Where Faeries Live Still ...
folder
Original - Misc › -Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
7,969
Reviews:
108
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Original - Misc › -Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
7,969
Reviews:
108
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I own these characters. However, this is a work of fiction, any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The First Snow
Pen Name: Pittwitch
Ficlet
Fandom: original
Story: The First Snow
Pairing: none
Warnings: none
As the Yule ball entered full swing, Connor kept careful watch over the dancers in the ballroom, never letting his Mistress wander from his field of vision. The music, the gaiety, the never-ending feast, the free flowing drink, and the chattering of the hundred or so guests all served to irritate him. His Mistress did not belong here. She did not need to smile coquettishly at these men or nod in sympathy to these women. They were beneath her. She flitted from group to group, chatting here and there, accepting dance requests and drinks. When the Magistrate bowed before her, she curtsied deeply and obediently took his arm when he wanted to lead her to the dance floor. The other dancers parted respectfully for the honored man of the couple. Connor grimaced at their affectation as he observed as she skipped lightly, her midnight blue ball gown swirling around her like a dark cloud amongst all of the pastels. ‘They should bow at her feet, not pander to such a vainglorious politic.’ When the musicians stopped for a well-deserved break, Connor smiled to himself when she bowed, and made her escape, virtually unseen, through the French doors onto the stone patio which surrounded the mansion house. Silently, he slipped through the crowd to follow her, always her protector.
Outside, under the pregnant clouds, the Mistress skimmed over the cold stones, speeding towards the relief of actual Earth. As she left the path and stopped to catch her breath amidst a circle of faded rose bushes, gentle flakes fluttered down from the heights. She smiled and with arms outstretched, raised her face to accept nature’s offering. The snowflakes landed in her dark hair, glittering like the most precious of jewels that the other partygoers wore so casually. The snowflakes adorned her eye lashes and clung tenaciously to the heavy velvet of her gown. Hearing a song only in her heart, she slipped her feet from her slippers and danced, dipped and swayed, twirling and swirling the snow all around her, radiant, glowing with sheer joy. Connor beamed at her as well, gleaning his joy from hers.
Lost in his admiration, Connor jumped at the sound of a banging door. ‘Edward,” he thought with contempt, as he caught sight of the arrogant Master of the Manor striding angrily towards the Mistress. Connor moved closer, hidden in the shadows of the trees, prepared to defend his love.
“The guests ask after you,” Edward hissed at the beguiling woman who barely paid heed to his arrival.
“Edward,” she sighed, stopping long enough to stare balefully at him. “The first snowfall … surely even you cannot mean to dishonor this?” She shook her head sadly and closed her eyes to the anger in his face. “Where is the harm in reveling in the gift of the first snowfall?”
“You have paid homage enough for both of us,” he growled. Barely containing his fury, he stepped to her, forcefully taking her by the elbow. “Stand down, servant,” Edward commanded as Connor surged forward. Connor halted in his tracks, angry, yet prepared to fight for his Mistress, if only she commanded him. How he wished she would only nod in his direction and this, this, man … would be dead.
“Truly, Edward, force is not necessary,” she acquiesced gracefully, but sadly. She slipped back into the thin dancing shoes, and stepped past the irascible man, towards the well-lit manse where the silhouettes of the partygoers shifted against the foreground of the glass paned doors. She shivered as she glided over the ground, the flimsy ballroom slippers on her feet offering no protection from the dormant Earth, yet preventing her from connecting more deeply with that which she loved the most. “Have I ever failed to do my duty?” She sniffed contemptuously at Edward as she stepped back onto the stone path and left him behind to stare at her retreating back.
“She grows more eccentric with the passing of each year, Connor,” Edward spoke sharply to the servant.
“Milord? She only honors the old traditions, as once did you,” Connor whispered. With a curt nod, he too stepped around the Lord of the land, and followed his Mistress back into the lions’ den; he would follow her anywhere.
Edward whipped around, his short ponytail, bound in black leather swung in an arc, collecting Nature’s jewels, but he did not acknowledge her gift. In fact, he trampled his own roses in his haste to catch up to the swiftly moving woman who had already reached the flagstone patio, and was about to reenter the Yule party, without him.
Ficlet
Fandom: original
Story: The First Snow
Pairing: none
Warnings: none
As the Yule ball entered full swing, Connor kept careful watch over the dancers in the ballroom, never letting his Mistress wander from his field of vision. The music, the gaiety, the never-ending feast, the free flowing drink, and the chattering of the hundred or so guests all served to irritate him. His Mistress did not belong here. She did not need to smile coquettishly at these men or nod in sympathy to these women. They were beneath her. She flitted from group to group, chatting here and there, accepting dance requests and drinks. When the Magistrate bowed before her, she curtsied deeply and obediently took his arm when he wanted to lead her to the dance floor. The other dancers parted respectfully for the honored man of the couple. Connor grimaced at their affectation as he observed as she skipped lightly, her midnight blue ball gown swirling around her like a dark cloud amongst all of the pastels. ‘They should bow at her feet, not pander to such a vainglorious politic.’ When the musicians stopped for a well-deserved break, Connor smiled to himself when she bowed, and made her escape, virtually unseen, through the French doors onto the stone patio which surrounded the mansion house. Silently, he slipped through the crowd to follow her, always her protector.
Outside, under the pregnant clouds, the Mistress skimmed over the cold stones, speeding towards the relief of actual Earth. As she left the path and stopped to catch her breath amidst a circle of faded rose bushes, gentle flakes fluttered down from the heights. She smiled and with arms outstretched, raised her face to accept nature’s offering. The snowflakes landed in her dark hair, glittering like the most precious of jewels that the other partygoers wore so casually. The snowflakes adorned her eye lashes and clung tenaciously to the heavy velvet of her gown. Hearing a song only in her heart, she slipped her feet from her slippers and danced, dipped and swayed, twirling and swirling the snow all around her, radiant, glowing with sheer joy. Connor beamed at her as well, gleaning his joy from hers.
Lost in his admiration, Connor jumped at the sound of a banging door. ‘Edward,” he thought with contempt, as he caught sight of the arrogant Master of the Manor striding angrily towards the Mistress. Connor moved closer, hidden in the shadows of the trees, prepared to defend his love.
“The guests ask after you,” Edward hissed at the beguiling woman who barely paid heed to his arrival.
“Edward,” she sighed, stopping long enough to stare balefully at him. “The first snowfall … surely even you cannot mean to dishonor this?” She shook her head sadly and closed her eyes to the anger in his face. “Where is the harm in reveling in the gift of the first snowfall?”
“You have paid homage enough for both of us,” he growled. Barely containing his fury, he stepped to her, forcefully taking her by the elbow. “Stand down, servant,” Edward commanded as Connor surged forward. Connor halted in his tracks, angry, yet prepared to fight for his Mistress, if only she commanded him. How he wished she would only nod in his direction and this, this, man … would be dead.
“Truly, Edward, force is not necessary,” she acquiesced gracefully, but sadly. She slipped back into the thin dancing shoes, and stepped past the irascible man, towards the well-lit manse where the silhouettes of the partygoers shifted against the foreground of the glass paned doors. She shivered as she glided over the ground, the flimsy ballroom slippers on her feet offering no protection from the dormant Earth, yet preventing her from connecting more deeply with that which she loved the most. “Have I ever failed to do my duty?” She sniffed contemptuously at Edward as she stepped back onto the stone path and left him behind to stare at her retreating back.
“She grows more eccentric with the passing of each year, Connor,” Edward spoke sharply to the servant.
“Milord? She only honors the old traditions, as once did you,” Connor whispered. With a curt nod, he too stepped around the Lord of the land, and followed his Mistress back into the lions’ den; he would follow her anywhere.
Edward whipped around, his short ponytail, bound in black leather swung in an arc, collecting Nature’s jewels, but he did not acknowledge her gift. In fact, he trampled his own roses in his haste to catch up to the swiftly moving woman who had already reached the flagstone patio, and was about to reenter the Yule party, without him.