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Starlight"They could see that it was a tall girl, dressed in a single long garment of clear blue which left her arms bare. She was bare-headed and her yellow hair hung down her back. And when they looked at her, they thought they had never before known what beauty meant." --The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
He could never clearly describe how he fell in love with her. It was too wonderfully strange to explain; something that couldn't quite fit into human words.
All he knew is that when he saw her, he saw her. It was as though someone had pulled back a curtain and granted him a glimpse of something inside, behind and beyond what his five senses told him. Whenever she looked at him, he forgot all about her golden hair and slender figure...for what he saw in her dazzled him far more than mere physical attraction could.
He'd seen countless women and suitors back in Narnia and Archenland. Princesses, noblewomen, peasants, kitchen maids...many of them lovely an
Ever By Your Side
"Do you have it all memorized now?" Trisha gazed expectantly into a pair of solemn blue eyes. The little girl nodded.
"Uh-huh. And I won't forget it, ever," she promised, swinging her legs as she perched on the edge of the bed.
"Good girl," said Trisha, a weary but proud smile on her lips. "I knew I could count on you. And remember," she added, leaning forward and raising her eyebrows mysteriously, "you can't tell anyone about this, not even Ed and Al. It's our special secret, alright? Can you keep it safe for me?"
"Of course I can!" The words were hot and stubborn, filled with childish passion. "I promise I won't ever tell an-y-one. Cross my heart. 'Sides," Winry muttered as a resentful afterthought, "they never tell me their secrets."
~ -:- ~
They never told her their secrets, instead burying themselves in dusty alchemy books and the mysteries of the universe, driven by blind desire and false hope...and now they have paid the price for it. Ed is eleven and
TLO - And Then There Were TwoIt began with an old stone wall...and a band-aid. But that part comes later.
The wall was one of his favorite thinking spots. It stood on the farthest edge of the campus, overlooking the playground, and there were places all along the top row where the weathered stones had been broken or knocked off, leaving empty gaps that were just the right size and shape for a boy like him to sit. (Or crouch. Which was usually what he preferred.)
He would go there every other day or so during free time, lightly hoist himself up and stay perched there for a good long time, contented to hug his knees to his chest and watch the other children scurry and chase each other in the distance. No one paid him any attention or joined him on his perch, and he never bothered to come down and play with them. There was always just one on the wall; just him, solitary and impassive.
But today was different.
Because today, there was a girl. Sitting right in his favorite thinking spot. A scrawny little girl with mess
Piano MagicDarkness whispered outside, and frosty stars sparkled in the windows. Bits of fake snow and glitter were scattered here and there, with crumpled-up programs lying in the pews and the last strains of "Joy to the World" echoing in my head. The Christmas concert was over, and my family was off in the reception hall snarfing down sugar cookies with everyone else. Normally I'd be with them (I have an awful sweet tooth)...but this time, something had told me to stay behind.
I glanced around the sanctuary one last time. The dim lighting combined with Christmas-sparkle gave everything a sort of dreamy, enchanted feeling. There was no one else in this magic room no one but me, and that gorgeous baby grand that stood on the stage, tilted oh-so-invitingly in my direction. Like a moth to a flame, I made my way down the aisle to have a better look at it.
An aching longing to play filled my heart. My old clavinova back home was nothing compared to this glistening instrument, the
The Lost One - PrologueAlone she sleeps in the shirt of man
With my three wishes clutched in her hand
The first that she be spared the pain
That comes from a dark and laughing rain
When she finds love, may it always stay true
This I beg for the second wish I made, too
But wish no more; my life you can take
To have her please just one day wake
To have her please
Just one day
--"Gaeta's Lament" (Battlestar Galactica)
And it was from those haunting words that she was conceived. She was little more than a spark, a whisper, the ghost of an idea...but she was there, nonetheless.
It was a long time before her ethereal presence finally took on a solid shape, and longer still before I gave her a face and a name; but at last, she was ready for her test-run.
"Let's go, let's go!" she sang, hopping in place from one foot to the other in happy anticip
Sing to Me
There's a song that's inside of my soul
It's the one that I've tried to write
Over and over again
I'm awake in the infinite cold
But you sing to me over and over
And over again...
The young, dark-haired genius put down his book with delicate fingers and tilted his head to one side, ears alert to the faint strain of music that had just floated past him. Somewhere, a floor down and several rooms and corridors over, someone was playing the school piano. He immediately knew who it was; but as he glanced up at the ticking clock, his brow furrowed slightly.
It was 3 AM in the morning. A normal time for hopeless insomniacs like him to be awake, but why would she be up at this hour?
Stepping lightly down from his perch on the armchair, he padded across the carpet and slipped from the dim room with noiseless, barefoot steps, boredom and vague curiosity egging him on. Sherlock Holmes could wait.
He wandered down the stairs and through the long hallways with hands stuffed
Come With MeWords can't go far enough to describe him.
He's like fire and ice and rage. He's like the night and the day, and the storm at the heart of the sun. He is ancient and forever. He burns at the center of time and he can see the turn of the universe.
He came to our world as one of us. He walked among us, breathed our air, cried our tears, felt our joys and knew our fragile hopes and dreams. He reached into our crippled, anguished world and healed our sickness, our blindness, our brokenness; and everywhere he traveled, lives were changed. He had no home and there was no one else like him. He never stopped, never stayed, never asked to be thanked. And when he saw we needed a savior, without one complaint, he took every wound, sorrow, regret and crime upon himself so that we wouldn't have to. For us, he fought Death itself and won.
My life was nothing until I met him. He took me away, kindled a fire inside me and showed me a better way to live. He gave me a n
Diem Mirabilis - Morning
for Morning is made
of mysteries and uncertainties
the hopes of beginnings
the risks of unknowns
the potential for greatness
~ -:- ~
The sunlight of a newborn day peeps through the window behind her and coaxes its way past the curtains, falling across a table covered in sprawling wires and metal parts to touch golden strands of hair. A girl just shy of 17 years stands bent over her work with lips pursed, oblivious to everything but the stubborn bolt she's attempting to wrestle into its socket.
The phone rings from a few feet away, and she automatically reaches for it and tucks it under her chin, still keeping her focus on the new shoulder plates being assembled.
"Rockbell Automail Repair and Maintenance, Winry speaking."
Silence. And then:
The wrench falls from her fingers and clatters to the floor. For a second her mind goes numb, as if those two simple words had struck some kind of mental funny bone, and the only coherent thing she can whisper is his name
hey newton, gravity's flawedi.
starting anew from the flutter
and the sputter of lungs.
a vacant sea filled with feathers
and tumultuous clatter,
ribs in a treacherous pattern
resembling exiting rungs.
i want to wrestle the angels,
your tendency is the ladder.
involved with full indiscretion,
trading lazy for lace.
unspool the curse of the long-
limbs in a languorous flexion
i like the stab of the ankles,
you need the curves intersected.
opting to cull my extents
with trans-dimensional vigor.
spent my dysphoric corrections
on reconnecting lax ends.
lips in a spurious accent
feign a passionate rigor.
i tie myself to the anchor,
you extricate and ascend.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More