PrincessAutumnArcher

    Knives were not meant to be such tempting objects.      You knew this. It made total sense for a blade and handle to be put together, and none at all for the combination to arouse such appreciation in you.    Yet you found yourself riveted despite yourself, glance darting back to the beautiful sight of smooth silver blade effortlessly scoring a path through vivid, hyper-saturated yellow.      A gentle but repeated prodding at your side jolted you from your thoughts and you turned towards the disturbance, eyes sliding away from the knife’s graceful path only when the angle of your neck made it impossible to remain there.      Yo

    Knives were not meant to be such tempting objects.      You knew this. It made total sense for a blade and handle to be put together, and none at all for the combination to arouse such appreciation in you.    Yet you found yourself riveted despite yourself, glance darting back to the beautiful sight of smooth silver blade effortlessly scoring a path through vivid, hyper-saturated yellow.      A gentle but repeated prodding at your side jolted you from your thoughts and you turned towards the disturbance, eyes sliding away from the knife’s graceful path only when the angle of your neck made it impossible to remain there.      Yo

     Pain and confusion exploded in your chest, searing through bone and flesh as you stared at the hooded figure, eyes wide under the shadows cast by draping cloth. Blood roared in your ears, yet you felt as if you had been dragged away from the real world, all sounds oddly muted and shuffling as echoes ricocheted in your skull.      Amelia stood there as if made of stone, mouth curled in a sort of half-apologetic, half-determined expression, shadowed by the hooded cloak she wore. She didn’t move, barely breathing as you sighed, stuck the candle in a holder some absentminded servant had left on the table, and crossed a few steps to h

     It all started with an apple.      A shiny, juicy, crisp apple the colour of the sun’s blood as it spills over the horizon; that fruit was the only reason you were doing something as stupid as climbing a stone wall twenty meters high in the middle of the night. A grunt escaped your tightly clamped lips as you finally pulled yourself over the edge and perched, panting, atop the wall that was supposed to keep you safe.    The journey was hell, but the view was heaven; up here, the air was free from the thick smog that suffocated the town below. You tipped your head back, inhaling the fresh scent of grass—real blades of vivi

    The fleeting grasps you’d gotten at sleep showed when the rising sun prickled at your eyes, drawing a few stinging tears and another, harsher, ache that had nothing to do with the light. Carefully, you rolled over, trying not to disturb the covers, and looked at Natalya’s back.      The covers had slipped down, exposing one shoulder and a slanting window of her pale back, trailing strands of silvery hair slipping down her skin. Asleep, she seemed so fragile; without the daggers and steel of her flashing eyes, the cruel curve of her lower lip that sharpened with anger, Natalya was a vision of vulnerability, the angles of her b

   Concentric circles transformed into shapeless blobs at the tip of your pen as you absently twirled the instrument in your fingers, too bored to pay attention to the actual class and too emotional to continue writing. The voice of your French teacher, which was already a muted buzz in the background, continued to fade away as you scanned the handwritten lines of ink that filled the page.      Tu me donnes les ailes pour voler; tu me donnes les ailes d’amour!      Sighing, you dared to whisper the words, first in French, and then in English: “You give me wings to fly; you give me the wings of love!”      It was risky in

     Say something, I’m giving up on you.    Today was the last day.    He had long since stopped crying. The reservoir of diamond tears that resided within the man hunched over the cold metal rails of the cot had long since been drained, as unlikely as the feat might seem; his eyes were dry, his gaze clear and hard (purely by force of will) as he looked down at the reposed, deathly pale visage of the one he loved. Yes, there was once a time when liquid crystals had poured incessantly from those two cognac-hued windows into the immortal soul of Yao Wang. Bitter, salty trails had once given his face a ruddy sheen, tinting those same

He came every night, precisely at 5:59 in the evening, just as the sun began its descent. Unfailingly, he would stand in the same spot—just under the bare limbs of the still oak, but always with a military-straight bearing, never allowing himself to lean against the support of the broad trunk—and gaze over the sky as its hues darkened like the withering petal of some enormous bloom. After the moon had risen to the height of its throne for exactly one hour, he would abruptly leave, pulling his coat tightly around his frame as he slipped away. “Goodbye,” the silent spectator at the window would whisper quietly every ni

    It started in a kingdom ruled by a just, noble king and his loving, faithful queen. Two princesses gave them unmatched joy, and life for the royal family was an exultant one, as if from a fairytale—but that all changed when pirates landed on their shores.    Your lower lip trembled uncontrollably, despite your best efforts to quell its shaking, as Arthur walked slowly towards you, the thunderous expression on his face more frightening than any yelling or swearing he might have done.      He had changed since the pirates had first attacked; your kind, gracious Arthur had been torn apart by the battles he had fought and the things

                You smiled softly down at Ludwig’s sleeping face as his features were gently bathed in moonlight streaming in from the window. He was so peaceful in repose, without stress or worry or any of the emotions that plagued him in wakefulness to etch hard lines into his features. And it had been so long since the easy curves of a true smile had appeared on his face that you could barely remember what one looked like.                His feathery blond hair glimmered finely in the moonlight as he murmured something undecipherable in his sleep, shifting slightly in his sleep so that his sculpted silhouette was thrown into glorio

    You hummed softly as you wandered in the musty chamber filled with old boxes and things that looked as if they had not been touched for years. Dust motes shone gold in the quiet sunlight as it filtered in through nostalgia-smeared windows and fell upon the piles in the old room. The muffled buzz of conversation from downstairs faded into the background as you stepped forward to examine one of the boxes precariously stacked upon its fellows. Before you quite knew what had happened, there was a tremendous crash and you found yourself sprawled on the floor, the contents of the box strewn about you on the floor; black and white photographs li

The problem with being the strong one is that no one ever offers you a hand. —C.W.    Humming as you bustled around your kitchen preparing the ingredients for the Italian feast the two Italian brothers coming over later were sure to want. A smile curved your lips up at the memory of the last time your two best friends had come over; after an amazing dinner (prepared by Feli and Lovi, of course), the three of you had settled down to watch an Italian movie that they had brought over. Halfway into the movie, you had accidentally smacked the back of Lovi’s head with a pillow; he retaliated, starting a pillow fight that had ended in

  {Resurface}    The coffeeshop door chimed open, you glanced up, and suddenly you were sixteen again—young, naïve, and reckless, falling into striking claret eyes without any care in the world. A ghost of his voice, half memory and all low, sultry contentment, curled up your spine and settled in your skull, warm and quiet:      “Lieblingsmensch…”    That whisper was all it took; memories bubbled to the surface of your mind, flashes of the past bursting before you in vivid color and sound. And then Gilbert turned away, silvery hair gleaming as your shared gaze was broken, and you sat alone once again.   {Sati

    Spot. Spin. Spot. Spin. Spot—    “Stop, stop, stop!”    The irritated voice of your director broke into your balanced trance and you halted in the middle of a perfectly constructed pirouette, slapping your foot back down onto the wooden floor. Suddenly breathless, you wiped a few sweaty strands of rebellious hair back from your forehead and looked at the artistic director of the Bolshoi Ballet Company inquiringly.    Exasperated, hooded teal eyes flicked away from yours as Sergei Filin sighed and muttered something in Russian before turning to you again and saying in thickly accented English, “You’re to

     He was not human.      To forget that was to become prey already limp in the jaws of its hunter—yet already your grip on the whip was weakening, his fingers gently loosening yours and taking the control into those slender, wickedly clever hands.      I am yours to command.      Your eyes closed for a second, the darkness taking shape behind your eyelids and unfurling into shapes with no name; your fingers clenched on air, blood boiling under the incandescent lines of the contract seal branded onto your body and soul. Not for the first time, the thought that contract seals branded a demon’s human much like a slaughterhouse

    It was really quite astonishing how loud two men could get—two men that were certainly regarded as being calm, collected, and perhaps most importantly, impossible to fluster. Then again, you seemed to have done quite a good job at that—not that you actually were aware of the effect you had on both Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade. No, they had taken pains to avoid that, although each was now wishing (perhaps subconsciously) that he hadn’t.    “…what bloody evidence?!” Lestrade’s exclamation was more irritated than you had heard in a while, including all the times that Sherlock had stopped by to

     “That was incroyable, Gil!”    “Yeah, you never told us you could dance like that, mi amigo!”    A strange, snake-like laugh filled the air as a tall, lean man with strikingly cerise eyes hopped out of the car parked at the curb, his shock of thick, silvery hair swaying in the light wind.      “What can I say? I’m just that awesome!” the man called as he waved from the sidewalk. The car purred away and Gilbert Beilschmidt turned away from the street, whistling to himself.      Running a hand through his pale hair, Gilbert made his way to the door of his brother’s house, dancing to mu

There was once a kingdom bordered by mist and mountains, lush with forests and crystalline rivers that twined over the land like trails of tears dripping down porcelain cheeks. This kingdom was ruled by a gracious king and queen, but when malicious forces too powerful for mortal rulers to counter threatened the realm, the true guardians of the kingdom came forth. Sister fairies, each with their own unique powers and sacred connection to the soul of the universe itself, protected the kingdom. Their presence could be felt throughout the realm; it was evident in the vibrancy of the flowers and the sweet iciness of the water that flowed as lifebl

     “Okay, okay,” you breathed out shakily, ankles wobbling as you stepped into the rink, goosebumps prickling on your skin as the cold air above the ice hit you. You let go of the rail and pushed off into a somewhat smooth glide, breathing deeply as the feeling of weightlessness floated over you.      Your lips stretched into a smile as you gained speed, your laps around the rink blowing your hair back and brushing past your neck with a chilly kiss. Pop music echoed off the high rafters as you wove around the other skaters, debating whether or not to try some fancier footwork; it was open rink time, so it wasn’t like you