smallestopener | Trust dreams. Trust your heart, and trust your story.

Ingress had a brilliant birthday. She’s eleven. Eleven is nearly grown up! It’s also the year when children in the stories she’s read come into their own. Adventures begin, schooling starts, worlds are saved… she can hardly wait to see what will happen next.

Her party earlier was such fun. Door was almost nice to Puck; Ingress had worried a little about that after she invited him. But he was very nice and charming, and Tom was nice, too, and Puck helped Ingress steal lots of roses off the cake while Havelock talked to Tom and Door, and it was brilliant.

She ate far too much icing sugar, but Tom had the peppermint potion waiting for her when the party was over. She feels much better now. And she’s eleven!

It sounds so good in her head. Eleven, eleven, eleven.

She should have asked Mary to stay the night with her, she thinks, as she tosses and turns. She’s never going to fall asleep, even with staying up past her bedtime. Tom and Door insisted she go to bed after she started yawning. They can be so silly sometimes.

She tosses one more time, and she thinks, again, how impossible it will be to go to sleep tonight. Her eyelids flutter and close. It is not long before she’s deep in dreams.

Page 3 of 15 << [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] >>

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

smallestopener

"The bar is close by. The shadows aren't in the way."

She doesn't tell her her name, even though the shadows no longer pool at her feet.

From:

a-fell.livejournal.com

Aziraphael looks poised to say something, but in the end it's fairly obvious that the corner of his mouth is twitching and he only gives a benevolent shrug.

"You are eleven, after all. It's a very important age."

From:

mistressmaryquitecontrary

Mary turns to her, startled and almost severe. "Well, I should hope so! You can't just expect to see a rose in bloom, you know, when it's pretty. You've got to care for it first, and then you've earned it."

From:

ofthatantet.livejournal.com

For a moment, her smile is puzzled. It's not quite rude, but it's... odd. Off.

(She'll give away everything she's been given, before she leaves these woods. She'll learn.

All the hard times are coming (http://ofthatantet.livejournal.com/1775.html).)

"Thanks! And good luck. If you're looking for help, I don't really know anything about this place, but he's--"

She glances back through the doorway. He's not her dad, not quite, but he's--

"--good. He's a good guy."

"See you later." She moves on, vanishing between one step and the next; there's a faint smell of still air, heavy with the scent of roses.

From:

smallestopener

"You can teach me," she says, and she smiles up at Mary.

Mary is blonde, where Ingress' mother and sister have dark hair. But that's a minor difference.

From:

smallestopener

"Isn't it? It's almost somewhere, but not quite yet."

The wine is quite good, but her giggles come from her heart and not from the vine.

"I shall be even taller soon."

From:

smallestopener

"He is?"

She frowns as she follows Rose's glance to the doorway.

"Bye," she says, and her wave comes too late.

She tiptoes to the trees. It's sunny and lovely again, and the roses bloom in her mind.

From:

aj_crawley

"Height is overrated," Crowley imparts - which might, from certain angles, be considered slightly hypocritical. "Size doesn't matter; it's what you - "

From:

a-fell.livejournal.com

"Crowley," Aziraphael interrupts, looking scandalised. "Really."

From:

aj_crawley

"What?" he says mildly, the picture of affronted innocence - except for that same curve at the corner of his mouth, the mirror image of Aziraphael's own. "She'll need the advice one day."

From:

no-prisoner.livejournal.com

Through the trees there's an open space; like a room set down in the midst of the trees. Three green-shaded lanterns hang from a wire overhead, unlit now in the warm light; the man is seated on a stump, his back against the workbench, his eyes closed for a moment.

Just for a moment.

It would be wrong to say that Ingress has never seen Eddie Dean look this tired (http://no-prisoner.livejournal.com/13124.html?thread=226884#t226884). But it's been a very long time; more than half her short life.

From:

smallestopener

"Eddie?"

Her voice is small under the tall trees.

She's so glad to see him, whether this is real or not or something in between. There are people who touch your heart and never leave it. Eddie is one of those people for Ingress.

"Is that you?"

There is a yo-yo in her hand. She grips it tightly.

From:

no-prisoner.livejournal.com

It's a good question. This is a face that gets around. But here and now, it's still his.

"Ingress?" He opens hazel eyes and regards her, puzzled. A little worried. "What are you doing here?"

There are many paths through these woods, and all of them end in the clearing in the end. But some of them are far too short.

From:

smallestopener

"Then I shall be sure to ask you for more advice when I need it, Uncle Crowley," she says, her eyes sparkling.

She has no idea what he's talking about, but deep in the House of Arch, Tom stirs fitfully in parental sleep.

From:

smallestopener

"I was playing dress up, and then I was in the stables. I was on Mal's boat, and it got dark by the lake. I had to fight my way to the lights. The lion helped me get here."

She bites her lip and frowns. "I thought I was dreaming. I'm not too sure."

From:

no-prisoner.livejournal.com

His expression eases. "You got big."

"I like your hair." Gold ribbons lacing through the blue.

From:

smallestopener

"I'm eleven, now," she says, and she twirls around, her white skirt belling out with a rustle.

She pats her hair. "A friend got me ready."

"I've missed you."

From:

no-prisoner.livejournal.com

"Eleven," he says, wondering. "Do you still like stories?"

From:

smallestopener

"I'll always like your stories," she says, and she sits down beside him. There is room, and she is not so very big yet.

"I still know the one about Oriza."

From:

no-prisoner.livejournal.com

"There are a lot of stories about Oriza."

He puts his arm around her and gives her a squeeze. "Will you walk with me? A little ways, anyway?"

There's always been something a little sad about Eddie Dean, deep down; especially when it comes to these moments. Little fragments of something he never had. Bittersweet.

Maybe today it's a little easier to see, because she's older, and so is he. Maybe that's why.

From:

smallestopener

"Of course," she says. Ingress sounds older than eleven. There is a part of her, deep down, that is old old old.

She takes his hand and smiles up at him.

"I'm your kid, too."

From:

no-prisoner.livejournal.com

He smiles, then, and stands, and stretches. "One second to close down shop."

He reaches down and takes down the lanterns; one, two, three.

(One, two, three; the Soldier goes off to the barracks.)

He lays them on the workbench, beside metal blanks and small sharp tools, cutters and templates and grinders and carvers. He passes a hand across the surface and they fade into the wood, and the bench itself begins to melt away, becoming stone and leaf and living wood.

He's dressed as he used to for bartending in the old days, in jeans and a crisp white shirt, and he reaches for her hand as the rosebushes start to bloom. "This is a story about a little girl," he says. "Her name was Chloe. She was the sister of Oriza, and Oriza raised her."

Every storyteller knows--telling a story is all about making choices. Making choices and committing.

From:

smallestopener

Her dress is now the loose tunic and pants of a Herald-in-training, but instead of gray, they stay shining and white. You can cheat in a dream.

The roses bloom, and she remembers the face of her mother.

"Do I know this story?"

She does and she doesn't. Rose spoke of Chloe, but that was a long time ago. Only it hasn't happened yet.

Her free hand trails against the tree trunks. The moss there feels like velvet.

From:

no-prisoner.livejournal.com

"Maybe you do," he says.

"Maybe you will."

They pass through the doorway, and the workshop, the making-place, the three lights under green shade, fades away behind them. That part of his life is over now.

"Chloe grew up in a tower. Not alone, but a little lonely. Her father had left a long time ago, and one by the one the rest of her family did, too. And when she was older--a little girl, still, but older than she was, they left the tower, too, Oriza and Chloe, the last of the children of Gan to leave their spinning and enter the world."

"There are a lot of stories about little girls," Eddie adds. "A lot of them are about getting to become a princess, but Chloe was already a princess. And the others--and even some of the princess stories--all seem to be about the same thing."

"Thou shalt not leave the path."

"Do you know what I mean?"

From:

smallestopener

That's what she likes best about it. Ingress scoops up two handfuls of glitter and throws it into the air. She waits to spin as it rains down... but it doesn't.

One of the huge purple butterfly flaps its wings over her, its wings shimmering.

"Oh, it's magic," she whispers. "Glitter magic!"

It winks again and reaches down a gloved hand. Ingress takes it, and the butterfly pulls her up into the air.

"Eeeeeee!" she squeals in delight. Flying is so much fun, even if it's only as high as the rafters.

The rafters are awfully high up, though.