Alyson's NPCs. (bloodstock) wrote in regulation, @ 2008-04-12 17:27:00 |
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Current music: | sleep || imogen heap |
Who: Abel De Caxias (Aurel Desmarais) and Melisande Desmarais (Gabriela De Caxias).
When: 1718
Where: Pamplona, Spain
Status: Drabble, complete.
Note: Never ever google 'smallpox'. Those pictures are... Jesus.
“Dormite, niñito; no llores chiquito. Vendrán angelitos las sombras de noche.” Abel sang, his lips brushing over fine blond hair that was heated and damp from fever. Now sleep, little baby; don't cry, little darling, the angels are coming with shadows of evening. It had been seventeen days since the first marks appeared on Mariposa’s skin. She had cried into his shoulder at the sight of them, and he knew there was nothing more to do than hold her. They painted the white line on the door to warn the neighbors, and she told him to take Leticia and leave – but it was no use. He found the rash on their daughter’s back while changing her that evening, and he would never have left his love. It took fifteen days for the disease to consume her – fifteen days of pain, fever, cries. Still, he held her. It didn’t matter if the pox showed on his skin; he didn’t plan to stay after they were gone. He had bought rope to finish what the illness was doing too slowly.
Mariposa was quiet in their bed now, her marred face still lovely. And Leticia, his beautiful, perfect little angel had woken that morning sicker than before; he had not let her go since he lifted her from her crib at dawn. Her breathing was shallow, and she slept fitfully. His tears made the words of the lullaby slur.
When Gabriela came into his room that afternoon, he didn’t even question it, simply looked up at his sister for the first time in three months with a rush of clarity. “My angel, Ella,” he told her with a broken smile as she sat down next to him on the bed, her hand freezing cold against his fevered cheek. “Have you come to take us to salvation?”