super lavitz, the hero of bahamut (gripes) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-11-11 02:27:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, !narrative, lavitz fon amell |
la belle personne
Who: Lavitz fon Amell (+ npcs)
What: Until death do us part.
Where: Here and there.
When: 1990 - 1993.
Rating: R for death
Status: Complete.
She's beautiful — a marvel, to be sure — and Lavitz immediately hates himself for wishing she wasn't so he could have one more reason to loathe his family. She's beautiful, and it hurts him to look at her for too long, not unlike staring into the sun or a flame. Any time she catches his eyes, he averts his gaze and pretends he was never looking, always feeling less than his seventeen years. He looks for reasons to hate her. Her sweet smile, always perfectly timed. Her blonde locks, never a hair out of place. Her long lashes, her bird-like wrists— eventually, he convinces himself even the way she walks should be irritating. But it isn't. Nothing irritates him about her, making it ultimately more difficult to hate her existence for nothing but his own self-satisfaction. "You are going to wrinkle prematurely, if you carry on like this," are Nowe's first words, his greeting before taking the seat next to him. "Frowning so often. Is this about Cordelia?" Her hands are softer than they ought to be, her fingertips gentle when they trace the back of his hand. The touch is always fleeting, as if she's terrified of lingering for too long; she's shier when they're alone, he notices. In many ways, it's disconcerting; he's never been confident, and so hoped she'd be that for him, but it appears they're more alike than initially anticipated. There are so many things to learn about Cordelia: her favorite flowers are poppies, she has always wanted a white dog, and she is the pickiest eater but no one has ever known. They share hushed secrets behind closed doors, fingers interlaced, laughter placating their family woes. It's nothing like his relationship with Nowe, though perhaps it's for the best. And perhaps one day, it might be that. "Do you enjoy being a knight?" Her question catches him off guard, one night, and he stares, not expecting himself to be unable to answer something he should know with even a little certainty. He presses her knuckles to his nose, exhaling against her skin. Thinks on it, for some moments, but she beats him to words. The ring feels heavier in his palm than it should. It's small, and the stone isn't ridiculous in size, proportionately, but he's never known anything else. Everything is new; everything is terrifying. The notion of committing to a life with someone he could disappoint has him shaking, nearly dropping the wedding ring, crushing it in his fingers. Four days later, he greets his fiancée's dead body on a table. No one moves, no one breathes, and the world is still. There is nothing to say, he thinks, because words are wasted on those who will never hear them. A hand lifts to touch her, pausing midair, moving, pausing again. A funeral shouldn't be beautiful, but somehow, it is. Flowers are draped over her casket; it's closed, because her mother can't bear to see her dead child's face — but all Lavitz can think is, None of these are poppies as his best friend directs him to the front pew, to seat him next to Cordelia's father, who tries so desperately not to shed tears. Nothing at the dock is amiss. There appears no sign that just three weeks prior, a woman was found floating face up in these waters, and he isn't sure how to process this. With no evidence, it's as if the event never transpired. That Cordelia had never died here, not in these calm waters, by this lone dock with no one to see, no one to help or save her. |