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I am getting sodding tired of never writing pretty. Gifts&Treasures snippet
That night, her dreams were tangled. She dreamed of a river that glistened through dusty golden streets, and when she caught sight of the green-tile roofs reflected in it, blue-green scales rained from the sky. In the wake of the rain, crysanthemums bloomed, unfurled like roses, and turned to crystal.
And in the back of the dream, a stone rose crooned a lullabye that scratched her eardrums and made her want to sing along and made her desperately wish she could wake up and run to Aerith.
She ran from the rain and the flowers and the lullabye, stumbled onto a wooden deck, where she kicked her shoes off. She slid the building's door open and closed it hard behind her.
A man with corpse-pale skin and wearing a white kimono knelt at a low table, drinking tea. She lurched toward him, suddenly dressed in a voluminous green kimono of her own.
When she sat down at the table, he looked up. His face rotted away, skin falling off and into his teacup. His bone structure changed, his jawline squaring out, and his eyes flared to life. They burned like coals in his hollowed eye sockets.
"Hades," she said with a mouth that didn't want to work.
"There's a catch, kid," he said. "Genies give you three wishes. The Fates give you one if you're lucky."
"What are you even talking about, Corpseface?"
"Whose wish was the reunion, kid? Who reached across space and time and death itself?"
"You're not making any sense."
"One of you got one wish. The other of you gets another. But no such thing as a free lunch. So what are you gonna pay?"
"I'm not paying anybody anything until I know what's going on."
That made him laugh. It was the sound of bones cracking, of a body drying in the grave, of fire crackling, and it was a burbling, rollicking belly-laugh, too. He pulled a scrap of white wool from inside a kimono that was unravelling, replacing itself with a black peplos.
"I know what you want. More than he does. More than you do. And maybe you'll even get it. But it's like the deal with Orpheus: some things, you take on faith. Don't ask them any questions, and the Fates can't half-lie to you."
His hair and eyes were fire, but his touch was cold. His skin felt like the belly of a dead fish when his fingers touched hers.
She took the scrap of white from him. It bloomed, too, red ink spreading outward in circles and splatters, like a bloodstain. And when the entire scarf was blood-red, it deepened to the scarlet of Vincent's cloak.
She looked up.
"You're only immortal until they prove you can die," Hades said, and smiled, and it was the worst smile she'd ever seen.
And in the back of the dream, a stone rose crooned a lullabye that scratched her eardrums and made her want to sing along and made her desperately wish she could wake up and run to Aerith.
She ran from the rain and the flowers and the lullabye, stumbled onto a wooden deck, where she kicked her shoes off. She slid the building's door open and closed it hard behind her.
A man with corpse-pale skin and wearing a white kimono knelt at a low table, drinking tea. She lurched toward him, suddenly dressed in a voluminous green kimono of her own.
When she sat down at the table, he looked up. His face rotted away, skin falling off and into his teacup. His bone structure changed, his jawline squaring out, and his eyes flared to life. They burned like coals in his hollowed eye sockets.
"Hades," she said with a mouth that didn't want to work.
"There's a catch, kid," he said. "Genies give you three wishes. The Fates give you one if you're lucky."
"What are you even talking about, Corpseface?"
"Whose wish was the reunion, kid? Who reached across space and time and death itself?"
"You're not making any sense."
"One of you got one wish. The other of you gets another. But no such thing as a free lunch. So what are you gonna pay?"
"I'm not paying anybody anything until I know what's going on."
That made him laugh. It was the sound of bones cracking, of a body drying in the grave, of fire crackling, and it was a burbling, rollicking belly-laugh, too. He pulled a scrap of white wool from inside a kimono that was unravelling, replacing itself with a black peplos.
"I know what you want. More than he does. More than you do. And maybe you'll even get it. But it's like the deal with Orpheus: some things, you take on faith. Don't ask them any questions, and the Fates can't half-lie to you."
His hair and eyes were fire, but his touch was cold. His skin felt like the belly of a dead fish when his fingers touched hers.
She took the scrap of white from him. It bloomed, too, red ink spreading outward in circles and splatters, like a bloodstain. And when the entire scarf was blood-red, it deepened to the scarlet of Vincent's cloak.
She looked up.
"You're only immortal until they prove you can die," Hades said, and smiled, and it was the worst smile she'd ever seen.