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31_days2005-12-17 12:00 am
callaynatara.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-12-17 12:00 am
[17th December] [Shadows of Destiny] The Fruits of Eden
Title: The Fruits of Eden
Day/Theme: Dec 17, Meine Tochter nimmermehr (My daughter nevermore)
Series: Shadow of Destiny
Character/Pairing: Eike/Dana
Rating: PG-13, to be safe. But really more of a PG.
notes: This is assuming ending E, where Dana is taken back to the present. This is also assuming Homunculus lied about the fate of Dr. Wagner, and that ending D's explanation is the true one. Spoilers abound, of course. It wouldn't be the same without.
She has a painting in her apartment of the fall from Eden, of the snake and Eve and the apple, with Adam waiting in the background for his temptation. She had picked it up from a local artist in the square one day, hanging it on the wall before the sofa. When pressed about it, she could only say the colors caught her eye--- the shiny bright red of the fruit, the glittering green of the foliage.
He's never liked this creation myth, with its overtones of entrapment and fate, and occasionally he argues with her about it, playfully.
"Was it so much of a sin, then," he asks her one day, "to eat a simple fruit?"
She grins at his naiveté. "I think in this case, the cigar is not just a cigar."
"Oh?" He slips his hand into hers and leans over her shoulder, murmuring by her ear. "Forbidden fruit and original sin," he smiles into her neck, tickling her skin with light brushes of his mouth, "I can't see what's so sinful about that." She laughs, squirming. This pattern between them comes too easily, so familiar, and yet not.
Still giggling, she pushes him back. "Then perhaps original sin's more complicated." She tilts her head, thinking. "Eve was born of his rib, wasn't she? That would make her his daughter, of sorts." She clasps her hands together, not noticing his sudden stillness. "Perfect. A true original sin. Mankind born a bastard child of incest."
"That's a terrible interpretation," he tells her, smiling. "The church would never forgive you."
"Then it's a good thing I don't go." And the matter is forgotten, lost in a flurry of errands and laughter.
But the idea lingers somewhere, inside his brain.
There is a wrongness when he caresses her bare hip as she sleeps, both of them warm between the sheets of her bed. And there is a recognition when she takes his hand, pulling him to their next destination.
He has a memory of Homunculus telling him, "Destiny has a way of straightening itself." But surely this never happened, any more than the image of the djinn on a cold winter day, bearing a small child away from its dying mother.
He knows he has missed something, something important that he should have known. The feeling swims in the undercurrent of his psyche, the knowledge that this is not the way it is supposed to be.
He pushes the thought deep down, where the light of consciousness cannot touch. For can he not save this bit of happiness? After all that has happened, after all the waste of wandering and isolation, can he not have that?
He finds her in the living room the next day, her expression thoughtful as she ponders the pastiche. In her hand, no apple but a pear, half eaten and slightly browned.
"Still staring? You should come to the museum with me more often." He bends down to kiss her.
Wordlessly, she offers him the fruit. He takes a bite, crisp, cool, fresh. The juice runs down his lips, and he catches it with his tongue.
The purest pear he has ever tasted, but beneath lies the hint of decay.
Day/Theme: Dec 17, Meine Tochter nimmermehr (My daughter nevermore)
Series: Shadow of Destiny
Character/Pairing: Eike/Dana
Rating: PG-13, to be safe. But really more of a PG.
notes: This is assuming ending E, where Dana is taken back to the present. This is also assuming Homunculus lied about the fate of Dr. Wagner, and that ending D's explanation is the true one. Spoilers abound, of course. It wouldn't be the same without.
She has a painting in her apartment of the fall from Eden, of the snake and Eve and the apple, with Adam waiting in the background for his temptation. She had picked it up from a local artist in the square one day, hanging it on the wall before the sofa. When pressed about it, she could only say the colors caught her eye--- the shiny bright red of the fruit, the glittering green of the foliage.
He's never liked this creation myth, with its overtones of entrapment and fate, and occasionally he argues with her about it, playfully.
"Was it so much of a sin, then," he asks her one day, "to eat a simple fruit?"
She grins at his naiveté. "I think in this case, the cigar is not just a cigar."
"Oh?" He slips his hand into hers and leans over her shoulder, murmuring by her ear. "Forbidden fruit and original sin," he smiles into her neck, tickling her skin with light brushes of his mouth, "I can't see what's so sinful about that." She laughs, squirming. This pattern between them comes too easily, so familiar, and yet not.
Still giggling, she pushes him back. "Then perhaps original sin's more complicated." She tilts her head, thinking. "Eve was born of his rib, wasn't she? That would make her his daughter, of sorts." She clasps her hands together, not noticing his sudden stillness. "Perfect. A true original sin. Mankind born a bastard child of incest."
"That's a terrible interpretation," he tells her, smiling. "The church would never forgive you."
"Then it's a good thing I don't go." And the matter is forgotten, lost in a flurry of errands and laughter.
But the idea lingers somewhere, inside his brain.
There is a wrongness when he caresses her bare hip as she sleeps, both of them warm between the sheets of her bed. And there is a recognition when she takes his hand, pulling him to their next destination.
He has a memory of Homunculus telling him, "Destiny has a way of straightening itself." But surely this never happened, any more than the image of the djinn on a cold winter day, bearing a small child away from its dying mother.
He knows he has missed something, something important that he should have known. The feeling swims in the undercurrent of his psyche, the knowledge that this is not the way it is supposed to be.
He pushes the thought deep down, where the light of consciousness cannot touch. For can he not save this bit of happiness? After all that has happened, after all the waste of wandering and isolation, can he not have that?
He finds her in the living room the next day, her expression thoughtful as she ponders the pastiche. In her hand, no apple but a pear, half eaten and slightly browned.
"Still staring? You should come to the museum with me more often." He bends down to kiss her.
Wordlessly, she offers him the fruit. He takes a bite, crisp, cool, fresh. The juice runs down his lips, and he catches it with his tongue.
The purest pear he has ever tasted, but beneath lies the hint of decay.