Dragon Journal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dragonjournal) wrote2013-09-30 03:23 pm
dragonjournal) wrote2013-09-30 03:23 pm
Entry tags:
Original Works, Bingo edition #5
Title: Finale
Rating: PG
Word Count: 420
Summary: She writes her own history.
Warnings: None
Prompt: History
Beta: None
Notes: Kiera Verse
When the books are written, and historians argue over the significance, and time has seen the players turn to dust, history won’t remember the tiny girl, a magician in the making who played with sunlight and dust to create wonderlands for her friends and herself. It won’t remember the young woman she became, holding her position as First Concubine to the Crown Prince. It will brush aside the poison she kept from the Prince’s food and from his drink when a Concubine felt slighted.
History will chronicle the trial that found her innocent of treason and attempted murder. The records will state that she’d retired to a small border town and lived out her life in peace and quiet.
History isn’t written by those that live it. It’s written by those that observe it.
Kiera writes her own chronicle. She puts in the thoughts, the feelings she had, The words flow from her pen as she puts down how she rose to be the First Concubine, and how she fell in love with her Guardian, despite her heart needing to belong to the Prince first and always.
Her pen strokes tell of how life in the Harem is more cutthroat and terrible than the Court, of how favor is won, lost, regained and fought over. She scribbles down half-remembered songs that had been sung, and tales told in the dark of night when the torches were extinguished.
Leaning back in her seat, she flexes her fingers and the candles extinguish around the giant tome that she writes in most nights. Soft fur rubs against her legs when she stands. Kiera looks down and glowing green eyes look up at her.
A hand lands on her shoulder and she looks up into warm brown eyes. Soft candlelight reflects off his weathered skin. “Come to bed. It’s late.” Anthon whispers into the dark surrounding them. “You don’t have to write it all in one night.”
Kiera smiles, turning her head to brush her lips against his callused fingers. “I don’t want the lies to become truth. I committed no treason.”
Anthon sighs. It’s an old argument between them; one they’ve been having since he’d shown up on her doorstep half-drowned from the spring rains. “History is written by the victors, Kiera. Not those who live it.”
She knows he’s right; he always is. But it’s important to her that somewhere her truth exists, that it doesn’t die with her. Leaving the argument unmade, Kiera weaves her fingers with his and follows him to bed.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 420
Summary: She writes her own history.
Warnings: None
Prompt: History
Beta: None
Notes: Kiera Verse
When the books are written, and historians argue over the significance, and time has seen the players turn to dust, history won’t remember the tiny girl, a magician in the making who played with sunlight and dust to create wonderlands for her friends and herself. It won’t remember the young woman she became, holding her position as First Concubine to the Crown Prince. It will brush aside the poison she kept from the Prince’s food and from his drink when a Concubine felt slighted.
History will chronicle the trial that found her innocent of treason and attempted murder. The records will state that she’d retired to a small border town and lived out her life in peace and quiet.
History isn’t written by those that live it. It’s written by those that observe it.
Kiera writes her own chronicle. She puts in the thoughts, the feelings she had, The words flow from her pen as she puts down how she rose to be the First Concubine, and how she fell in love with her Guardian, despite her heart needing to belong to the Prince first and always.
Her pen strokes tell of how life in the Harem is more cutthroat and terrible than the Court, of how favor is won, lost, regained and fought over. She scribbles down half-remembered songs that had been sung, and tales told in the dark of night when the torches were extinguished.
Leaning back in her seat, she flexes her fingers and the candles extinguish around the giant tome that she writes in most nights. Soft fur rubs against her legs when she stands. Kiera looks down and glowing green eyes look up at her.
A hand lands on her shoulder and she looks up into warm brown eyes. Soft candlelight reflects off his weathered skin. “Come to bed. It’s late.” Anthon whispers into the dark surrounding them. “You don’t have to write it all in one night.”
Kiera smiles, turning her head to brush her lips against his callused fingers. “I don’t want the lies to become truth. I committed no treason.”
Anthon sighs. It’s an old argument between them; one they’ve been having since he’d shown up on her doorstep half-drowned from the spring rains. “History is written by the victors, Kiera. Not those who live it.”
She knows he’s right; he always is. But it’s important to her that somewhere her truth exists, that it doesn’t die with her. Leaving the argument unmade, Kiera weaves her fingers with his and follows him to bed.
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