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31_days2009-12-25 12:33 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2009-12-25 12:33 pm
[Dec. 25] [Tales of Legendia] Dolls and Ghosts
Title: Dolls and Ghosts
Day/Theme: Dec. 25, 2009 "all the little things"
Series: Tales of Legendia
Character/Pairing: Chloe
Rating: G
The wind blew through the hedge in a rush of cold air. Chloe gazed back out on the empty road. For a moment she had imagined there was someone standing by the roses, but there was no sign that anyone else had been around the house that day. It was a trick of the light or her overactive imagination. She had never been the type to jump to wild conclusions based on insubstantial things viewed out of the corner of her eye, but the things she had seen aboard the Legacy were enough to make even the staunchest skeptic believe that some mysterious and ancient powers moved through this world.
She looked longer, but there was nothing. She locked the door and headed upstairs. There were guest bedrooms and the master bedroom that had belonged to her parents down the hall, but the only room she would even think of sleeping in while she sojourned in the capital was her own. Done up largely in purples and white, her bedroom was like a secret shrine of femininity. The bed was plush and canopied, the lace pillows undisturbed after all these long years.
Marguerite, clad in a ruffled lavender dress that was a near replica of one Chloe had once owned, sat propped like a queen in the midst of the cushions. Chloe unbuckled her sword and, setting it down, swept up Marguerite in exchange. The feel of this doll, with a soft stuffed body but porcelain face and hands, had once been as familiar in her hand as the hilt of her father's sword now. The tiny ribbon in Marguerite's hair was loose. Chloe idly plucked it out and carefully retied it. There was the chip on Marguerite's left hand, just like she remembered it. Chloe might grow and change, but in some ways, as long as her vow of revenge remained unfulfilled, she was as suspended aimlessly in time as this doll.
She sank onto the bed. Nothing she had slept on since leaving had been nearly as soft. Memories arose from the fabric, stirred like dust. She breathed in their perfume and allowed the ghosts of the past to spring to life around her. There was her mother patiently perched on the edge of the bed reading her a bedtime story, make-believe tea parties on the hooked rug with Elizabeth and Alicia, her father poking his head in to show her he had returned safely from his latest trip (with souvenirs), and the fateful days she had chosen to cut her hair. All these memories and more coexisted simultaneously outside the flow of time. Of all these things, her memory alighted on the music box from her father and she rose to see if it still sat in its customary place on her vanity.
Day/Theme: Dec. 25, 2009 "all the little things"
Series: Tales of Legendia
Character/Pairing: Chloe
Rating: G
The wind blew through the hedge in a rush of cold air. Chloe gazed back out on the empty road. For a moment she had imagined there was someone standing by the roses, but there was no sign that anyone else had been around the house that day. It was a trick of the light or her overactive imagination. She had never been the type to jump to wild conclusions based on insubstantial things viewed out of the corner of her eye, but the things she had seen aboard the Legacy were enough to make even the staunchest skeptic believe that some mysterious and ancient powers moved through this world.
She looked longer, but there was nothing. She locked the door and headed upstairs. There were guest bedrooms and the master bedroom that had belonged to her parents down the hall, but the only room she would even think of sleeping in while she sojourned in the capital was her own. Done up largely in purples and white, her bedroom was like a secret shrine of femininity. The bed was plush and canopied, the lace pillows undisturbed after all these long years.
Marguerite, clad in a ruffled lavender dress that was a near replica of one Chloe had once owned, sat propped like a queen in the midst of the cushions. Chloe unbuckled her sword and, setting it down, swept up Marguerite in exchange. The feel of this doll, with a soft stuffed body but porcelain face and hands, had once been as familiar in her hand as the hilt of her father's sword now. The tiny ribbon in Marguerite's hair was loose. Chloe idly plucked it out and carefully retied it. There was the chip on Marguerite's left hand, just like she remembered it. Chloe might grow and change, but in some ways, as long as her vow of revenge remained unfulfilled, she was as suspended aimlessly in time as this doll.
She sank onto the bed. Nothing she had slept on since leaving had been nearly as soft. Memories arose from the fabric, stirred like dust. She breathed in their perfume and allowed the ghosts of the past to spring to life around her. There was her mother patiently perched on the edge of the bed reading her a bedtime story, make-believe tea parties on the hooked rug with Elizabeth and Alicia, her father poking his head in to show her he had returned safely from his latest trip (with souvenirs), and the fateful days she had chosen to cut her hair. All these memories and more coexisted simultaneously outside the flow of time. Of all these things, her memory alighted on the music box from her father and she rose to see if it still sat in its customary place on her vanity.