Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg (000_hester_000) wrote,
Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg
000_hester_000

Ficlet -- "Still"

Wow. So apparently I haven't posted fic since February. Time to remedy that.

Title: Still
Fandom: Count Cain
Characters: Owl-centric; mentions of Alexis, Cain, and Jezebel
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 323
Warnings: Spoilers to the end of the series, mentioned character death, uh... somewhat experimental style?
Summary: Now is the time for the world to end, and it's up to Owl to remember
A better summary would be: In which Hester tries to figure out how to characterize Owl




Still


There is snow falling— thick, white, a burial shroud. It covers London; London is dying. (must be dying)

There is Owl, standing on the roof of a great old house, not bothering to shake off the snow that is trying to bury him.

There is— since there is Owl— music. A song of mourning. It lifts its tender strains like the flowers that will not be seen in this world again; it lifts like the white lilac.

There was a man who wanted to tear out the world’s bruised, beating heart and pull it apart; he feared nothing and wanted everything, the former Earl Hargreaves. Look at the glint of his green eyes behind his glasses; he knows something

—but you can’t look; there is no glint in the eyes of a dead man.

There was a son; all proper gods must have a son. He judged the world good and evil, the son; he carried out his judgements. It was poison he clung to— poison, but he clung to it like a lifeline. He struck out fiercely but was fragile, too. He clung to a man who (Owl had known it from the beginning) was like poison

—their bones must lie now, almost tender for each other, under the ruined tower.

There was another son— but strange. Very tall, but— feminine as well. A woman’s name. Contradictions, contradictions, a nest of snakes. He knew the secrets of the world: how to make life from death, how to find fresh young skin beneath rot— but he showed mercy only to dumb beasts for whom his secrets could have no value

—not so long ago, a man hurried down the street below with a body in his arms. There was long fair hair. There was blood everywhere.

There is Owl, his music, telling the story.

There is a world dying.

There— somehow, somehow, the world is dying, and yet— is snow falling, still.
 






Oh, I know, it doesn't seem to be snowing in the last volume. But I always wanted to write a fic about Owl and snow.

Also, seriously please critique this. Owl confuses me immensely.
Tags: count cain, fanfic, gen
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