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[jynxgirl.livejournal.com]

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The Poignard

[ladyseraph-756.livejournal.com]

Margot's eyes are bright. Sir Francis looks at her with admiration. She seems to stand straighter, chin up like the queen that she was born to be. The giddy girl with laughing eyes who went out into the city, slept with complete strangers for fun and acted outrageously for sheer attention has disappeared.
"What can you do against your family?" Henri says wearily. "They hold our lives in their hands and so far they feel no compunction about spilling blood, even of relatives. We are living on borrowed time, both of us."
"Are you giving up on me? On us?" she says fiercely. "I am your wife, Henri!”
"Against your will! You made that quite clear. Did you plan to have de Guise after you'd done your duty and married me for peace?"
She flinches at the slur to her character. Sir Francis observes with a burst of understanding that for all her faults, and she has many, that is a step too far.
“-For better or for worse. Whatever happens to you, affects me. I do not promise we'll win. But we'll give it a damned good try. Together. What do I care for de Guise?"
“You do not love him. “
”He has blood on his hands, my Lord.” She says simply, as if that was an end to it.
“The whole country talks of your scandalous love affair with him. How you begged the King and your mother to let you marry him.”
“I don’t deny I slept with him. But it was never him.”
Henri is astounded. Everyone knows about Margot and de Guise. Now she is telling him that she didn’t want him? That there was someone else?
“I don’t understand. You pleaded with your mother to let you marry him. Catherine treated you most brutally until you gave him up-“
“Because he is of noble birth. I would not be shaming my royal blood by a union with him. I know there was no chance of my marrying a commoner, so he was the best option.”
Henri is intrigued. Margot sounds almost wistful. There was someone who was a commoner? Someone she loved and desired but knew from the start it was hopeless. Who could he be? This mysterious rival for her heart? I don’t know this woman he thinks, and she is my wife. What secrets does she keep behind that flawless porcelain mask?
"Why? You are one of them? What do you care about me, when your mother-"
Margot is truly angry. "I'm not my mother, Henri. Haven't you realised that? Things have changed, and we must change with them or get burnt by the flames. I beg you, abjure your religion, if that’s what Charles and Mother want. Turn Catholic, for a time.”
Henri is surprised by her advice. “Abjure my faith? You advise me to do that, Margot? To take on the Papist faith?”
She is deadly serious. “Yes, Henri.”
“You cannot be serious, you don’t understand-“
“If I have ever been serious about anything in my entire life, this is it.”
He’s wary, watching her as if she is going to turn on him. As if he fears Catgherine is setting a terrible trap through her daughter to ensnare him. “ What kind of monarch would I be if I compromised my honour to save my miserable hide? Who would believe my word ever again?”
“One that still lives to fight another day.” She says bluntly.
“You want me to stand in front of my people and lie?”
“Tell them I begged you to do it. I twisted you round my little finger. Seduced you to my will using my body.”
Let them revile me as the Whore of Babylon. They do already. I know what the Huguenots call me, what they whisper in lustful tones as I pass. De Guise’s concubine, the whore of France-”
“Margot, you mustn’t say such things-” Sir Francis can’t help but be appalled by the cynicism in her voice as she talks of their opinion dispassionately. Nate’s words come back to his mind. Does she value herself so little, despite the exalted position she was born to?
“Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it, Lord Walsingham? Monsieur de Condé thinks so. Armangnac was convinced I was nothing more than a Messalina reincarnated. Perhaps having a bad reputation is good for something?”

[tehexile]

Tom waited anxiously by his sister's bedside.

He didn't know anything at all about medicine but he knew she wasn't well. She wouldn't open her eyes, respond to his voice at all and the doctor said she couldn't breathe without the machine she was strapped to. Her face was very pale. He didn't feel well himself. The strange music and then the silence had made him feel sick and his head hurt a lot. The doctor had given him pills for that and told him it would go away. He wanted to use an Alpha level Lifeup technique on himself and his sister – the one he had only recently learned to use, was proud of knowing and loved to use at any opportunity – but the doctor had told him firmly that he mustn't try to use any psychic abilities for at least a week. It was the sort of thing his sister would have said as well. She was always forbidding him to do everything. Sometimes he wondered if she was just trying to ruin his fun, but then sometimes when he didn't obey her, the scary things happened and they had to run away somewhere else.

Tears formed in his eyes. He gave her hand a squeeze. There was no response. There never was.

“Please get better soon, sis.” he told her. He didn't know if she could hear him or not but it wouldn't hurt to try.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” he yelled, “Hi, I'm Tom Garrick... oh. You.” He frowned. It was the photographer man. He didn't dislike the man but he wasn't that exciting. Tom had hoped it would be someone exciting.

“Hello, Tom. How is your sister?” asked Leder.

“No change.” he said. The doctor had said she had suffered massive psychic trauma and was in a coma. She would need to be kept alive until she showed some signs of recovery. Psychic trauma was difficult to treat because nobody was quite sure how psychic powers even worked. Mostly it relied on the patient's strength of will as much as the efforts of the doctor.

“And Mr. Franklin?”

“He's getting better.” The man had mostly just been hurt badly by the force of being thrown against the wall. He had a few broken bones, was bleeding badly and still unconscious. He would heal.

“That's good. He's getting too old for this.” said Leder, “I'm sorry about your sister.”

“Where's your big clay friend?”

“The nurse thinks he is a pet. She will not allow him in the hospital.”

Tom laughed.

“I need to go and do some more business. I will come and visit you again. I will need your help, so please don't go anywhere.”

“I can't leave my sister anyway.”

“I promise I'll help her if I can think of any way to. Dr. Andonuts is looking for a machine he built to heal psychic trauma but first he has to safely dispose of the Absolutely Safe Capsule.”

“My sister said the machine was safe.” he bowed his head, “She can't be wrong. She's never wrong about things like that.”

“There is nothing wrong with the machine. But we think the... the thing that attacked you is following it. We have to move it somewhere else, so that the thing will go away too.”

“What was the thing? The orange glowy man said it was Giygas. Was it really Giygas?”

“I... yes, yes it was.” he sighed.

“But Ness killed Giygas! And Mr. Franklin told me that the taily thing was Giygas too!”

“Did he? Well, I'll be. There seem to be rather a lot of them.” said Leder, “Now, I must go and make sure my Golem has not wandered off and gotten into trouble. Goodbye.”

Before Tom could question him further, the old man walked out. Then the machine that usually went beep made a loud, piercing drone. He jumped and looked around. The wavy green line on the display was now a straight red line and the numbers next to it were all zero.

[otokichi.livejournal.com]

Pari was sitting in his company's camp, warming himself up by the fire while he waited for his comrades to return. The stars were lighting up the sky and the moon glowed ominously overhead, casting an eerie light on the forest that they were camped out in. The trees were thick all around them, and it would take expert trackers to penetrate the forest as deeply as Pari and his comrades had. Critters skulked about on the perimeter, taking one notice of the lone figure at the fire before scurrying off. Pari had waited there for hours, and he would continue to wait, no matter how long it took.

From out of his tunic he drew an old handwritten letter. It had gone yellow with its age, and the writing inside had just begun to fade. It was creased all over, from the constant folding in and folding over it had endured. The fire crackled, giving light to the letter and making it glow a faint orange hue. Pari read the letter over again, scanning the text multiple times, rereading words and phrases he'd already memorized.

[crossandbones.livejournal.com]

He pushed back some still damp hair and tried to keep his balance as it felt like at any moment gravity was going to cave down and crush him. His blood ran cold and his head heavy, dizzy. Fuck. Just... fuck. That was about the only semi-coherent thing Seth could think of. Then, the ground gave way beneath them both. Within seconds the forest disappeared in hot flames and rock. The sky was closed off by smoke and endless coal stalactites. Warmth crisped at is skin and the heavy scent of sulfur doubled him over.

"My, my, my!" A voice spoke up.

That. Voice. That rotten, spoiled, dirty voice. Just hearing it made you feel abused, and violated, and worthless. His eyes rose up along a stretch of rock that led to a throne made of bone. Women and men stripped bare in chains hung about him. They dined upon their wine and served their lowly crowned prince obediently. The body was different. A human vessel but his eyes were sheer black; pitless. His blond hair a wet mess. He looked like a rich business man who'd been just caught with a paid whore. Suiting.

"Belial," Seth spat, disgusted. Crowned prince of Hell, barely below Lucifer himself in rank. In Seth's honest opinion Lucifer was tolerable but Belial was just wretched. He reigned supremacy over all the most base and carnal instincts in creations. There was no, absolutely no chance of salvation for someone like Belial. The upside was that the little filthy prince had no desire for it. He was made to be disgusting, lowly, and worthless, and he loved every last second of his vile existence.

"Oh!" He shifted on that throne of bones. The demon's smile was wicked. "How one hath missed thee, oh it is but true."

Seth just glared

"Wine, my brother?"

[morlockiness.livejournal.com]

Anna decided not to check on most of the cars for driving availability despite the suffering she was experiencing at the rays of a merciless, hot sun. She checked a car every now and then when the heat reigning down on her began to feel unbearable, shirt glued to her back with sweat from the weight and influence of her pack. For the most part she was unlucky, many of the cars containing skeletons and the unique, unforgettable stench of death, blood and H1N1⁴ yellow ooze stains coating the insides of the cars unceremoniously, tattoos marking a victory over the deceased ill encased in the vehicular coffins.

It was nearing three in the afternoon when she found an abandoned, green Toyota Camry, a bike rack skeletal attached on the top. The driver and front passenger doors were wide open. Anna proceeded with some caution, seeing as many of the cars’ doors were at least shut if not locked. She unholstered her Smith and Wesson 9mm Sigma from her belt, a sense of power and discomfort washing over her. The piece was beginning to feel familiar and right in her hands while at the same time it wasn’t a familiarity she wanted to be acquainted with.

For no particular reason, Anna was scared that someone or something dangerous was hiding in that car. She clicked off the safety and moved forward, feeling ridiculous when she darted to the open driver’s side door, gun drawn and pointed in front of her, ready for defense. Her heart was practically trying to crawl up her throat and simultaneously shoot out her chest; her lungs felt tense. When predictably nothing was there, she breathed a nervous, relieved choke of laughter.

Now knowing this particular vehicle was uninhabited, she threw her belongings into the passenger seat, slid into the driver’s seat, and reached over the car’s interior to close the passenger door. This car was sadly lacking in any cassettes for its cassette player aside from The Wizard of Oz soundtrack. She hesitantly tried the radio. She heard static and lots of it, the sound unnerving and creepy as it filled what was previously silence. She fiddled the knob nervously, searching the stations trying to find something if there was anything.

Between the sharp hisses and cracks, there was a voice as she skimmed through the stations, a woman’s voice, low and scared, trembling with tears. It made Anna’s blood run cold and a violent shiver run through her.

“Please. . . -elp. . . They’re every-ere. Help -s. . . Please.” It repeated over and over, as if it were a recording. Exhaling a shaky breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, Anna promptly shut off the radio. She hummed quietly to herself until the woman’s transmission was at the far back of her mind. She tried not to think of it, but Anna was still shaken by the voice on the line and wondered what had happened and where she was. Fed up with the only sound being the whirring blast of the air conditioner, she pushed in The Wizard of Oz cassette and allowed the familiar songs to ease her from her anxious mindset.

The drive to Petaluma didn’t take incredibly long and her stomach leapt in happiness and surprise to see the large group walking down Valley Ford Road. She stopped the car, ran around to the passenger side, whipped her bag out and ran with a happy gait towards them. She spotted Luke and Connie near the center.

“Luke! Connie!” she called to them, still running awkwardly due to the weight of the knapsack on her back. The slowed before stopping and turning, grins forming on their faces as they saw Anna running towards them. Sophie stopped, too, walked around Luke’s front from the left to the right, and bounded towards Anna when she spotted her. Giggling, Anna allowed Sophie to jump up on her in attempts to lick her everywhere. She kneeled down and allowed the dog her kisses, roughing her up at the ears and fluff at her neck affectionately. Luke and Connie backtracked to where Anna was and the red-head stood to greet them.

[strivaria.livejournal.com]

And speak of the devil. "You couldn't knock?" Aina grumped as she reached up for Michi's outstretched hand. she had half a mind to shove her out until she got a good look at the woman's face. "What's wrong?"she asked, the towel now loose in her hands, forgotten in favor her crewmate's distress.

"It's Koleman," she said, her voice quivering, "we can't find him."

Well shit.

--

"Ime, do you know anyone that can pull off the hacking at Koleman's level?" Aina asked as she burst into his tiny apartment, Michi and Eli in tow.

"Why hello there, Captain," Ime, sprawled out on his sofa, glanced up from his dinner with a glare. "I'm doing great, how about you?"

"Cut the shit man," aina growled, "Koleman's gone missing and with the kind of apparently Company sponsored hell that I've had to deal with these last few days, I'm not about to go through official channels to find him."

The smirk dropped from his face as he took in the information. "Seriously?! Oh hell, I hope he didn't piss off a buyer." he dropped the bowl of FOOD FOOD on the table and ran his fingers through his hair.

"So do you have someone in mind or am I going to have to go hunting, and you know how I am at subtle." she threatened.

[joelabrown.livejournal.com]

De Vayre turned away and walked to the door. I followed her. She paused on the threshold, as if about to say something more, then walked out. I turned back to Fett.

"You had better pray that I never see you again."

Fett just moaned.

Outside, de Vayre was waiting for me. When I reached her, she turned to face me. A moment later, I heard ringing in my ears and felt as if someone had put a hot coal to my cheek. She had slapped me.

"What the hell..."

"I had the situation under control."

"You were going to sleep with him."

"That was my decision! Mine! I had made my peace with it and I didn't need you to save me."

"Listen, woman..."

"No. You listen. I have got on fine for all my life without Daniel bloody Therwood to help me. So let me do things my way, you got me?"

I didn't know what to say. She seemed to take my silence as agreement, because she nodded and marched off down the corridor. I stood there for a moment, unable to believe what had just happened. Then, growling, I followed her.

[monkeyprincess7.livejournal.com]

The late afternoon sun beamed down heavily on her, casting long winded shadows to flit past her, almost like those mist creatures she had seen in her dream. But that had been a dream, not reality she knew, so forgot about them, putting those weird creatures in the back of her mind as images of her bloody mother drifted back into the foreground again. A thought busted into her mind; she had to talk to her father, and now. If nothing else he would be able to answer a few of her more demanding questions. If nothing else, give her a sense of calmness. Her whole life had just been shattered again as she held herself together by hugging her body close as if to keep the images away.

Reaching a payphone she put in a few coins and waited for the dial tone. When it began beeping she dialed his number, having memorized it immediately when she realized it would be him who she would work with. After a few rings a groggy voice answered,

“Yeah.”

“Dad, it is Monika. Can I come over for a bit?” She asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but not sure if she succeeded.

The line was silent for a few seconds as he comprehended what she wanted. “Are you sure? What is wrong.” It was not a question but a statement.

Monika frowned, “I do not want to say anything over the phone. I…I just need someone right now.” She stated honestly, a hint of hurt flitting through her mouth.

“Alright; I will unlock the door for you.” He concluded before abruptly hanging up on her.

“Well, thanks a lot.” She murmured into the dead phone as the dial tone resounded around her.

It was time to confront the man who had haunted her dreams for years before she had figured out how to stop him from controlling her.

[see-jack-write.livejournal.com]

"Captain," Jensen started, sounding distinctly uncertain. "I'm not sure we should be making such a long flight with the ship in... questionable condition."

"You worry too much, my friend," Asher replied. "I'm sure with a bit of help from Mr. - Mr. Rooney, wasn't it?"

"Aye."

" - we'll be right as rain. And if not, the northern bit of America is positively studded with fine little ports. Boston, for instance."

"Is that where we're headed?" asked Jensen. Harvey was, understandably, just as curious. When he'd asked for passage to wherever they were headed, it hadn't once crossed his mind that they'd be leaving the damned continent. Not that this troubled him particularly, but it did come as a surprise. Idly, he wondered if Boston was anywhere near New York, where a handful of his more resourceful neighbors had gone off to in search of opportunity. Wouldn't that be something, he thought - to go all the way across the Atlantic and run into people from home.

"Yes," Asher finally said. "Yes, I think so."

"Why Boston?"

"I've a...an acquaintance there," he answered with a fond sort of smile. "One I've not seen in a while now - ah, here we are, just over this ridge."
Harvey'd been so distracted by the conversation at hand that he hadn't even looked ahead of them; now he did, and there it was: a beautiful balloon-craft airship, in all its glory.

"Mother Mary," he murmured appreciatively, stopping atop the hill. Seamus stopped next to him, apparently just as won over.

"Lovely, isn't she?" Asher sounded like a proud parent.

"Sure an' she is," Harvey answered, voice softened with something akin to reverence. It wasn't just that she was nicely constructed; her wooden body a rich ruddy brown, fantastic-looking balloons tethered high above her deck, secured with spiderwebs of rigging, the little bronze rotors that jutted out near the stern; no. It went beyond that. This little boat was going to take him to greater, more exciting things. And that made her beautiful.

[cupcakery.livejournal.com]

The bench is pushed away from the piano, like someone had gotten up in a hurry. Ash slips between it and the piano, trying to ignore the fact that Rafe is watching her every move like a hawk watching a mouse. Predator watching prey.

She presses down on the keys with thumb, index, middle and pinky finger first. The notes themselves are simple - B flat major, immediately above middle C; the chord made up of D, F, A and finishing off the octave with another D. Her hand moves down the keys, the same fingers plucking out similar chords until she reaches the B flat below middle C, accompanied by D, F and the octave-twin B flat. She lets the discordant sound fade before she turns away from the piano, and finds him standing right there.

He’s barely inches away, the piano bench pushed back even more, his mouth so close that his breath mingles with her own, close enough for cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Close enough to kiss. Ash moves the only way she can: backward, momentarily forgetting the piano at her back. She stumbles, the edge of the pedals catching at her ankles, falling onto the piano with a crash of sound, ending up balancing precariously on the keys. The sound fades slowly, the initial crescendo sliding into silence that’s only overtaken by Ash’s blood rushing in her ears.

She bites his bottom lip, but not as hard as she can. She just wants to hurt, not to tear a chunk of flesh out. She tastes blood and feels his mouth curl into a smile under hers before his hands come up on either side of her, palms flattening on the top of the upright piano, pinning her into place.

Ash releases him, her mouth beginning to fill with blood. It sits in the space between her lip and her bottom teeth. She’s about to spit it out, because swallowing blood that isn’t her own from brushing her teeth too hard is just a biohazard waiting to happen, when Rafe kisses her.

This is different from kissing Stephen: Rafe presses harder and it’s all tainted with the taste of blood, but it feels like every kiss before now has been a rehearsal for this one.

Ash spits the blood out, and it splatters on the ivory piano keys, on the floor, and on her foot. There are flecks of it on the white dress she’s in, the one that’s pushed up, caught beneath her body and the piano, and between her body and Rafe. She can feel the fabric of his trousers on her thigh, the piano bench beneath one of her feet for balance.

Bonus points if you can recognize the music! :D

[imaginepageant.livejournal.com]

“Why are there so many?”

“Variety is the spice of life?”

Ultra Ribbed. Ultra Thin. Ultra Lubricated.

Shared Pleasure. Extended Pleasure. Tingling Pleasure.

Rainbow Colors. Tropical Colors. Glow in the Dark Colors.

Honestly. Nobody needs this many choices.

Reid, he’s looking intently at something called Magnums.

“What are those?”

“They’re... larger, than normal.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Do you really think we need those?”

He glares at me as he puts them back on their peg.

I look back to the overwhelming assortment of condoms. It’s like being in an ice cream shop, surrounded by thirty-two flavors, and you have to pick just one. In other words: impossible.

Some of these really need translations. What exactly do they mean by Tingling Pleasure? Are they the pop rocks of condoms? Do they make your vaginal muscles fall asleep? What?

And, even worse, on the shelf below the condoms, dozens of different products are waiting to make my head spin. Vibrating rings. Flavored lubricants. Feminine arousal creams.

...Throat desensitizing spray?

Hold on.

I grab it from the shelf and read the label. “’Comfortably Numb is a flavored desensitizing spray specially formulated to reduce the discomfort associated with... oral sex,’” I whisper. “’The mist contains a mild numbing agent that coats the back of your throat, helping to suppress your gag reflex.’ They’re kidding, right?”

“Why? What’s so weird about that?”

“Okay, first of all, the idea that a woman would shove... it so far down her throat that she’d need desensitizing spray to prevent herself from choking!”

“It’s called deep throating,” Reid says. “It’s very intense for men.”

“Oh, well, as long as the man enjoys it, who cares if the woman chokes to death.”

“What’s the second thing?”

“What?”

“You said, ‘first of all.’”

“Oh. That was it, actually.”

Cringing, I drop the box back onto the shelf and return to the task at hand: condom shopping.

“Well, you’re the expert. What should we get?”

He plucks one of the Ultra Thin variations from a peg. “These would be good to start with. Pretty much your basic condom, but they’re thin, so you can feel more. If you want, down the line, we can try the ones that are ribbed and studded.”

“...Why?”

“They’re designed to give women extra stimulation.”

Hey, as long as they’re designed to keep semen out of me, I’m happy.

Welcome to Hell: trials

[takatohedgehog.livejournal.com]

The smell of fire and brimstone soon reached his nose, wincing as screams of the tortured and damned rose up to meet up from the depths. "And to think this was supposed to be my workplace," he muttered under his breath, scratching the back of his neck as he continued his way down, his hand trailing along the wall. The steps were very narrow, to the point where just the wrong placing of a foot could cause the traveller to slip off the stairs and plummet towards the emptiness below that was shrouded in mist.

Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, the mist above blocked any semblance of sunlight. The torches continued on through a path surrounded by bushes of thorns. The flames seemed to be connected somehow, creating arches of fire overhead. Hades shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans, the other one still holding onto the torch he had taken at the top of the stairs. The path wove through the thorn bushes, covered by the wandering vines. Pausing for a moment, Hades took hold of the scythe strapped to his back, taking hold of it with his free hand and beginning to hack his way through the bushes.

All of a sudden, there was a piercing scream right next to his ear, causing him to drop his torch and weapon and clutch at his head. Hades gritted his teeth, opening one of his eyes from where they had closed and looking around to find the source of the scream.

"Murderer!"

"I...what?" Was that bush...talking to him? Hades had to blink for a moment as a vine wove its way out of the bushes, rising up like a snake and a slit at its tip opened up.

"Murderer."

"Did you just...talk to me." Pulling one of his hands away from his ears in case the scream happened again, Hades blinked, leaning in and poking the vine with his finger, blanching back when it snapped at him. "You did talk!"

"Well yes, haven't you ever heard of the Talking Roses before?" it asked, huffing in a way that made the curves of its body move as though they were shoulders. It glanced at the vines Hades had just slashed his way through and when it looked back at him the teenaged Godling felt like he was dealing with a mother. "You murdered my poor daughter! Heathen!"

"Hey, look, I'm sorry!" Raising his hands in defense, Hades took a step back when a clinking sound was made as his heel hit something. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed his torch. "I didn't know you could speak, let alone feel."

"Humph. Ignorant humans." It turned its 'head', looking away from him. "Never ask before they hack and slash."

"Thing is, I'm not human...or at least I'm not supposed to be." Scratching the back of his neck, Hades gave a sigh that blew his hair away from his face. "That's why I'm here. To regain my immortality and rescue someone precious to me. My name is Hades."

"Hades?" That seemed to make the vine reel back in shock, then it bowed its tip. "A thousand apologies, Sir. Had I known it was you, I would have had my sons and daughters part way for you." Turning its head towards the other bushes, it seemed to give a nod and the vines parted, a couple picking up the vines that had been cut and dragging them away. "My name is Fauna. Please feel free to ask me any questions you have in regards to what lays ahead."

Okaaaaaaaaay...that was a quick about-turn-face. Hades stooped, picking up his scythe and placing it in the belt on his back, then picked up the torch again, turning back towards it. "Um...sure. Okay. Fauna...I'm looking for Charon the Ferryman."

"Charon is just ahead, my Lord," it replied, slithering around his feet as a hissing noise came from its body. "You will need to offer one obolus to pay for passing the river Styx. Just follow my sons and daughters towards the river bank."

"Ah...thank you." Not too sure about the way it addressed him, Hades gave a light shrug to himself. Okay, so he could quite possibly take advantage of having been the future Lord of the Dead. He stepped over its curling body, giving it a tentaitive wave of thanks and goodbye before beginning to walk onwards again.

[elialys.livejournal.com]

Sa lecture finit, Severus glissa à nouveau son regard sur Hermione. Il remarqua immédiatement quelque chose qu’il n’avait pas pu voir avant, sans la lumière même faible de son lumos.

Elle semblait dormir profondément, mais dans son sommeil, les traits de son visage étaient douloureusement contractés, et ses joues étaient baignées de larmes. Toutes les larmes qu’elle n’avait pas pleuré durant cette longue journée, parce qu’elle n’en avait pas la force ou parce qu’elle se l’était refusé, elle coulait à présent dans son sommeil.

Il se retrouva à fixer ses joues, étrangement fasciné. Des larmes, il en a vu un grand nombre au cours de sa vie, en avait même été la cause à de très , très nombreuses reprises. Mais celles-ci étaient différentes. Ce n’était pas des larmes de peur ou de terreur, des larmes de nervosité provoquées par des remarques glaciales et sarcastiques. Elles n’étaient pas des résultantes d’une simple poussée d’émotions. Ces larmes là, elles venaient d’une douleur bien plus profonde, une douleur qu’aucun mot ne pouvait décrire ou expliquer, et que rien d’autre que le temps ne pouvait apaiser. C’était des larmes qui venaient directement du cœur, les larmes de l’âme. Severus connaissait bien ces larmes, finalement.

Car c’était les seuls qu’il s’autorisait à verser.

A cet instant, il eu presque envie de tendre la main vers son visage, vers cette joue humide qui brillait faiblement à la lueur de sa baguette. Il voulait sentir le liquide habituellement tiède sous ses doigts, sachant que ce qu’il sentirait serait froid, refroidit au contact figé de l’air. Et il ne comprenait pas cette pensée. Ne comprenait pas pourquoi glisser ses doigts sur sa joues semblait soudain être un geste qu’il pouvait se permettre, alors qu’il touchait si rarement les gens de façon vraiment volontaire et sincère ; car les gens qu’il touchait le reste du temps finissait blessés ou mort. Cet inattendu désir de connexion, même infime, était surprenant. Mais pas désagréable. C’était tout simplement…nouveau.

Il ne su jamais s’il aurait osé frôler sa joue au final, car sans aucun signe annonciateur, elle rouvrit les yeux.

"End Patient Clinic"

[hunterinadress.livejournal.com]

"Hey," He whispered just before walking away from me. I turned back to him. "I heard about the truth from Dave, about Scott's death? I don't know any way out of the facility yet, but Dave used to know another patient who understood all the security codes and perimeters. Maybe, we'll use it to our advantage but we must hurry, or the Spawn of Satan comes after all of us." Spawn of Satan? What a creative name for my homicidal girlfriend. I'll be sure to tell her that.