(no subject)

[shelley_winters]

Still no door.

The back gate at the pub, the cupboard under the stairs at home, the sidegate in the park. Nothing. Shelley sits morosely and not a little worriedly on a bench as night slowly falls around her. It has been a few days now, and it isn't like Ishamael to leave her out of his control for so long. Having him come and find her is not on her list of good things.

She gets up, and walks slowly along the path, keeping a hopeful eye out. A tramp she passes waves at something just over her right shoulder. A cool breeze blows a few drops of light rain over her face and she shivers.

This is not good.

Comments

[always-a-liar.livejournal.com]

A sharp, angry retort from Ishamael. Trying to stand, he faltered and was driven back to his knees.

"So you want me to be nice to her? Bake her a few desserts, perhaps?"

[woven-threads.livejournal.com]

"I want you to make up for all your previous bad behaviour. If you can get her to forgive you enough to love you... I reckon that'll do."

Ralph smiles to himself, pleased. This more than makes up for the unfortunate zombification misunderstanding.

"You won't have forever, though, so don't drag your feet, or it's gone for good. Here."

From one of the straggly rose bushes in the path border, Ralph selects a budding rose and picks it at the stem. He blows on it once, and it shivers in an imperceptible wind as he tosses it at Ishamael's feet.

"This'll tell you how long you have. When it's dead, you might as well be. Clear?"

[always-a-liar.livejournal.com]

Ishamael simply stared blankly at the rose.
And all shall be well and
So that was it?
All manner of thing shall be well
Win her heart and his powers would return. How very... ironic. He had till the rose withered then, or he would never be able to escape this place. Not that he had not been planning on winning her heart as it was, but...
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
With a grimace, Ishamael slowly rose to his feet. The old man was gone. How odd. Sighing, he picked up the rose and turned it over several times in his hands.
Into the crowned knot of fire
No matter.
And the fire and the rose are one.
Gazing up at the grey sky, a few fat raindrops splattered on his face in the empty park. Water coursing down his cheeks like tears, and his white suit darkening, the budding rose in his hand clenched tightly. The cold wind whispered amongst the willows on that dark night.

(Incipit Ultima Tentatio)