Dedicated to Sugarplum, who really needed the boost last night.
Originally, it was just a really short scene; Vanault wasn't being talkative. But then he told me where he would be talkative, and things just fell into place.
***
The door creaked open slightly before it was pushed all the way in, allowing Vanault to enter the room.
Occupied by the darkness of the evening, the room was quite solemn. The air was heavy and dank; the room hadn't been entered for the past two days. Things were still left in disarray from their hurried exit before: clothes tossed aside, the bed rumpled, notes and knickknacks spread across the dresser.
He crossed the room and approached the torch in the corner. With a simple thought, a fire leapt up from where there once was none. The light and the clarity that it brought to the room broke Vanault instantly, and the tears of grief spilled from his dull blue eyes again.
Everything that was Opaline stared back at him; he was in her bedroom.
He was here, two nights ago, lamenting over the loss of Opaline's love. Of her betrothal to the child man. Now, he was there, grieving the loss of Opaline completely. Not only was her love lost to him, but so was her presence, her soul. No longer would comfort be found in her smile, her voice, her touch. It was all gone.
The Wildzords had forsaken him once more.
The one woman who had completed his entire being was no more. There was no replacing her. Nor did he want to try. She was far too dear to his heart.
Vanault wandered over to the standing mirror opposite the bed that had been Opaline's. He peered carefully at the reflective surface through his blurred vision; perhaps if he looked hard enough, he could see her there, examining herself before she faced the outside world
All he could see was himself. Disheveled hair, drawn and haggard blue eyes, sagging figure, soiled clothes from the day before. He was the opposite of what Opaline had left him with. She had been beauty epitomized. He was the disgusting man who had killed her.
You killed her.
Vanault narrowed his gaze at his reflection, his tears having stopped awhile ago. "I didn't kill her. Merrick killed her."
You killed her.
"I didn't kill her," he reiterated to his image in the mirror, his somber faade slipping away to be replaced by a face of anger.
You killed her.
The high priest jerked forward, grabbing the mirror's wooden frame. His face was shoved up so close to the glass that his nose was barely touching it. Madness seized him, his eyes no longer somber, but a raging, storm blue; he challenged his reflection. "I DIDN'T KILL HER!"
With great force, Vanault threw the mirror aside, causing it to fall to the stone floor and shatter into several pieces.
He stared at the splintered wood and shards of glass littering the floor for a moment, before suddenly falling to his knees and struggling to pick all the pieces up. "I'm sorry," he mumbled over and over to himself, vainly trying to put the mirror back together again. "I didn't mean to, Opaline"
The commotion did not go unheard by others, and soon enough, Leona came rushing into the room, quite shocked to see the High Priest of the Wildzord Clan on his knees before the broken mirror. "High Priest, are you alright?" she softly questioned, watching him in horror as he continued to mumble to himself and pick up the pieces of his mess.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, Opaline. I really didn't. I promise I'll fix it"
Leona edged closer and noticed how while one of his hands eagerly picked at the pieces of destroyed mirror, the other hand was wrapped tightly in a fist. A fist with blood slowly dribbling out of it. "High Priest!" She carefully fell to her knees, avoiding the jagged edges of glass, beside Vanault. She tried to reach for his bleeding hand, but he pulled it closer to himself in a protective manner.
"No!" he shouted, stopping momentarily to stare at her. "This is my pain! You cannot have it!"
Leona became somber at his declaration as Vanault resumed his work. He refused to let anyone else bare his pain. "High Priest, you must-"
"No!" he yapped again, not stopping this time. "Merrick killed her! Why did he kill her? Why did he kill his mother? He caused so much pain! It's my pain!"
"Merrick?" she whispered, unbelievingly. The High Priest was simply in pain and lashing out-
"Yes, Merrick." He stared at her with the utmost clarity, breaking out of his mutterings for that instant. His voice was strong and insistent. He knew what he was saying; he was consciously aware. "It was Merrick."
"Are you sure that-"
"It was Merrick."
***
Originally, it was just a really short scene; Vanault wasn't being talkative. But then he told me where he would be talkative, and things just fell into place.
***
The door creaked open slightly before it was pushed all the way in, allowing Vanault to enter the room.
Occupied by the darkness of the evening, the room was quite solemn. The air was heavy and dank; the room hadn't been entered for the past two days. Things were still left in disarray from their hurried exit before: clothes tossed aside, the bed rumpled, notes and knickknacks spread across the dresser.
He crossed the room and approached the torch in the corner. With a simple thought, a fire leapt up from where there once was none. The light and the clarity that it brought to the room broke Vanault instantly, and the tears of grief spilled from his dull blue eyes again.
Everything that was Opaline stared back at him; he was in her bedroom.
He was here, two nights ago, lamenting over the loss of Opaline's love. Of her betrothal to the child man. Now, he was there, grieving the loss of Opaline completely. Not only was her love lost to him, but so was her presence, her soul. No longer would comfort be found in her smile, her voice, her touch. It was all gone.
The Wildzords had forsaken him once more.
The one woman who had completed his entire being was no more. There was no replacing her. Nor did he want to try. She was far too dear to his heart.
Vanault wandered over to the standing mirror opposite the bed that had been Opaline's. He peered carefully at the reflective surface through his blurred vision; perhaps if he looked hard enough, he could see her there, examining herself before she faced the outside world
All he could see was himself. Disheveled hair, drawn and haggard blue eyes, sagging figure, soiled clothes from the day before. He was the opposite of what Opaline had left him with. She had been beauty epitomized. He was the disgusting man who had killed her.
You killed her.
Vanault narrowed his gaze at his reflection, his tears having stopped awhile ago. "I didn't kill her. Merrick killed her."
You killed her.
"I didn't kill her," he reiterated to his image in the mirror, his somber faade slipping away to be replaced by a face of anger.
You killed her.
The high priest jerked forward, grabbing the mirror's wooden frame. His face was shoved up so close to the glass that his nose was barely touching it. Madness seized him, his eyes no longer somber, but a raging, storm blue; he challenged his reflection. "I DIDN'T KILL HER!"
With great force, Vanault threw the mirror aside, causing it to fall to the stone floor and shatter into several pieces.
He stared at the splintered wood and shards of glass littering the floor for a moment, before suddenly falling to his knees and struggling to pick all the pieces up. "I'm sorry," he mumbled over and over to himself, vainly trying to put the mirror back together again. "I didn't mean to, Opaline"
The commotion did not go unheard by others, and soon enough, Leona came rushing into the room, quite shocked to see the High Priest of the Wildzord Clan on his knees before the broken mirror. "High Priest, are you alright?" she softly questioned, watching him in horror as he continued to mumble to himself and pick up the pieces of his mess.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, Opaline. I really didn't. I promise I'll fix it"
Leona edged closer and noticed how while one of his hands eagerly picked at the pieces of destroyed mirror, the other hand was wrapped tightly in a fist. A fist with blood slowly dribbling out of it. "High Priest!" She carefully fell to her knees, avoiding the jagged edges of glass, beside Vanault. She tried to reach for his bleeding hand, but he pulled it closer to himself in a protective manner.
"No!" he shouted, stopping momentarily to stare at her. "This is my pain! You cannot have it!"
Leona became somber at his declaration as Vanault resumed his work. He refused to let anyone else bare his pain. "High Priest, you must-"
"No!" he yapped again, not stopping this time. "Merrick killed her! Why did he kill her? Why did he kill his mother? He caused so much pain! It's my pain!"
"Merrick?" she whispered, unbelievingly. The High Priest was simply in pain and lashing out-
"Yes, Merrick." He stared at her with the utmost clarity, breaking out of his mutterings for that instant. His voice was strong and insistent. He knew what he was saying; he was consciously aware. "It was Merrick."
"Are you sure that-"
"It was Merrick."
***
WhiteZeo
An Oliverette To The End
---
"per se? When did we get into "per se" territory? Are words like "ergo" and "concurrently" looming up ahead?" - Sugarplum in AIM :)
An Oliverette To The End
---
"per se? When did we get into "per se" territory? Are words like "ergo" and "concurrently" looming up ahead?" - Sugarplum in AIM :)
)
I like how she knows that she doesnt have time to basically do nothing, but that doesnt get her moving. I think it makes her more real, more believable as a person. I mean . . . how often do we really go and do something right after we tell ourselves that you have to do this . . . now? Like very rarely. Very nice touch!
