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708pm · 5 years

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Un largo paseo hasta siempre

Habían crecido siendo vecinos, a orillas de una ciudad, cerca de campos y bosques y huertos, no lejos de un hermoso campanario perteneciente a un colegio para ciegos.

Tenían ya veinte años y no se habían visto por casi uno. Entre ellos hubo siempre una cordialidad juguetona y placentera, pero nunca se hablaron de amor.

Él se llamaba Newt y ella Catherine. Aún temprana la tarde, Newt llamó a la puerta de Catherine. Ésta vino a la puerta. Llevaba en la mano una gorda y reluciente revista que había estado leyendo. Una revista dedicada totalmente a cuestiones de novias. "¡Newt!", exclamó, sorprendida de verlo.

—¿Puedes salir a dar un paseo? —preguntó el muchacho. Era una persona tímida, incluso con Catherine. Ocultaba su timidez hablando como si estuviera ausente, como si sus verdaderos intereses se encontraran lejos de allí... como si fuera un agente secreto que se hubiera detenido en aquel lugar brevemente, mientras cumplía una misión que lo llevaba de un lugar hermoso, lejano y siniestro a otro. este modo de hablar había sido siempre su estilo, incluso en cuestiones que le preocupaban desesperadamente.

—¡Un paseo! —repitió Catherine.

—Un pie delante de otro —contestó Newt—, entre la hojas y por encima de los puentes...

—No tenía la menor idea de que estuvieras en la ciudad —dijo la chica.

—Acabo de llegar.

—Veo que sigues en el ejército —comentó ella.

—Siete meses más por cumplir —dijo Newt, quien era soldado de primera en el cuerpo de artillería. Traía el uniforme arrugado, los zapatos polvosos y necesitaba afeitarse. Estiró la mano, pidiendo la revista.

—Me voy a casar, Newt —dijo ella, pasándole la revista.

—Ya lo sé. Demos un paseo.

—Estoy muy ocupada, Newt. Me caso dentro de una semana.

—Si damos un paseo, te pondrá sonrosada —dijo Newt, pasando las hojas de la revista—. Una novia sonrosada como ésta, o ésta, o ésta —agregó, mostrándole a Catherine una novia sonrosada tras otra.

La chica se sonrojó, pensando en aquellas novias sonrosadas.

—¿Entonces de quién se trata?

—Mamá me escribió. ¿De Pittsburgh, verdad?

—Sí. Te gustará.

—Tal vez.

—Newt, ¿podrás... podrás venir a la boda?

—Eso, lo dudo.

—¿Es corta tu licencia?

—¿Licencia? —dijo, mientras estudiaba un anuncio de dos páginas dedicado a una vajilla de plata—. No estoy de licencia.

—¿Cómo?

—Soy lo que suele llamarse un desertor.

—¡Oh, Newt, no!

—Seguro que sí —afirmó, sin dejar de ver la revista.

—Pero, ¿por qué, Newt?

—Necesitaba saber qué dibujo había elegido para tu vajilla —y se puso a leer en la revista los nombres de los distintos estilos—. ¿Albemarle? ¿Heather? ¿Legend? ¿Rambler Rose? —alzó la vista y dijo sonriendo—. Pienso regalarles, a ti y a tu esposo, una cuchara.

—Newt, Newt... dime la verdad.

—Deseo dar un paseo.

La chica se estrujaba las manos, llena de angustia fraternal.

—Oh, Newt, me estás engañando. En realidad no desertaste.

Newt imitó en voz baja el sonar de una sirena de policía y luego levantó las cejas.

—¿De... de dónde?

—Fort Bragg.

—¿Carolina del Norte?

—Exacto. Cerca de Fayetteville, donde Scarlett O'Hara fue a la escuela.

—¿Cómo llegaste aquí, Newt?

—El muchacho levantó el pulgar, haciendo el gesto de pedir un aventón. "Me tomó dos días", dijo.

—¿Lo sabe tu madre?

—No vine a ver a mi madre.

—¿Pues a quién viniste a ver?

—A ti.

—¿A mí? ¿Por qué a mí?

—Porque te amo. Y ahora, ¿podemos comenzar con nuestro paseo? Un pie delante de otro, entre las hoja y por encima de los puentes...

Paseaban ya, por un bosque cuyo suelo estaba cubierto por hojas cafés. Catherine, enojada, dijo rechinando los dientes y cercana a las lágrimas:

—Newt, esto es una verdadera locura.

—¿Por qué habría de serlo?

—Qué momento tan inoportuno para decirme que me amas. Nunca antes me hablaste así.

Y se detuvo.

—Sigamos andando —dijo él.

—No. Hasta aquí y ni un paso más. No debí salir contigo.

—Pero lo hiciste.

—Por alejarte de la casa. Si hubiera pasado alguien y te hubiera escuchado hablar como lo estabas haciendo, y a una semana de la boda...

—¿Qué habría pensado?

—Que estabas loco.

—¿Por qué?

Respirando profundamente, Catherine se lanzó a un largo discurso:

—Déjame decirte que me honra mucho la locura que has cometido. No creo que haya desertado, aunque tal vez lo hiciste. No puedo creer que en verdad me ames, aunque tal vez así sea. Pero...

—Te amo —dijo Newt.

—Bien, pues me siento muy honrada por ello y te aprecio mucho como amigo, Newt, muchísimo... Pero es demasiado tarde —y se apartó un paso del chico—. Nunca intentaste siquiera besarme —agregó, protegiéndose con las manos—. No quiero decir que lo hagas ahora, sino que todo resulta demasiado inesperado. No tengo la menos idea de cómo responderte.

—Pues camina un poco más. Goza el momento.

Comenzaron a caminar de nuevo.

—¿Esperabas que me lanzara en tus brazos?

—Quizás.

—Siento haberte decepcionado.

—No estoy decepcionado. No contaba con ello. Pero eso, simplemente caminar, es muy agradable.

Catherine volvió a detenerse:

—¿Sabes qué va a ocurrir en este momento?

—No.

—Pues que nos estrechemos la mano. Nos estrechamos la mano y nos separamos como amigos. Eso es lo que va a ocurrir en este momento.

Newt asintió con la cabeza:

—Muy bien. Recuérdame de vez en cuando. Recuerda cuánto te amaba.

—Sin poderlo remediar, Catherine rompió a llorar. Volviéndose de espaldas a Newt, se puso a mirar la infinita columnata del bosque.

—¿Qué quiere decir esto? —preguntó Newt.

—¡Que estoy enojada! —contestó Catherine. Y apretando los puños, agregó—. No tienes ningún derecho...

—Necesitaba saberlo...

—Si te amara, te lo habría hecho saber antes.

—¿Lo habrías hecho?

—Sí —y volviéndose hacia él, lo miró, el rostro completamente enrojecido—. Lo habrías sabido.

—¿Cómo?

—Lo habrías visto. Las mujeres no somos muy duchas en ocultar eso.

Newt se puso en ese momento a observar de cerca el rostro de Catherine. Para consternación de la chica, lo que había dicho era cierto: una mujer no sabe cómo ocultar su amor.

Y Newt estaba viendo en ese momento amor.

Y entonces hizo lo que tenía que hacer. La besó.

—¡Qué difícil es entenderse contigo! —exclamó Catherine cuando Newt la soltó.

—¿Conmigo?

—No debiste hacerlo.

—¿No te gustó?

—¿Qué esperabas?

—Ya te lo dije, nunca sé qué va a pasar a continuación.

—Yo sí. Que nos vamos a decir adiós.

—Muy bien —dijo Newt, frunciendo el ceño ligeramente.

Catherine lanzó otro discurcito:

—No lamento que nos hayamos besado. Fue grato. Debimos hacerlo antes, ya que fuimos tan amigos. Siempre te recordaré, Newt. Buena suerte.

—También para ti.

—Gracias, Newt.

—Treinta días.

—¿Treinta días qué?

—Treinta días de encierro. Eso es lo que va a costarme un beso.

—Yo... lo siento. Pero no te pedí que desertaras.

—Ya lo sé.

—Desde luego, no te merece ninguna medalla de héroe por haber hecho algo tan tonto como lo que hiciste.

—Ha de ser agradable sentirse héroe. ¿Es Henry Stewart Chasens un héroe?

—Podría serlo, si llegara el caso —dijo Catherine, notando con inquietud que habían comenzado a pasear nuevamente. El adiós quedaba atrás.

—¿Lo amas de verdad? —preguntó Newt.

—¡Claro que lo amo! —contestó violentamente—. ¡No me casaría con él si no lo amara!

—¿Y qué tiene de bueno el chico?

—¡Pues vaya! —exclamó Catherine, deteniéndose—. ¿Te das cuenta de cuán ofensivo es lo que preguntas? ¿Henry tiene muchas, muchas, muchas cosas buenas! Sí. Y tal vez muchas, muchas, muchas cosas malas también. Pero nada de esto te concierne. ¡Amo a Henry y no tengo por qué discutir contigo sus méritos!

—Perdón.

—¡Pues vaya! —dijo Catherine.

Newt la besó otra vez. Y la besó porque ella lo deseaba.

Se encontraban en una huerta extensa.

—¿Cómo es que nos alejamos tanto de casa, Newt?

—Un pie delante del otro, entre las hojas y por encima de los puentes...

—Se van sumando... los pasos.

En la torre de la cercana escuela para ciegos sonaron campanas.

—La escuela para ciegos —dijo Newt.

—La escuela para ciegos —dijo Catherine, que sacudía la cabeza llena de aletargada perplejidad—. Es hora de regresar.

—Dime adiós.

—Cada vez que lo hago —comentó Catherine— recibo un beso.

Newt se sentó sobre el bien cortado pasto, bajo un manzano.

#kurt vonnegut #cuentos #amor #vida #godvibes #frases #citas de la vida #un largo paseo hasta siempre

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ember-rose-gilheed · 5 years

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Echoes of Possible Futures (4th revision)

A woman walked down a tree lined path, the wind blew ruffling the long blue hair off the shoulders, and the hem of her long white dress brushed the ground as her bare feet navigated around gnarled tree roots. As she walked the path to the clearing at the end a symphony of bird song filled the air, she supposed she was a maestro of sorts, having hung countless birdhouses and feeders in these woods. She came to the clearing where which three markers lay. The air was heavy with the perfume of Flame Anisacanthus, Bird of Paradise, Firebush, and Yellow Trumpetbush flowers. Flowers she had planted to attract humming birds

The first visible marker in the center of this field made of polished fire opal, standing six feet high it caught the setting sun and seemed to blaze like a pillar of flame with the dying light of the day. It stood high in this garden of stones. All these obelisks each carved from different stones were highly polished, the crafts of loving and artistic hands. She walked past the rows and as she did, she spoke the names of friends and family that had passed.

“Pyarhh G. Pendragon, Nagase Gilheed, Arturia Pendragon, Mordred Pendragon”.

The last name felt bitter on her tongue, she never understood Ember’s dedication to finding Mordred’s body. To dig it forth from the centuries of waste and sewage that her body was thrown unceremoniously into, a traitor’s burial. Nymph watched as months of hard work ticked by slowly and painstakingly. She had asked Ember once, why she did this. Why she forgave the step sister that had stolen everything from her.

And Nymph remembered Ember pausing and staring into the sky before turning to her and speaking. ‘She is my sister, and the role that Ka dealt me and her was never fair. Mordred wasn’t evil, it wasn’t her intention to cause evil. Mordred was a locomotive that couldn’t change course once it was set in motion. And forgiveness is not always about if a person deserves it or not. It is an act of compassion, and she was my sister and I loved her, besides the road I travelled led me to you’ That warm feeling of Ember’s hand through her blue hair, the one that always made her feel like a child was Ember’s closing say.

There was too many friends she thought, too many stones instead of those warm faces. Too many voices that were silent now. She traced the letters on the stone with the tip of her finger. When was the last time she had mussed her hair? Could she even remember? As she sat in front of the fiery pillar she placed down her rough woven bag and kneeled on to the soft carpet of emerald grass. Dried leaves crinkled under her knees as she knelt and pulled at the weeds.

“I’m sorry, I know it is not an excuse but I haven’t got a change to come up here in a couple weeks. Let me take care of this first. Then we can have our tea” a somewhat sad smile crossed her face

Nymph worked hard, her fingers digging into the rich black earth and pulling the roots free. It took several minutes, taking the time to pull the fallen leaves away from the marker and disposing of them several yards away. A small laugh was stifled, at one time she thought grass clippings and tea were the same. Thankful Carlos had corrected her. She turned and looked at the area and was satisfied with her up keeping. She then sat and started to open the contents of her bag. With the items spread out before her she reached for the bowl that stood before the marker, turned it upside and shook out the dirt before cleaning it with a blue cloth.

“The market had them on special, I thought the store owner was going to kick me out since I was spending so much time on picking out a pint” She laughed quietly

She removed the clear cellophane that held the blueberries in the green container and poured them into the weathered bowl and placed them in front of the marker. She set two tea cups, a bowl and a small kettle on the ground. She filled the kettle from a water skin that looked like a fat bloated sausage around her waist. When she removed the skin to draw water, she rubbed at her neck where the skin’s strap had rubbed up against her skin and irritated it. Her hand stopped briefly as she was expecting to feel something else instead of her sooth pink neck.

It was always a surprise to her to feel the warm skin of her neck and not the cold metal of the control collar she wore since her creation. It was been almost forty years since her change and it still always surprised her. Maybe it always will she thought. She dropped spoonsful of matcha into the chawan, and with a wave of her hand flames danced around the middle of the black kettle; it was metal, square and engraved with symbols. After a few moments’ time small silvery tendrils of steam curled up from the spout.

“I had a good harvest this year, lots of good leaves on each plant.”

Nymph passion or rightful should be called obsession, was the growing of tea. She wanted to make the perfect matcha. When she learned that Carlos had used his powers to help a struggling crop during her first year of planting, she burned it to the ground. She didn’t want or need help; this was her work, her duty. There was a tremendous amount of feeling of Zen, this was something to give honor and remembrance. Nymph did every step by hand, taking hours to slowly remove veins from the prepared leaves and ground them into powder with a small hand cranked granite mill.

“I didn’t forget the honey this time, I’m sorry I forget before”

She placed a few drops of the steaming water in the chawan and whisked it with the bamboo chasen. Once she was satisfied with the constancy, she added the rest of the hot water and whisked the bowl again until the green tea was frothy and light. She added a few drops of honey to one cup and poured the tea from the bowl and into the cups. She took one wagashi from a box and ate it, relished the sweetness of the confection. Every time she ate something sweet she thought of candy apples.

Nymph could not bear to eat them again even though they were her favorite. The hard shell of the ruby red sugar, the crispy juicy apple underneath, and the melding of the flavors of each bite, it was heaven. She smiled with the thought of her first one, and how she started at unsure while Ember handed it to her. Her smile waned a little and she drank the tea without the honey.

“Carlos was acting funny after our last mission, I’m not sure why. It wasn’t anything big, just two ghouls slumming in an old home. We had no problem taking them since we were all there anyway looking for signs of Hecate’s return, not that we found any”

She was worried about him, only Ikaros seemed to be talking to him after that mission. It not a surprise though, they were together now. They tried to hide it from the rest of the Tet but everyone knew that were a couple. She shook her head, her constant nightmares of Hecate during the past month had made sleeping difficult. She used to hate the idea of sleep, having to wait and sit there while people slept, it was boring. Things changed though. She always wanted to sleep, always wanted to dream. She wanted to sleep next to her master, embrace her tight and hear that heartbeat. She finished her tea.

After the death of Nagase, she stayed with her master every night. Her master cried bitterly each night for months, Nymph would wrap her arms around her until the shaking sobs finally lessened and she drifted off to sleep. She wished that she could follow her into her dreams. But back then she could not sleep, could not dream. She knew when her master was fast asleep by the sounds of her heartbeat. And of course, she grew bored and left for a while and returned a few moments before her master awoke, but she wanted to sleep next her, really sleep not just pretend.

Nymph knew that Ember only showed this side to her, the broken side. Even after Hana replaced Nagase both in Ember’s heart and as the Guardian of water. Not even to her true daughters Catherine, Pyrahh or Jessica. In front of the Tet she kept her sorrow and grief in check. It made her feel special, that Ember trusted her in moments of weakness.

“The guy at the coffee place kissed me yesterday. It was my first kiss well my first real kiss. “I was talking with him and leaned over and kissed my cheek.” As she spoke her faced crimsoned a shade of red to almost match the color of the apples she loved so much

Nymph knew that he would catch on no matter how she tried to hide it; she didn’t even drink the coffee she ordered. Cups of undrunk coffee filled the small table before her as she stared at brown haired man, with the shaggy goatee and a soft smile. His aura felt warm and soft, it reminded her of Astraea strangely enough. She missed her goofy not too bright sister, but at the end she didn’t leave her masters side, and refused to give up and died fighting.

“I don’t know about dating him, I know a lot more about the human world, but I am afraid of dragging him into our world Ember. I can’t protect him and if something were to happen to him because of me” she stopped at looked at the stone.

The name carved upon was ‘Ember Gilheed Pendragon’. Although she supposed her true name should have be carved on it. The only one thing Ember’s mother gave her. Only Mordred called her Gwendolyn, the only one that Ember had allowed she supposed. She would always be Ember to her, the one person, that had saved her life and in a strange way even had given her life, a life of purpose, a chance of redemption and atonement. The one person that looked at her and knew she was worth something, that she wasn’t garbage or useless. The one, that while she lay dying in her arms with those the deep purple amethyst eyes that were strangely calm staring up at her. The one that used the last of her strength to smile and tell her ‘I love you, my daughter’. The one that before dying bestowed her elemental power to her adopted daughter. Ember, the one that changed her from an angeloid to a Guardian.

She had dragged her from that battlefield, where the screams of rage from Hana and the other drowned out the noises of the war itself. Back to Quiet Earth, back to the garden in back of the manor. Away from the acrid smoke, away from the screams and explosions. Away to the sweet breeze and the gentle sun. Nymph listened to Ember’s ragged breathing and as Nymph rested Ember’s head on her lap, she could feel what ever blood wasn’t chocking her lungs was soaking into her white dress. She brushed Ember’s hair, cleaning it of the leaves that had tangled in those red locks when she dragged her back home.

Nymph held her until the brilliant lights of her eyes had faded. She felt the once powerful heart, which Nymph once compared to the stars, a furnace, or a nuclear explosion finally quiet and stop. She held her former master as she drowned her face in tears that managed to wash away the blood, muck and mire and reveal the delicate freckles that adorned her nose. Ember Gilheed, the red headed banshee that leaped into each and every battle with a scream and guns blazing and a half crazed smile.

Ember, who slept below her now, under this blanket of emerald green grass and a bed of black earth where the air was filled with smell of flowers and a concert of bird song. Ember slept next to her fallen Tet, her mother and sister. She turned to the markers of Astraea and Nagase lying to her right and left. Nymph smiled a bitter smile, as she lay with her back to Ember’s marker, her wings unfurling from her back and seemly hugging the stone. Nymph watched as the sun dipped low and twilight grew into night.

The birds quieted and all that was heard was the gentle wind that frolicked in the trees. This was always the hard part, leaving. She wanted nothing more to dig thorough the earth and awaken her three friends, because they couldn’t be dead. Nagase the white haired thief, the prankster couldn’t be gone. Astraea, the blonde bumbling angeloid, who was serious while locked in combat and sugary sweet the rest of the time, she really couldn’t be gone, could she? Ember, with a cup of tea or a gun in her hand, fierce and loving couldn’t have passed.

Pyrahh, the brash and sometimes crazed wolf girl twin couldn’t have been taken by death right? And why should they be gone. She could grab that relic locked in the vault. That terrible wish giving cursed thing that had been overflowing with blood and sorrow. Bring them all back, all their soft and warm embraces. All the laughs all the fights., everything that was lost could be found again. The price that Ember paid was high. The ghosts of her mother and sister set free. All the spirits they had set free to rejoin the great circle. And to undo all that Ember had fought and bled for would be the greatest sin. For to use it once would set it free upon the worlds. The day had ended and the night starry sky filled with the lights of fireflies, but strangely their lights were purple.

“Purple? I never saw purple fireflies”

Nymph spoke and watched in wonder as the danced in the air. A delicate dance that appeared to be choreographed, she looked upon them with joy. She rose to her feet and closed her eyes; she lifted her hands and danced with them. She felt them as they lightly kissed her skin when they bumped into her. She laughed with her child like laughter and for a moment felt the burden of her responsibilities lift off her shoulders.

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micahllucas · 5 years

Audio

A playlist I created for Catherine Chasen, my protagonist for Moment and Choices. I’ll most likely continue adding to this later on but this is what I have so far.

#moment #catherine chasen #playlist #choices

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micahllucas · 7 years

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Moment moodboards for Catherine, Bennett, and Dave.

#wattpad #catherine chasen #Dave Dubois #moment #moodboard #aesthetic #bennett pasternak

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micahllucas · 7 years

Photo

Catherine Chasen

#catherine chasen #moment #wattpad

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micahllucas · 7 years

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*SPOILERS AHEAD*

Catherine Anne Chasen

Born October 28, 1975 St. Louis, Missouri United States of America

Gender Female

Hair color Brown

Eye color Brown

Race White

Height 5′0″

Family Eddie Chasen (father) † Beckett Chasen (paternal half-brother) Elizabeth Chasen (paternal grandmother) † Joe Chasen (paternal uncle) Walter Chasen (paternal uncle) Audrey Chasen (paternal cousin) Michael Chasen (paternal cousin) Milo Chasen (paternal cousin) Dylan Pasternak (son)

Significant Others Bennett Pasternak (boyfriend)

Appearances Moment Choices

Catherine Anne Chasen (born October 28, 1975) is a teenager who resides in Sandwich, Massachusetts with her uncle Joe. She was born in St. Louis, Missouri, to an unknown mother and her father Eddie Chasen. Following the death of her father in 1980, she was sent to live with her grandmother Elizabeth Chasen in Burlington, Iowa. Her grandmother passed away in 1993, resulting in Catherine being relocated to Massachusetts in order to live with her uncle.

#catherine chasen #moment #biography #character biography #wattpad

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micahllucas · 7 years

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Characters From Moment

Catherine Chasen (top left)

Bennett Pasternak (top right)

Dave Dubois (bottom left)

Violet Renee Taylor (bottom right)

#catherine chasen #dave dubois #violet renee taylor #moment #characters #wattpad #bennett pasternak

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708pm · 5 years

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—Siéntate —dijo.

—No.

—No te tocaré.

—No te creo.

Catherine se sentó bajo otro árbol, a unos seis metros del chico. Cerró los ojos.

—Sueña con Henry Stewart Chasens —dijo Newt.

—¿Cómo?

—Que sueñes con tu admirable casi esposo.

—Muy bien, así lo haré —contestó ella—. Y cerrando los párpados apretadamente, tuvo vislumbres de su casi esposo.

Newt bostezó.

Las abejas zumbaban entre los árboles y Catherine estuvo a punto de dormirse. Al abrir los ojos, vio que Newt se había dormido en serio.

Comenzó a roncar suavemente.

Lo dejó dormir por una hora. Y mientras él dormía, lo estuvo adorando con todo el corazón.

Las sombras de los manzanos se alargaron hacia el este. En la torre de la escuela para ciegos las campanas volvieron a sonar.

—Ali-ali-ali —cantó un aliolín.

En algún sitio, allá lejos, el arranque de un automóvil se puso en marcha y falló, lo intentó de nuevo y volvió a fallar y luego otra vez.

Catherine abandonó su árbol y se hincó junto a Newt.

—Newt.

—¿Hummmm? —dijo él, abriendo lo ojos.

—Es tarde.

—Hola, Catherine.

—Hola, Newt.

—Te amo.

—Lo sé.

—Demasiado tarde.

—Demasiado tarde —confirmó ella.

Poniéndose de pie, Newt se estiró haciendo suaves ruidos.

—Un agradable paseo —dijo.

—Así lo creo.

—¿Es aquí donde nos separamos?

—¿Adónde vas a ir?

—Pediré un aventó hasta el pueblo y me entregaré.

—Buena suerte.

—También para ti. Cásate conmigo, Catherine.

—No.

Sonriendo, la miró fijamente por un momento. Y después se alejó, caminando con rapidez.

Catherine estuvo observando cómo se iba empequeñeciendo en aquella larga perspectiva de sombras y árboles, sabiendo que si en aquel momento se detuviera y la llamara, correría hacia él. No tendría alternativa.

Newt se detuvo. Se volvió. La llamó. "Catherine", dijo.

Y ella corrió hasta él y lo rodeo con sus brazos, sin poder hablar.

#kurt vonnegut #Un largo paseo hasta siempre #godvibes #vida #citas de la vida

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ember-rose-gilheed · 5 years

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Echoes of Possible Futures (3rd revision)

“Pyarhh G. Pendragon, Nagase Gilheed, Arturia Pendragon, Mordred Pendragon”.

And then was Ember’s mother. Arturia seemed to be cold and distant at times Nymph felt that Arturia was someone that was too guarded with her emotions, that her somehow any expression of them would be a disservice to her subjects. Ember had practically worshipped her mother, Arturia was Ember’s hero and idol long before she ever learned of her lineage. Nymph believed that Ember had surpassed her mother, while she was only a Dinh and not a king, it didn’t matter. In her eyes, maybe because she still had the eyes of a child when it came to her, Ember was close to a goddess. For Dinh means more parent than leader and isn’t mother another word for god to a child

“The market had them on special, I thought the store owner was going to kick me out since I was spending so much time on picking out a pint” She laughed quietly

“I had a good harvest this year, lots of good leaves on each plant.”

“I didn’t forget the honey this time, I’m sorry I forget before”

“The guy at the coffee place kissed me yesterday. It was my first kiss well my first real kiss. He jumped over the counter and took me in his arms and kissed me.” As she spoke her faced crimsoned a shade of red to almost match the color of the apples she loved so much

Nymph knew that he would catch on no matter how she tried to hide it; she didn’t even drink the coffee she ordered. Cups of undrunk coffee filled the small table before her as she stared at brown haired man, with the shaggy goatee and a soft smile. His embraced felt warm and soft, it reminded her of Astraea strangely enough. She missed her goofy not too bright sister, but at the end she didn’t leave her masters side, and refused to give up and died fighting.

The name carved upon was ‘Ember Gilheed Pendragon’, her master, her Dinh. The one person, that had saved her life and in a strange way even had given her life, a life of purpose, a chance of redemption and atonement. The one person that looked at her and knew she was worth something, that she wasn’t garbage or useless. The one, that while she lay dying in her arms with those the deep purple amethyst eyes that were strangely calm staring up at her. The one that used the last of her strength to smile and tell her ‘I love you, my daughter’. The one that before dying bestowed her elemental power to her adopted daughter. Ember, the one that changed her from an angeloid to a Guardian.

Nymph held her until the brilliant lights of her eyes had faded. She felt the once powerful heart, which Nymph once compared to the stars, a furnace, a nuclear explosion finally quiet and stop. She held her former master as she drowned her face in tears that managed to wash away the blood, muck and mire and reveal the delicate freckles that adorned her nose. Ember Gilheed, the red headed banshee that leaped into each and every battle with a scream and guns blazing and a half crazed smile.

“Purple? I never saw purple fireflies”

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ember-rose-gilheed · 5 years

Text

Echoes of Possible Futures (2nd revision)

“Pyarhh G. Pendragon, Nagase Gilheed, Arturia Pendragon, Mordred Pendragon”.

“The market had them on special, I thought the store owner was going to kick me out since I was spending so much time on picking out a pint” She laughed quietly

“I had a good harvest this year, lots of good leaves on each plant.”

“I didn’t forget the honey this time, I’m sorry I forget before”

Nymph knew that he would catch on no matter how she tried to hide it; she didn’t even drink the coffee she ordered. Cups of undrunk coffee filled the small table before her as she stared at brown haired man, with the shaggy goatee and a soft smile. His embraced felt warm and soft, it reminded her of Astraea strangely enough. She missed her goofy not too bright sister, but at the end she didn’t leave her masters side, and refused to give up and died fighting.

Nymph held her until the brilliant lights of her eyes had faded. She felt the once powerful heart, which Nymph once compared to the stars, a furnace, a nuclear explosion finally quiet and stop. She held her former master as she drowned her face in tears that managed to wash away the blood, muck and mire and reveal the delicate freckles that adorned her nose. Ember Gilheed Pendragon. The lost child of Camelot, the red headed banshee that leaped into each and every battle with a scream and guns blazing and a half crazed smile.

Pyrahh, the brash and sometimes crazed wolf girl twin couldn’t have been taken by death right? And why should they be gone. She could grab that relic locked in the vault. That terrible wish giving cursed thing that had been overflowing with blood and sorrow. Bring them all back, all their soft and warm embraces. All the laughs all the fights., everything that was lost could be found again. The price that Ember paid was high. The ghosts of her mother and sister set free. All the spirits they had set free to rejoin the great circle. And to undo all that Ember had fought and bled for would be the greatest sin. For to use it once would set it free upon the worlds. The stars twinkled in the curtain of night and the dark forest was filled with the lights of fireflies, but strangely their lights were purple.

“Purple? I never saw purple fireflies”

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