[Xenogears] Wishful Thinking.
Feb. 6th, 2006 01:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreWTF, man. Maybe I'd better not comment, except to say:
Izolde was the second mother of Nisan. I think. See, it's been a while since I bothered to look.
- - -
Sun shined brightly the day the Royal Guard carried Roni into the crypt below Castle Fatima. Jasmine bloomed in the recesses and ivy hung like a curtain to shroud the entrance, a flash of deep and earthy color and a haven for the eyes amidst the pale stone walls and monochrome terra cotta tiles. A breath of stale air wafted from the masoleum with the passing of the last guard into the darkness, stirring his hair. It was dyed dark for the occasion, so he would be recognized and accorded place of honor at the ceremony.
You haven't aged a day, Izolde had breathed. She herself had grown stooped and lined, hair once golden now a wispy white beneath her navy Nisan habit. But serenity had come to her with age. Her smile was still bold and bright, the girl of fifteen he'd known before leaving Ignas still dancing in her laughter, and now there was a light to her eyes that lent her a shadow of Sophia's glory.
Why did Sophia possess that wisdom so young? He used to wonder. What was it in her eyes that made him stay his hand when he should have closed them forever?
She was his conscience, he'd said when they met the Fatima clan and began their first journey into the desert. Her voice made his heart skip the first time they spoke, so serene in the face of death, her smile honest.
And Roni said she could only awaken what was already there. That he was a lovesick fool, and would be better off pouring his passion into cracking Solarian heads.
Izolde's prayer rose above the whispers of the throng, and Krelian bowed his head with the rest, silent.
Roni had his own brand of wisdom, blunt like a punch to the face, and it would be missed. They had only spoken occasionally during the last few decades, but it was a comfort he'd now find lacking - Fatima had been the last person in the world, truly, that he could talk to without pretense. Lacan might as well be dead, but there was no use in wishful thinking.
This six who entered the tomb now marched out empty-handed and halted, heels clipped together, as the last two in line heaved the doors closed and set the bar with a hollow clang.
It felt as if the chill of the tomb crept across his skin, and he shivered at that sound, holding himself stiffly to conceal his reaction. Izolde intoned another prayer, and he bowed his head again, this time whispering the blessing with the rest of the assembly. God may have been a fabrication, but Fatima was real flesh and blood, and though death had taken him, Krelian had no doubt they would meet again. That fire, that passion, would find its way to the future, and then find its way again to Sophia's side when she appeared again.
And he would be there to meet them with the fire of heaven, and his own prayers which had yet to be answered.
- - -
Look, no dialog! =D I'm so cool.
The cut text is what inspired this, not that you'd know. And now I should really go to sleep, or at least pretend.
Izolde was the second mother of Nisan. I think. See, it's been a while since I bothered to look.
- - -
Sun shined brightly the day the Royal Guard carried Roni into the crypt below Castle Fatima. Jasmine bloomed in the recesses and ivy hung like a curtain to shroud the entrance, a flash of deep and earthy color and a haven for the eyes amidst the pale stone walls and monochrome terra cotta tiles. A breath of stale air wafted from the masoleum with the passing of the last guard into the darkness, stirring his hair. It was dyed dark for the occasion, so he would be recognized and accorded place of honor at the ceremony.
You haven't aged a day, Izolde had breathed. She herself had grown stooped and lined, hair once golden now a wispy white beneath her navy Nisan habit. But serenity had come to her with age. Her smile was still bold and bright, the girl of fifteen he'd known before leaving Ignas still dancing in her laughter, and now there was a light to her eyes that lent her a shadow of Sophia's glory.
Why did Sophia possess that wisdom so young? He used to wonder. What was it in her eyes that made him stay his hand when he should have closed them forever?
She was his conscience, he'd said when they met the Fatima clan and began their first journey into the desert. Her voice made his heart skip the first time they spoke, so serene in the face of death, her smile honest.
And Roni said she could only awaken what was already there. That he was a lovesick fool, and would be better off pouring his passion into cracking Solarian heads.
Izolde's prayer rose above the whispers of the throng, and Krelian bowed his head with the rest, silent.
Roni had his own brand of wisdom, blunt like a punch to the face, and it would be missed. They had only spoken occasionally during the last few decades, but it was a comfort he'd now find lacking - Fatima had been the last person in the world, truly, that he could talk to without pretense. Lacan might as well be dead, but there was no use in wishful thinking.
This six who entered the tomb now marched out empty-handed and halted, heels clipped together, as the last two in line heaved the doors closed and set the bar with a hollow clang.
It felt as if the chill of the tomb crept across his skin, and he shivered at that sound, holding himself stiffly to conceal his reaction. Izolde intoned another prayer, and he bowed his head again, this time whispering the blessing with the rest of the assembly. God may have been a fabrication, but Fatima was real flesh and blood, and though death had taken him, Krelian had no doubt they would meet again. That fire, that passion, would find its way to the future, and then find its way again to Sophia's side when she appeared again.
And he would be there to meet them with the fire of heaven, and his own prayers which had yet to be answered.
- - -
Look, no dialog! =D I'm so cool.
The cut text is what inspired this, not that you'd know. And now I should really go to sleep, or at least pretend.