Post by Zephyrus on May 15, 2011 18:05:54 GMT -5
Burning.
The flames illuminated the darkness of the night, the thick black smoke covering the moon in a haze. He watched, standing next to his friend. His father's butler's son.
Tears formed in his eyes and he slumped down hard on his knees. He raised his hands up and clenched them in his hair and screamed.
His friend stayed quiet, but soon, his own tears fell and he lay a hand on the other's shoulder to keep himself steady.
Everything. Gone.
Mother. Beautiful, sweet, kind Mother.
Gone.
Father. Loving, brave, tough Father.
Gone.
Home. His home. His life. Their childhood.
Gone.
Innocence.
Gone.
Such is the life of the boy.
The boy who started.
Winter Sky.
---
He opened his eyes. A new day. He was seventeen. His butler, his friend, twenty. So many years. How many, both had lost track. Both didn't care.
They had a name now, and they would not stop.
He got up, was dressed, ate, and soon was off.
Such is the life of the man.
The man of Winter Sky.
---
Night. She walked into the large room, and looked around, alone. Afraid. A man walked up to her. She knew him and smiled. Just once would they dance. Once. Society didn't know. They didn't know.
It was best kept secret.
Such is the life of the lady.
The lady of Winter Sky.
---
Later on, she chases a man. A knife in one hand, a muff pistol in another. She aims and shoots, pain shoots through his shoulder, searing him, burning him, eating him alive. She glares at him and drops a card onto his chest.
It reads Blunt Tuesday. The pistol is raised to his forehead.
Bang.
Such is the life of the lady.
The lady of Winter Sky.
---
She arrives home with the help of a kind man who fails to see the blood drops on her dress. She is thankful for that. Her butler greets her with a smile, and takes her to her room.
It is 12 of the clock. Late. He helps her out of the dress and into night clothes. He smiles at his master, knowing that he was the only one. The only one who would ever know. His master smiles back, but soon the smile becomes wicked.
"Blunt Tuesday."
It is said in unison. They both know.
Their target.
"Will m'lady need help falling asleep tonight?" the butler asks, chuckling.
"No." His master says, getting into his bed, "The lady of Winter Sky does not need a lullaby."
Woman.
Man.
Both roles he plays. One is true, other for show.
He is the lady.
He is the man.
Creator.
Of Winter Sky.
The flames illuminated the darkness of the night, the thick black smoke covering the moon in a haze. He watched, standing next to his friend. His father's butler's son.
Tears formed in his eyes and he slumped down hard on his knees. He raised his hands up and clenched them in his hair and screamed.
His friend stayed quiet, but soon, his own tears fell and he lay a hand on the other's shoulder to keep himself steady.
Everything. Gone.
Mother. Beautiful, sweet, kind Mother.
Gone.
Father. Loving, brave, tough Father.
Gone.
Home. His home. His life. Their childhood.
Gone.
Innocence.
Gone.
Such is the life of the boy.
The boy who started.
Winter Sky.
---
He opened his eyes. A new day. He was seventeen. His butler, his friend, twenty. So many years. How many, both had lost track. Both didn't care.
They had a name now, and they would not stop.
He got up, was dressed, ate, and soon was off.
Such is the life of the man.
The man of Winter Sky.
---
Night. She walked into the large room, and looked around, alone. Afraid. A man walked up to her. She knew him and smiled. Just once would they dance. Once. Society didn't know. They didn't know.
It was best kept secret.
Such is the life of the lady.
The lady of Winter Sky.
---
Later on, she chases a man. A knife in one hand, a muff pistol in another. She aims and shoots, pain shoots through his shoulder, searing him, burning him, eating him alive. She glares at him and drops a card onto his chest.
It reads Blunt Tuesday. The pistol is raised to his forehead.
Bang.
Such is the life of the lady.
The lady of Winter Sky.
---
She arrives home with the help of a kind man who fails to see the blood drops on her dress. She is thankful for that. Her butler greets her with a smile, and takes her to her room.
It is 12 of the clock. Late. He helps her out of the dress and into night clothes. He smiles at his master, knowing that he was the only one. The only one who would ever know. His master smiles back, but soon the smile becomes wicked.
"Blunt Tuesday."
It is said in unison. They both know.
Their target.
"Will m'lady need help falling asleep tonight?" the butler asks, chuckling.
"No." His master says, getting into his bed, "The lady of Winter Sky does not need a lullaby."
Woman.
Man.
Both roles he plays. One is true, other for show.
He is the lady.
He is the man.
Creator.
Of Winter Sky.