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31_days2009-08-16 03:33 pm
cofmanynames.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2009-08-16 03:33 pm
[August 16] [Original] The End of the Beginning
Title: The End of the Beginning
Day / Theme: August 16 -- the crumbling distance between wrong and right
Rating: PG
Series: Original (LEC)
Characters: Libris, mention of Seradoc
Summary: Becoming herself.
Notes: I've done a pocky on this same thing, actually. But this prompt was just begging for it. And I like this one better, I think.
It was such a stupid thing, such a foolish small thing to end up like this over. But accuracy is important, is the important thing, is the only important thing, and he didn’t even care, and that is not something she can stand for, or even sit down near. Under that she knows it was partly his ill luck—the Fates really do hate him, after all, and with reason—that it was he, and no one else, who caught her and set her off now. She knew this feeling from before, that of breaking a little every day. The Librarian knows it was only a matter of time.
(“Time, and sometimes people.” That is the sort of thing she thought was so funny, before...)
And she knows this reaction as well. Anger against a higher authority is useless, pointless, poison, impossible, redirected always at herself. And the Library is her as much as she ever is, isn’t it? Of course it is. And—and they didn’t need that many kai worlds, not really, truly, did they...?
Really it was a blessing the way it happened, inconvenient details regardless. She’d always been nervous of edges, but if she’d fought her way past them before she’d think nothing of them after. It would mean they weren’t real boundaries, real ends, any more.
She wasn’t paying particularly much attention to where her mind was going, either—unwise, that.
It was the same viewpoint that spread over her mind as had always been there, in the way that a photograph after the saturation’s been jacked up higher than it should go is the same image; in other words, not much, at least where the colors were concerned.
In this case, black and white. Not that she’d ever been particularly good at grays anyway. That was going to change.
And I feel for the first time the definite possibility of being myself, and with it absolute knowledge, and with that complete mastery. It is a rush, but not the intoxicating kind. This is what it feels like to be truly, really sane and rational, and to not care. I can feel myself recoiling from it, and I won’t allow that. Not now. Not ever.
I’m going to stay like this for always.
Day / Theme: August 16 -- the crumbling distance between wrong and right
Rating: PG
Series: Original (LEC)
Characters: Libris, mention of Seradoc
Summary: Becoming herself.
Notes: I've done a pocky on this same thing, actually. But this prompt was just begging for it. And I like this one better, I think.
It was such a stupid thing, such a foolish small thing to end up like this over. But accuracy is important, is the important thing, is the only important thing, and he didn’t even care, and that is not something she can stand for, or even sit down near. Under that she knows it was partly his ill luck—the Fates really do hate him, after all, and with reason—that it was he, and no one else, who caught her and set her off now. She knew this feeling from before, that of breaking a little every day. The Librarian knows it was only a matter of time.
(“Time, and sometimes people.” That is the sort of thing she thought was so funny, before...)
And she knows this reaction as well. Anger against a higher authority is useless, pointless, poison, impossible, redirected always at herself. And the Library is her as much as she ever is, isn’t it? Of course it is. And—and they didn’t need that many kai worlds, not really, truly, did they...?
Really it was a blessing the way it happened, inconvenient details regardless. She’d always been nervous of edges, but if she’d fought her way past them before she’d think nothing of them after. It would mean they weren’t real boundaries, real ends, any more.
She wasn’t paying particularly much attention to where her mind was going, either—unwise, that.
It was the same viewpoint that spread over her mind as had always been there, in the way that a photograph after the saturation’s been jacked up higher than it should go is the same image; in other words, not much, at least where the colors were concerned.
In this case, black and white. Not that she’d ever been particularly good at grays anyway. That was going to change.
And I feel for the first time the definite possibility of being myself, and with it absolute knowledge, and with that complete mastery. It is a rush, but not the intoxicating kind. This is what it feels like to be truly, really sane and rational, and to not care. I can feel myself recoiling from it, and I won’t allow that. Not now. Not ever.
I’m going to stay like this for always.