taennyn: a girl sitting in front of a field of fallen leaves (Dark Tales)
Title: Superstition
’Verse/characters: Wild Roses, Isael Sabaey
Prompt: 013 “Yellow”
Word Count: 159
Rating: G
Notes: He’s always hated the number thirteen. He no longer remembers why.


He used to think that lies had a shape, colours of their own--yet another thing he lost, when Ruadhan died. He can remember that he’d once had a spectrum of colours for lies, but he can no longer put names to the spectrum, no longer define a lie by the colour it calls to his mind. So yellow (not gold, not ochre, but a bright blinding thing found by staring at the sun or in the stripes of poisonous snakes) became a colour of warning, a colour of danger, without any reasoning behind it.

He’d resisted the urge to paint thirteen thin yellow stripes on a white remembrance candle. Those who knew already would find nothing new here, and it would be a sharp, incomprehensible thing to those who did not. So the candle he lit, and blew out, for the last king’s bastard, traitor son, was purest white, untouched by the yellow of no longer needed warnings.

Date: 2005-11-14 03:35 am (UTC)From: [identity profile] billradish.livejournal.com
*peers* ...interesting. hrm. No easy words? Will try to verbalize at you later.

Date: 2005-11-14 05:05 am (UTC)From: [identity profile] youraugustine.livejournal.com
::purrrrrs::

Like Isael. All sharp and dark.

April 2017

S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
9101112 131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
30      

Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 4th, 2025 04:06 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios