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Absolution by nothing is real

Format: One-shot
Chapters: 1
Word Count: 1,200

Rating: 12+
Warnings: Scenes of a Mild Sexual Nature

Genres: Drama, Romance, Angst
Characters: Teddy, Rose, Victoire
Pairings: Other Pairing, Teddy/Victoire

First Published: 11/11/2011
Last Chapter: 11/18/2011
Last Updated: 11/18/2011

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Your heart is a sinking game of chance and you know that you will lose.



Chapter 1: Absolution

Autumn is approaching.


It is your favorite time of the year. It reminds you of all that you have lost, all that you have failed to see, all that has slipped through your fingers like water. The sky is a vague purple and the air tastes of youth, and you know, you can feel it slipping away.


You know and you feel and you see and you hurt but can he see?


Your eyes wander to him like ships lost in a sea of obscurity, bloody red that used to be hearts and damned morality. He is looking away from you, and his relaxed shoulders remind you of fairytales and hills that you dreamed of running over and your hair flying in the wind which whispered seductive words of promise.


It whispers only her name now. It poisons your blood and fuels the venom to run in your veins. You close your eyes and attempt to drown it out, but the fire is unrelenting and it will consume you one day.


Not yet.


He turns towards you and speaks of blue skies and roses and you smile and smile and laugh. You find it easy to ignore the searing pain in his eyes and he is still your prince and you are still his jilted queen, so broken, so hollow.


You point towards the sky with its birds and utter something intelligent and proper because you know it is what he wants from you. He wants you and your mind and your monotony and you want to run. You want to run over his heart and his piercing gaze and his voice that reminds you of honey and water dripping through rock.


The wind is humming in your ear and it is her name again.


It is driving you quite mad.


His voice interrupts your violent thoughts and you look up. What is the matter? He asks. You wave your hand and say nothing, but his gaze scrutinizes you for a minute, and he turns away, knowing the dreamer that you are.


Dreamer, dreamer, dreamer.


Your heart is a sinking game of chance and you know that you will lose. Your fingers passively twirl blades of grass around themselves, and you find your reflection in the morning dew.


And you know that it knows.


It knows and sees and bleeds and hurts but can he see?


You don’t think you’ll ever be completely sure.


The tempest raging inside of you smothers your love for him. It hits him and you like waves against rocks. The both of you will never be absolute.


You love him.


You need him.


And yet, your lust destroys you and engulfs your mind with dark fire that licks at your tainted skin.


He walks towards you now, disturbed at your lack of interest in the mountains. You smile, it is anything but inviting, yet he stumbles towards you anyway, determined to awaken the dreamer that your mind is.


Dreamer, dreamer, dreamer.


He grips your hand and raises you up, and you see the air dance above your heads, and you imagine your faint figures like that, untouched by mortality.


But your love is breakable and broken.


His hands wrap around your waist and after all these years there is still something unfamiliar in his touch.


He smiles and it is broken and you see the chasms his eyes are and the pain that reverberates in his black soul.  


And the wind says her name.


He runs a finger through a strand of your hair and you watch him with wide eyes. His lips whisper your name, but is it hers that comes to his mind?


Light burns through his sallow skin and you are reminded of the sun that you always imagined him to be. But decay has transformed him into a severed melody that whistles in the wind.


And you are the gypsy and the dreamer and you are drifting through him, so feeble, so powerless. You are the puppet and you dance his waltz, and yet he does not know.


His touch is tender and yet it is forced, and you feel disgust in your mouth as he kisses you.


You wonder, can he taste it?


Dreamer, dreamer, dreamer.


He is your past and your present and the dirt underneath your fingernails tells you that he is your future. You are a moth to his flame, and he is the sun in your blood.


He says your name again, and it echoes in the mountains and the valleys and the humdrum of your existence.


You tilt your head upwards and watch the stars appear as dusk sets in. It is melancholy and nostalgic and it floods your dazed mind with regret and fragmented memories of childhood dreams.


But he is still the prince and you are still his jilted queen.


You watch as his fingers trace circles on your smooth skin.


Perhaps this is your destiny, and he is fated to crush you as she has crushed him. And your story will become a legendary tale of love and jealousy and despair and promise that faded like a chimera.


And then amidst the wrecks that used to be your souls your love will be real, as real as the stars above your heads and the grimy earth below. And you will love him, because you do not love him now. You cannot love him now, because she lingers.


She will linger forever.


And only when he chooses you and reality and fairytales would you be complete again.


You take his hand in yours and smile. His eyes ponder at you, tired and confused and stormy. It is a storm which is utterly and absolutely alluring, and you are lost in it, defeated and drugged. You place your head against his beating chest. His hand comes to rest in your hair, and you think about this moment and you know that it is perfect and surreal and whole.


You are the words of the angels and he is the cracked symphony and your union is blinding and fitting for the earth and the rain and everything in between. You are together and he is torn but the inches that separate you cease to exist as they are drowned out by your ragged heart. The sun razes your skin and dries your throat but isn’t it love?


After all, he is still the prince and you are still his jilted queen and you wait, wait in the crystal tower that looms in your nightmares.


Isn’t it love?


Your fingers twist as you look into his eyes again and his soul anchors to you, and you see a fleeting glimpse of hope and your heart is his, washed up on the shore of his shattered dreams. Your nails claw at the part of him that resolutely stands after the carnage that devoured most of him and he flinches as you tear whatever is left of him.


Isn’t it love?


You are infinite and free and irresistible and resistance.


The wind is howling her name.


Dreamer, dreamer, dreamer.



A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Please read and review. I hope the weirdness didn't irritate you. :-)