[It doesn't matter where Temenos was before now. The shift is complete and consuming: he's on a battlefield, except the combatants are all quite strange.
There's the Fairy Godmother, necrotic, mad, glass shard impaling her chest. Her loyal servants, half-formed or less from furniture and with the ravenous minds of beasts, unthinking, unyielding.
Then there's the losing side. A puppet, arm broken off. Dead. An old man with a great book, a little girl with wolfen ears, both dead. The cat cannot be seen. The frog prince makes a last stand against the fairy godmother.
And then there's Rosamund. Less thorny, less scarred, but still ravaged by briars. Dead. Her eyes fixate on nothing. Her bow has fallen from her grasp. A half-barrel man stomps over her corpse, ignoring the dead to chase the last of the living.
Then suddenly it's gone. They're in a tower, and Rosamund is waking in bed. There's no thorns or scars at all. It's exactly like the tower he'd seen before. She looks around, starting at a voice from the door beyond. She opens it to a emptiness. Just a voice.
"Oh! Oh, my apologies. You're awake."
"Yes, good morning. Who do I have the pleasure of talking to?"
"Sorry."
There's a clinking, then a helmet is removed and the invisibility dispelled, revealing a beautiful woman in glass armor. Older than Rosamund by a few years, armed with a glass shield and polearm, looking relieved to see this young woman.
"Are you Cinderella?"
"I am Cinderella. Are you Sleeping Beauty? Rosamund?"
"Yes."
The woman gives a sigh of relief. "It worked."
"What worked?"
"We managed to catch you before you were completely gone. Or, rather, midway to where you are going."
well. unfortunately, the side of a ravaged rosamund, dead, is a sight that is becoming unfortunately familiar, but certainly not one temenos wanted to see twice. the way that it shifts and changes, though - now that catches his attention, and as the scene fades, rosamund will see that he has his hand resting gently against his heart, expression torn somewhere between quietly concerned and more curious. a woman in glass armor, a death. ]
[She draws in a shaky breath. This one again. Always a pleasure.]
Yes. In a sense.
[Both a friend and not. But most of the "not" was circumstantial.]
She's like me. Except she figured it out before I did. What we all are. [A beat.] It's why she was able to come see me in that sort of...in-between place.
In the in between. [ temenos says, thoughtful - he reaches out, the affection part of the week taking hold easily - to squeeze her shoulder when she exhales, quietly bolstering as ever. ] ... Those are the moments when your story "ends" so to speak, is that correct?
Yes. [She smiles when he reaches for her, cupping the hand that grips her and rubbing her thumb over the knuckles.] I'm...I'm not a real person, so to speak. I forget sometimes who does and doesn't know, but.
[Rosamund shrugs.]
I'm a fairy tale. A story. And I live that story as many times as it is told.
[ ... hearing it in this context really puts it into perspective, and the first thing he says as rosamund takes his hands - enabled by the sweetness of affection week - is, softly: ]
... You hardly seem anything but fully dimensional to me, your highness.
[ it's very genuine, reflected in his emotions briefly, too. ]
[There's a small laugh at that. With it comes a wave of gratitude, warmth and gentle.]
Well. Thank you. [Her head dips down, suddenly bashful.] I don't rightly know how I'm able to be standing here with any of you, but Totty's in a similar position? Though I still don't understand what an anime is, rightly.
[will the wonders of the universe ever unveil themselves to her? Only time will tell.]
Just, um. I suppose there's no point in keeping any part of it secret now. I'm just...here. Waiting for the next story to start.
[ there's a little chuckle and he lowers his voice like they're telling secrets at a sleepover: ] Neither do I.
[ truly what is anime. what is todomatsu's life.
anyway. he returns to normal after that, taking that in. waiting for the next story to start. just like she was in that memory, where she met with her friend, the glass armored knight. temenos is quiet, thoughtful. ]
You know, your highness... I have told many a story in my life. It is part of my duty. [ she may remember his little paper dolls from a few weeks back where he was telling tales to the little kids. ] And I confess, I have never thought of the idea that the story continues when the tale is told. Each time I do a paper play, it starts exactly the same, and ends exactly the same.
But yours.... your stories must build on each other, do they not? Between the stories themselves, and the moments in between. I can't help but wonder how an experience like this - like the one with your knight, too- may have shaped or changed you, too.
[A story that never changes is a notion that feels like a chokehold. Not his intention whatsoever, but her shoulders do hitch some.]
It depends. It's quite complicated and there's a lot I don't understand myself. But the power to change stories has almost always been in the hands of the ones writing them. Not the people in it. Even if we're living, we're bound by...well.
[She waggles her hand.]
I don't know if it all started because one person became aware of what they really were, or if the potential to act on our own has always been there? I knew things had gone wrong in my story, but until Cinderella met with me in the space between I didn't have any idea what I really was. Or how many times I've lived that story.
Which is a lot. [She nods, assertive but grim.] It's been told many times, and it hasn't been until now that I've had any real say in how it goes.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
WEEK 7: MONDAY
There's the Fairy Godmother, necrotic, mad, glass shard impaling her chest. Her loyal servants, half-formed or less from furniture and with the ravenous minds of beasts, unthinking, unyielding.
Then there's the losing side. A puppet, arm broken off. Dead. An old man with a great book, a little girl with wolfen ears, both dead. The cat cannot be seen. The frog prince makes a last stand against the fairy godmother.
And then there's Rosamund. Less thorny, less scarred, but still ravaged by briars. Dead. Her eyes fixate on nothing. Her bow has fallen from her grasp. A half-barrel man stomps over her corpse, ignoring the dead to chase the last of the living.
Then suddenly it's gone. They're in a tower, and Rosamund is waking in bed. There's no thorns or scars at all. It's exactly like the tower he'd seen before. She looks around, starting at a voice from the door beyond. She opens it to a emptiness. Just a voice.
"Oh! Oh, my apologies. You're awake."
"Yes, good morning. Who do I have the pleasure of talking to?"
"Sorry."
There's a clinking, then a helmet is removed and the invisibility dispelled, revealing a beautiful woman in glass armor. Older than Rosamund by a few years, armed with a glass shield and polearm, looking relieved to see this young woman.
"Are you Cinderella?"
"I am Cinderella. Are you Sleeping Beauty? Rosamund?"
"Yes."
The woman gives a sigh of relief. "It worked."
"What worked?"
"We managed to catch you before you were completely gone. Or, rather, midway to where you are going."
"Catch me?"
"Yes. May I come in, if that's all right?"
And the scene fades...]
no subject
oh.
well. unfortunately, the side of a ravaged rosamund, dead, is a sight that is becoming unfortunately familiar, but certainly not one temenos wanted to see twice. the way that it shifts and changes, though - now that catches his attention, and as the scene fades, rosamund will see that he has his hand resting gently against his heart, expression torn somewhere between quietly concerned and more curious. a woman in glass armor, a death. ]
...A friend, your highness?
no subject
Yes. In a sense.
[Both a friend and not. But most of the "not" was circumstantial.]
She's like me. Except she figured it out before I did. What we all are. [A beat.] It's why she was able to come see me in that sort of...in-between place.
no subject
In the in between. [ temenos says, thoughtful - he reaches out, the affection part of the week taking hold easily - to squeeze her shoulder when she exhales, quietly bolstering as ever. ] ... Those are the moments when your story "ends" so to speak, is that correct?
no subject
[Rosamund shrugs.]
I'm a fairy tale. A story. And I live that story as many times as it is told.
no subject
... You hardly seem anything but fully dimensional to me, your highness.
[ it's very genuine, reflected in his emotions briefly, too. ]
no subject
Well. Thank you. [Her head dips down, suddenly bashful.] I don't rightly know how I'm able to be standing here with any of you, but Totty's in a similar position? Though I still don't understand what an anime is, rightly.
[will the wonders of the universe ever unveil themselves to her? Only time will tell.]
Just, um. I suppose there's no point in keeping any part of it secret now. I'm just...here. Waiting for the next story to start.
no subject
[ truly what is anime. what is todomatsu's life.
anyway. he returns to normal after that, taking that in. waiting for the next story to start. just like she was in that memory, where she met with her friend, the glass armored knight. temenos is quiet, thoughtful. ]
You know, your highness... I have told many a story in my life. It is part of my duty. [ she may remember his little paper dolls from a few weeks back where he was telling tales to the little kids. ] And I confess, I have never thought of the idea that the story continues when the tale is told. Each time I do a paper play, it starts exactly the same, and ends exactly the same.
But yours.... your stories must build on each other, do they not? Between the stories themselves, and the moments in between. I can't help but wonder how an experience like this - like the one with your knight, too- may have shaped or changed you, too.
no subject
It depends. It's quite complicated and there's a lot I don't understand myself. But the power to change stories has almost always been in the hands of the ones writing them. Not the people in it. Even if we're living, we're bound by...well.
[She waggles her hand.]
I don't know if it all started because one person became aware of what they really were, or if the potential to act on our own has always been there? I knew things had gone wrong in my story, but until Cinderella met with me in the space between I didn't have any idea what I really was. Or how many times I've lived that story.
Which is a lot. [She nods, assertive but grim.] It's been told many times, and it hasn't been until now that I've had any real say in how it goes.