The End is Where We Start From

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

[It has been a year.

A year since her death. A year since she returned. A year since this place altered her is ways she is yet to fully comprehend. Times moves differently between the two, here and there. There and back. And yet she wears the year like a cloak about her body all the same.

She is wearing black. Not in mourning of what was lost, but in the understanding of what was gained. It is a long, simple sheath that shimmers even in her stillness. Nothing like what she is required to wear in France, it is cobbled and fashioned together from the thoughts and memories of those she has encountered here.

She still stands, her palm briefly passing over her abdomen.

It has been a year]

Comments

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

[she admires his gloves]

Will you share it with me?

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

Oh, of course. What else could I do?

Rhetorical, of course.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

You are capable of a great many things, I imagine.

Generally speaking, of course.

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

[In a disappearing act, he is gone. With his smile and two cups of coffee, he returns]

You could measure your life out in spoons for these, you know.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

[she admires the delicate tendrils of steam that wisp away from them]

My life, I think, is measured enough.

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

I hope you're the one who does the counting. There's a nice table a short walk away from here. Shall we?

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

There is no crime in being self aware, nor self critical.

[but she takes one of the mugs and offers her arm, if they are to walk]

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

Depends on the country. Would you care for some poetry books? I think you'd like a few that popped up after your time.

[He links his arm in hers, like chains or netting. He balanced his coffee and his smile as he walks to a small round table, set out with a white cloth and two wicker chairs]

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

I should start a library, I think, with the books gifted to me in this place.

[she settles into one of the chairs with a brief smile]

Not that I object to them.

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

[easily taking his seat]

And how well-armed you would be with a library like that. I'd love to help you make it.

[he sets down his coffee before him and, with apparent whimsical idleness, spins it in his hands]

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

Not well-educated, or well-spoken. But well-armed.

[though her tone suggests she does not disagree. Nor does she spin her cup, but drinks from it instead]

Why?

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

I think you know. You already have a full quiver and aim that could please or only kill.

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

Only kill.

[she considers]

Because there is worse. And less. And more.

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

As we both well know.

[he smiles and sips his tea]

[ambitious-woman.livejournal.com]

[Coffee is an private thing for her, she and Louis would often press their own in intimate, isolation]

How are you? Less? Or more.

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

More, always.

[It is spoken not with bragging or arrogance but a simple sort of self-declaration, and in that, a tilted encouragement.]