her hair; Envy bruised her open palm. But when all others had run wild into the world, It stayed. And now, unburdened by its violent brothers, it radiated from inside the jar, gleaming as she disturbed the lid to spy on it again, a child peeking through fingers into her own hands. It was a curious thing, almost self-contained, bright only when all else has dimmed, found when all is lost, yet infinitely full of potential.
But it was still unclear.
“What are you, little thing?” She asked, pondering a moment.
Then she shut the lid and returned to the lyre, where with a new and unfamiliar warmth between her ribs she made new music out of old songs.
Day/Theme: 4 February ; when all the world dissolves
Series: Greek Mythology
Character/Pairing: Pandora
Rating: G
Word Count: 220
In a more figurative sense, her eyes held the contents of the jar as a hand holds an object in complete darkness. She stared imbued with a sense of uncertainty; it had the right form and color, but it was wrong, somehow. Not wrong. Unclear.
The jar itself had evoked nothing but pure curiosity, a disease so adept that neither music nor medicine could cure it. This was different. Patient and fleeting, nervous, warm around the edges, what remained was indiscernible from the shadows of the container but unerringly present. Rheumatism, when it escaped, had stirred her bones; Spite pulled her hair; Envy bruised her open palm. But when all others had run wild into the world, It stayed. And now, unburdened by its violent brothers, it radiated from inside the jar, gleaming as she disturbed the lid to spy on it again, a child peeking through fingers into her own hands. It was a curious thing, almost self-contained, bright only when all else has dimmed, found when all is lost, yet infinitely full of potential.
But it was still unclear.
“What are you, little thing?” She asked, pondering a moment.
Then she shut the lid and returned to the lyre, where with a new and unfamiliar warmth between her ribs she made new music out of old songs.