Elaine Belloc -- Elaine Demiurgos - God (yahwehwannabe) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-10-17 00:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | elaine belloc, saetan sadiablo |
Who: Elaine Belloc & Saetan SaDiablo
What: One would say is a coincidence they met, but maybe it was that darn ineffability.
Where: Griffith Park. Bird Sanctuary
When: Evening
Rating: TBD
Status: Thread; in-progress
She walked out the Lux just a moment ago, and gave a step forward and then another into Griffith Park. The evening seemed quiet, but Los Angeles was truly alive at night. While many fiddled in the Dreaming, the large active portion of the people were nightwalkers. All sort of interesting things happened when sun set, she was aware of every each of them and no matter how far she strolled, she couldn’t walk away from this fact.
Once she was blind, now she couldn’t stop seeing.
Yet, Elaine Belloc weaved an illusion she could push that knowledge away and that she was alone, flying with spread white wings alongside the birds of the wooden canyon. She allowed a laugh of mirth fill the air around her while her friends escort her to the small stream. Her bare feet dip into the cool water while leaves fall on the surface. The wind carried them off into the sky.
Autumn. Exactly the season that was when she left London when she died. Nothing changed for them except for the twelve years old absence, everything changed for her. Elaine pushed a short strand of her behind her ear and looked over her shoulder to a precise direction. She was waiting for someone in special, someone who would visit this site at this hour. Someone with the face of the Morningstar.
And she’d already known this is wrong and wouldn’t make her feel less lonely, because even if he resembled her uncle, he wouldn’t be the real deal. But she would meet him anyways. Elaine recalled asking her mother once, reproaching her past time to collect copies of masterpieces:
“Mum… I don’t get it. Why do you buy so many copies? They’ll never be like the original.” They were identical in the surface, but they weren't made by the same hands with the same brush or even canvas. Her mother had laughed while she hung the last acquired picture on the dinning room wall. When her laughter stopped, she assured her she knew they weren’t, but it would satisfy the longing to have them in her possession.
Elaine got it now and the irony of it made her smile wryly.
Because the original is out of my reach.