smith_and_jones:magenta_writes_to_herself
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smith_and_jones:magenta_writes_to_herself [2007/12/17 17:59] dm Every time I start writing the child complains |
smith_and_jones:magenta_writes_to_herself [2011/05/22 07:28] (current) |
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| The words mean little to her, but the very act of putting pen to paper calls forth deeper emotions and memories, and slowly, as she writes, they wash over her. | The words mean little to her, but the very act of putting pen to paper calls forth deeper emotions and memories, and slowly, as she writes, they wash over her. | ||
| - | **ring a ring of roses, pocket full of posies, ladybird, ladybird, fly away fly away. | + | **ring a ring of roses, pocket full of posies, ladybird, ladybird, fly away fly away.\\ |
| + | Your house is on fire.\\ | ||
| + | Ah-Choo! Ah-Choo!\\ | ||
| + | All fall down.** | ||
| - | Your house is on fire. | + | **<del>She is coming home without the boys.</del>** |
| - | Ah-Choo! Ah-Choo! | + | **<del>Home to the wolves.</del>** |
| - | All fall down. | + | **<del>Now is the hour of our discontent</del>** |
| - | <del>She is coming home without the boys.</del> | + | **<del>will the governess relent</del>** |
| - | + | ||
| - | <del>Home to the wolves.</del> | + | |
| - | + | ||
| - | <del>Now is the hour of our discontent</del> | + | |
| - | + | ||
| - | <del>will the governess relent</del> | + | |
| - | + | ||
| - | <del>Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,</del> | + | |
| + | **<del>Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,</del>\\ | ||
| <del>can she come out to play?</del>** | <del>can she come out to play?</del>** | ||
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| "Yes, child. You are going to die."** | "Yes, child. You are going to die."** | ||
| - | Sure she is. It was the only present she got for her forty-second birthday. Beautiful [[Kriemhild]]. She had such an abundant, generous look to her. The more she took, the more it looked like she is giving away. Even when she was draining the last drops of your blood. Or your soul. | + | Sure she is. It was the only present she got for her forty-second birthday. Beautiful [[Kriemhild]]. She had such an abundant, generous look to her. She always looked like she was giving you something, even - especially - when she was taking something away. Even when she was draining the last drops of your blood. Or your soul. |
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| + | **"The Nymph must die for the Imago to emerge. The serpent in the egg. He will help you. Do you like butterflies, Hope?"** | ||
| + | |||
| + | Emerging. Reforming. In the emptiness beyond lost dreams. | ||
| + | |||
| + | **The voice of fairy did not wait for an answer. Who doesn't like butterflies?** | ||
| - | **"But death is not so terrible, and it will certainly not stop you."** | + | **"You will find that killing is harder than dying... But I will give you a gift, and as my gifts go, this one too will be more than it seems. If you give me Hope, I will give you a surprise, and together we shall rise."** |
smith_and_jones/magenta_writes_to_herself.1197907189.txt.gz · Last modified: 2011/05/22 07:29 (external edit)
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