#sonya - barren flower :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gilibird · 5 years

Text

i can kinda write??

listen- idk what im doing. i wrote this fic in 2017 and posted it like 5 times without ever finishing it so i’m FINALLY COMMITING HERE IT IS

Sonya was alone. Like always. Walking down the cobble street on a chilly night. Everything was such a mess. Everything. It all started with Nikolai. She thought she had loved him. She thought. Dolokhov always had an interest in her, but she would just push him away.

"That fucking idiot.." Sonya muttered under her shaky breath. She didn't know where she was headed, anywhere from here. A flower was gripped tightly in her hand that she held very close to her body. A bright red rose, a common tradition in her family, stemming from the tales of her ancestors. Its petals used to shine like the moon, but it was now dull and lifeless.

The girl pressed the flower close to her. Why did everything have to go so wrong? Sonya sat down on a wet bench nearby, and cried. Cried for what seemed like an eternity. Until tears just couldn't come. No one was here, no one could see her. At least she thought.

"Excuse me?" A hushed voice called from the darkness. Sonya jumped back and held the flower even closer than before.

"Who's there?" Sonya called back, terrified. “I-I have a knife.” This was a lie. Marya had always been against violence, but Sonya truly didn’t know what else to do.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you" a face came into view. A girl, fairly tall, wearing a small black and white dress. A large necklace with a cross was draped around her neck. She was beautiful.

"Oh, uh, hello" Sonya mumbled as she looked away, hiding her blushing face. Her heart pounded in her chest and she didn’t know why. Sonya’s shaky hand gestured for the girl to sit down on the bench, and so she did.

"I guess I should introduce myself. My names Mary Bolkonsky. I was walking home and happened to notice you. I'm sorry if this seem creepy or something.. I really don’t mean to bother you.” The girl’s voice was quiet but determined. Bolkonsky. Sonya had definitely heard that name before, probably from Nikolai or Dolokhov.

However Sonya stayed quiet. Who was this stranger? She couldn't trust just anyone. She had learned her lesson before. Mary stayed quiet too. However, somewhere deep inside of Sonya she was connecting to this stranger. She wanted to keep talking to her. Her mind told her to stop, that it was too dangerous, but her heart told her to go.

Sonya wrapped her arms around Mary in a tight hug. Mary was obviously confused, but she didn’t pull away. Mary’s face turned as red as the flower Sonya had now dropped onto the wet, barren pavement. The freezing wind whirred past them, shaking nearby bushes and rustling the leaves.

It was like the world had stopped spinning. That every single person on the entire planet just stopped in that moment. All that mattered was the two girls, alone in the middle of the night. When they finally pulled away, they were quiet.

“I-I have to go.” Mary stuttered, and ran into the distant fog of the night.

#sorry i half assed the end #its gay #is the comet fandom dead?#yeah #natasha pierre and the great comet of 1812 #musicals #broadway #sonya rostova #mary bolkonskaya #fanfic

1 note · View note

opaloremerald · 5 years

Text

Chapter Seven

You never realize how big someone else if until you realize how small you are. As I was frozen in front of the crazy man with the long red hair, Marx pulled me into his chest. I smelled the stables on his shirt and felt his taut muscles underneath the fabric. I blushed.

“She’s telling the truth, sir,” he answered, “Her friends and I know French, but she’s still learning English,” then turned to me and said in perfect French, “Vous êtes OK, Emilie?”

My eyes widened and he smirked at me, but Marx turned back to the man with a stern expression, “Now would you step away and stop harassing her? We have something to get back to, good day.”

Marx walked away from the man, dragging me along with him, and the spell the man had seemed to put on me broke, letting everyone else move. Sonya and Adrianne fell forward onto the sidewalk and I twisted back to wave at them. After I had alerted them to my departure, I turned back and clenched my teeth, trying to keep my blush at bay.

“Thank you for helping me,” I squeezed my arms around my middle and looked down at my feet, trying to shrink out of existence. Marx smirked again, probably at my shyness.

“It was nothing,” he hooked his fingers through his belt loops, “I could see that man scared you,” he turned to me, “what was he talking about?”

I self-consciously touched the markings on my face, then the emerald at my neck. The triangles had just shown up that morning and I had called my meré to ask what they were. She said that, when an anima uses such a strong charm, a marking to show what species of anima they were showed through the spell. Since my family is of a cat species, I had whisker markings. Meré said that my brother, Pierre—who I hadn’t seen in years— has stripes on his arms and that she has to trim her nails hourly because they grow like claws.

“It’s a personal thing; humans are drawn to the odd and not normal and that describes me to a tee,” I explained, “my family gets people like that all the time. I just can’t tell you why.”

Marx’s smirk faded and a serious look came over his face. He looked down and preceded to kick rocks on the sidewalk with his work boots, then looked at her with his deep navy eyes, “I hope you can tell me someday.”

My gaze shot back down to my face and I could feel my face growing hot, and Marx kept speaking, “I have a personal thing like that. If you don’t mind, I’d like to tell you.”

I shot a look at him, my face still beet red and he took that as a yes, “My family isn’t homo-sapien in species. We are what are called homo-draconic—dragons.”

My eyes widened at Marx as he kept going, “I’m a young dragon, so I haven’t reached my wing-point—that means the day I get my wings and can turn into my dragon form freely. My ma says it’ll happen soon, but it’s a random point in a dragon’s life. I can breathe fire and all, and I have a horde of gems, and I have these markings,” Marx took off his ball cap to show his mussed black-greenish-grey hair and gestured to the markings that I had noticed when I had cast the transanima spell, “They’re on my arms and I cover them up with small concealment charms, but that’s beside the point. I’m a dragon, and I told you that. Why did I tell you that?” he said the last part more to himself.

I stopped and fully turned towards Marx, pain zipped through my cheeks and I touched the markings, “Marx, these things on my face, they’re…they’re hard to explain, and I can’t just spill my guts to you, someone I just started to get to know.”

Marx made eye contact with me and raised his hand to touch one of my ‘whiskers’. He brought his finger back red with blood, then looked down at me from his tall height, “Are you okay?”

I was stunned as I felt a drop of blood roll down my cheek and the smell of iron came up to my nose. I swayed on my feet a little, and Marx’s big hand—which spanned the width of my back—came to steady me. “Okay, let’s get you back to the school.”

He steered me towards the stables, talking to me in a low rumble to keep me calm, “We’re going to take Butter home okay?”

I was confused. Why am I bleeding? Is a vision coming on?

Flashes of another place startled me and I stumbled into Marx’s protective embrace. I saw a different time, a different country, but it was choppy. It was as if my mind was being driven past a fence and I was only peeking between the slats. My knees gave out and Marx caught me. I saw a flash of his worried face as he swept me up into his arms. I set my head against his chest as I saw a frozen and barren landscape, the red sunset blotting the white snow. Shivers racked my body and I glimpsed the door to the stable going by. A hand descended on my forehead, checking my temperature.

“Stay with me, Emilie,” he whispered as he sat me down on a hay bale to get his horse. My head rolled to the side because I didn’t have the energy to keep it up. Marx led a chestnut and buckskin paint out of a stall that I knew as Butter. He knickered at me and I raised my hand up weakly to rub his snout. Marx caught my upper arm and hauled me upward onto Butter’s bare back. I felt like a marionette doll with its strings cut as Marx slipped onto the horse behind me and grabbed its reins. My limbs wouldn’t move and people shouted as we galloped out of town.

Marx stopped for a second and his timbre explained something to someone, but instead of seeing a friend, I saw a pale face with dark eye sockets and a wide, sharply toothed smile. A whimper escaped my lips and Marx soothed me with his deep voice. The words were jumbled up nonsense, but they helped me dig myself out of the mess of pictures, sounds and smells. I folded deeper into his chest as a sight of a different horse with a different rider filled my mind.

The elegant lady on the back of a lean stallion had long, flowing hair, and the wind caught it up with leaves flowing through the eddies made by the strong gusts. The sun glinted off the long locks as the lady laughed out loud. She threw her hands up into the air and streams of light burst through her palms. It twined with the rays of sunlight and new vines growing around her burst open with color. Flowers of all kinds bloomed on each frond when she waved her hand their way.

She’s so strong, I thought, doing this without a wand, it’s phenomenal.

Suddenly, a shot rang out and the beautiful lady lurched forward, her white light turning black. The blooming flowers wilted and the streams of black in the air trailed over to a tall tree. A wand stirred up the blackness and it gathered into the tip. A black jewel glittered on the ornate hilt and the wand retracted back into the darkness.

A bump jolted me out of my vision and my head jolted upwards, making a slicing pain lace through my eyes. I felt Marx behind me shift and relax.

“Good, you went unconscious for a second there,” he said calmly, whipping Butter’s reins and urging him along. My vision was blurry and I tried to blink away the haze, but to no avail. I started to panic, taking short breaths. My sight was leaving, little by little, and it scared me.

The school came up as I started to bend over, wrapping my arms around my middle. Marx didn’t bother leading Butter to the stables around the corner, but instead slid off at the main doors and pulled me down onto his back. I seeped in his warmth. I wonder if he’s this warm because he’s a dragon.

Marx was a dragon, he was of magic folk, not a magician. It hit me late. I had overlooked that little detail. I was of magic folk. We were the same. Sure, he was a homo-draconi and I was a homo-animi, but neither of us were homo-sapiens and that was a certain kinship between us. He might not have known that, but it gave me great peace.

“Headmistress Christopher!” Marx voice rang out as he pushed into the Dinning hall. It echoed to the rafters and another flash of a vision sent tremors through my bones.

An evil laugh echoed into the hall of an unfamiliar castle. I couldn’t see who voiced it, but I felt a sense of foreboding in the air. A sole person stumbled through the large wooden doors, an orange aura floating around him. He whipped around at the sound of clattering, but it was just some broken down scaffolding. The man heaved a breath out, his aura becoming heavy with relief.

“I see you came,” the disembodied voice that produced the laugh rumbled, “thank you for your donation.”

“Donation?” the man asked, his voice high with fear. Darkness edged in on the man and the aura around him started to seep out of him. The man backed away from the darkness, pressing against the door. His screams echoed through the high ceilings as the shadows converged.

“What’s wrong?” the regal accent of my headmistress filtered through my fuzzy and dazed state. How had Marx gotten into her office with me on his back? It required a long trek up a hidden staircase and a few fake doors, and not only that, it felt like only seconds ago that we had entered the school.

“She just started bleeding from her tattoos and I think she’s having visions, but I can’t see them even though I’m touching her, and a second ago she started to scream,” he explained, puffing a little.

“Headmistress,” I whimpered, “I need to…tell,” I stopped to huff a little myself from the exertion it took to speak, “you what I…saw.”

Headmistress Christopher looked into my eyes with worry, “Not now, dear. You have to recover,” she turned to Marx, “What happened that might’ve made this occur?”

Marx seemed to think a little as they entered a private room, probably in the tower, “She was confronted by a human at the—” he stopped. Headmistress Christopher sighed.

“I know you all go to the village, I have powerful magic that can see through membrane charms,” she spoke of the flyers that appeared one way to some people and another to others, “and I said ‘don’t do what your upperclassmen wouldn’t’. I started that little trend when I was your all’s age. Now, tell me what this human said to Emilie.”

Everything was hot. Burning. Searing. My furry fingers tipped with long nails tried to dodge all the hot spots as I attempted to escape my cage. It was made of still-burning lava rock and was in the shape of a bird-cage.

“What am I doing here?” I asked aloud, my voice scratchy and my sharp teeth catching on my lips. No one answered my question, but instead a man—the man I had seen earlier—with the lack of eyes and sharp teeth—came into my sight.

“You, Miss. Beaumont, are an enigma,” his voice was the one that had spoken to the man with the orange aura, “You’ve seen my dealings, past and maybe future.”

I reeled back, my tail curling around me, as he reached in to ruffle my ears. “Sadly, I can’t meet you on the solid plane. And your protector! He is quite a strong dragon. Though, he will find out your secret soon. Maybe he can see you now, in this pitiful form.”

As he backed away and disappeared into black mist I curled into a little ball, wishing myself out of that fiery pit.

I heard a sweet tune as I woke. It was a trilling piano playing the moonlight sonata by Beethoven. I sat up, feeling soft sheets rub against my fur. Who was playing the piano?

“Oh good,” a light voice sang and the music stopped. I turned to see a wind sprite float towards me, her white hair long and prehensile. White antlers curled gracefully above her head and her eyes were a watery purple. The sprite smiled at me, “You’re awake.”

I blinked a few times, touching my emerald, then snapped out of it.

“Where am I?” I asked, scrambling out of bed, my ears flat against my head, “Where’s my wand? How long have I been unconscious? Where’s Marx? What happened?”

The sprite lifted her pale hands to me; the skin was so thin, I could see her intricate web of blood vessels filled with lavender blood. Fronds of her hair fixed the bed as she approached me. I noticed little lines of bells hanging from her antlers. They tinkled a sweet little jingle that replaced the piano music.

“You are in the private infirmary in the fifth tower,” the sprite tugged me back to the bed, “The headmistress thought it best. Your wand is right here on the bedside table, you’ve been unconscious for a day and a half, Marx is impatiently waiting in his Magic History and Culture class and it seems that a human cursed you on Saturday at the village, though we have no idea how.”

I noticed my wand on the table and snatched it up, rolling it across my knuckles. I glanced at the wind sprite next to me. “Why didn’t you leave at the first chance? I know wind sprites are flighty.”

The sprite sighed, “Yes, that is a majority of us. We hate being cooped up and trapped in places, much like you animas, but not all wind sprites are unreliable. I like it here at Serpentine Academy. Been working here for seven-hundred years.”

“I’ve never seen a sprite around before,” I said, my wand stopping in my hand, “where do you work?”

She gave a sad smile, “I’m the one who tends the gardens. I truly love the outdoors, but I haven’t had one thought of escape since I met my Judson.”

I blinked a few times, “Judson Kirsten, as my AP Potions teacher, Judson Kirsten?”

The sprite lit up, “He’s the one,” she fanned out her hand, showing a beautiful diamond with turquoise set around it, “gave me this at our wedding. Oh, silly me! I forgot to tell you my name! I’m Sæt, nice to meet you.”

I was still stunned that Mr. Kirsten had a beautiful sprite for a wife, but Sæt didn’t mind. She fussed over me for a little, asking how my head felt and if there were any visions coming on, but I was perfectly fine. I really just wanted to get back to my dorm room and think over the visions and dream I had.

After my checkup turned out clean, Sæt set me free, but telling me not to put the concealment charm on until tomorrow. I waved goodbye and made my way down the long and winding staircase. The lunch bell rang as I came out of the tower door and into a mostly unused corridor. I waved my wand to see my map on the wall and the closest door to the Eiva house. It was a secret door in a study room.

As I made my way down the passage a barrage of scents and sounds came at me, reminding me that I was in my normal anima form and that I couldn’t be seen for too long, lest anyone recognize my voice or eyes. My claws made little clicking noises on the marble floors as I fought to keep my balance. Tile, hardwood, and stone were really hard to not slip on for some animas as they normally lived in houses with rough wood flooring, dirt, or they lived in the wild. The emerald looped twice around my neck swung as I grabbed an ornate pillar to hold me up. I must’ve yelped a little, because someone called out.

“Hello? Does someone need some help?” the person called out. He’s near!

“No!” my voice wavered a little as I slipped again.

“It really sounds as if you need some help!” the person was coming closer; I could hear the shoes clipping on the stone floor. The person came around the bend, but I couldn’t look up to see who it was as I wanted to keep from slipping.

“Hey, whoa, what’s wrong?”

#writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #magic #wizards #fiction

0 notes