Anatole | Anna Areleous (firstlight) wrote in forgotten_past, @ 2009-12-11 20:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | anatole |
"If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves."
Who: Anatole (firstlight) [Narrative]
What: Unpleasant truths.
When: The 1800s.
Where: France.
Warnings: None.
By and large, Anatole of the Twelve Horae got along for herself just fine. She'd learned much since the fall of first Olympus, then Rome, and while she looked fresh-faced and naive, any Greek worth their salt knew that appearances were deceiving.
The Horae were never especially powerful; they were and always had been small goddesses. Despite that, this life Anatole now led -- working for mortal men and women rather than fellow deities... it chafed. Most days she went through the motions, a ray of sunshine even in the dead of winter. Sometimes it all became too much. She'd rise early, leave wherever she was and go creeping over hill and dale as the dawn reached out feather-light fingers.
On those mornings she stretched her long legs, curls whipping out behind her as she ran and ran and ran. It never mattered whether she was in a city or the country; some great manor, a shack in the middle of nowhere, it was all the same to her. She smiled warmly at the mortals she served, petted their children with soft hands and made herself agreeable with wide bright eyes, but in the end there was always a part of the Titaness which remained cool, incapable of being touched by mortals.
No matter its shape or form, nothing about the dawn could ever truly be reached by man. Yet so long as she had that morning to run, to reaffirm her pride, she could go back to pretending otherwise.
I am a goddess. I am Greek. I am Horae. I am Anatole.
The chant became harder every time.
A single hour of the day, she was never meant to be separated from her sisters. With them, she was radiant, full of light, of joy and vitality. Together, they made the world turn. Alone, Anatole was a shadow of her former self. A fleeting hour was of little use to anyone. So she ran, for herself.
It was how she reconnected, if only for a moment. She was the wind, all beautiful four of them, fleet despite -- or because of -- her bare feet. In that time, nothing could stop her.
Except the sudden tick, tick, ticking presence which felt like home. Her heart clenched, her feet tangled. Anatole tumbled to the ground in a fetching heap. When she looked up through her own wild hair, it was with a smile warm and full of wonder. A half mile behind her lay her mortal's estate. Mere feet away stood another Horae, bold and sure as though she'd been there always.
"Elete!" Anatole moved without thinking, had her sister in her arms before another word could dream of passing. She covered the other woman's face with kisses, feeling -- finally, finally feeling -- as if the clock had started once more.
"I thought-- I thought-- I don't know what I thought!"
Elete made a soothing noise, brushing a leaf from Anatole's shoulder.
"When? Where? How?"
"It doesn't matter. I can't stay. I just wanted to see if I could find you."
"What? But that's-- don't you feel--?"
"Empty? Lonely? Scared?"
"Yes."
"It doesn't matter."
"Elete, what's wrong? I don't understand." She unwound her arms from her sister's body, leaning close to press their foreheads together. Their breaths mingled in the morning coolness, the dawn's curls brushing over the afternoon's flaxen braids.
"It's all changed. Sponde is dead."
"No. What? No, that's not possible."
Elete, the ever-practical one, merely stared at Anatole.
"Elete... How?"
She raised one shoulder in an empty gesture. It could have meant everything. It could have meant nothing. Anatole drew back, burned.
"I wanted to say good-bye. Sponde was just the first. We'll all be gone soon. If we don't fade into nothingness, then we'll just be..." She waved a well-muscled arm toward the mortals' home. Anatole didn't ask further; she understood the meaning, clear by the horror which passed over her face.
"So you're leaving."
"I am."
"You just arrived! It's been so long. Elete, please, just come inside with me. We'll have food, wine, we can-- We can leave, if you'd like. We'll leave together. I'll go with you."
"Anatole..." Elete cupped her sister's cheek, smiled with a sadness like butterflies drifting off to death. "I miss you. I miss our family, and Helios, and... We're doomed to die. They barely remember us. They've forgotten Sponde. Maybe Nympha will be next, or Acte. Or me. Regardless, watching us fade away like this doesn't make it easier. Could you watch your sisters die?"
Rather than let her answer, Elete instead pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Anatole's lips. "Good-bye, Dawn-Time. I hope I'm wrong."
"You are. You are."
"Then you can curse my name forever. I'm not, though. Wrong."
And like that, she started walking. She left her sister staring after her, cold, unsure and angry. For every step Elete took, Anatole heard the clock ticking.
It was the first time it had ever sounded ominous rather than welcoming. Time, Anatole realized, sounded like a death sentence.