The Weaving

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By Serpentgamer
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Rosaline wiped a tear from her cheek as she wrote. “…Golden-blonde hair, layered in every direction. Almond-shaped, bright-blue eyes, like perfect sapphires set in alabaster skin…” Rosaline and her words were so connected; it was painful to pull them from her mind. Still, she pressed on. She had been at her desk for almost a whole day now, but she knew that if she stopped, all her work would be for nothing. However, if all went well, the work would be well worth her time and tears. “…Tall enough to place his head on top of mine, with a crooked and dazzling smile, exactly proportioned to his smooth, angular face….” She continued to write, her long scroll of paper filling up with all the words she could think of to describe her subject. A lot of paper was necessary when you were trying to recreate life.

Her pen scrawled across the page, her script tiny and accurate, glinting for a moment in the light of her desk lamp until it dried onto the parchment. The utensil looked old and decrepit. The constantly twitching feather of the quill was ratty, and could have easily been salvaged from a nineteenth century, mange-stricken peacock. Most people would throw it away in disgust, but not Rosaline. She knew its importance and what it could do for her. The golden tip glittered and glowed in the light of her desk lamp, the only clue to the brilliant wonders that the pen could produce. She never stopped to refill the quill, it was unnecessary even after her hours and hours of continuous writing.

        She wrote until the ancient scroll could hold no more ink. She had used every inch on both sides, even the edges in the margins between her other lines, save for one blank portion at the top center of the parchment. It didn't matter where the words fit, so long as they were on a single piece of paper. When she could fit no more, save the one spot, she lowered her pen and let herself utter a soft prayer. "Please, this time, let it work," she whispered softly as she gazed over the long paper. Her voice wavered in her urgency. She wanted so badly for this to go right; she had worked too hard for too long to have it otherwise. Slowly she reached forward and ornately wrote the two final words at the top: “Gabriel Lewis”.

She rolled the paper out on the floor like a long floor rug of parchment. Slowly she leaned into it and inhaled, repeating her prayer once more in her mind. Softly but surely, she exhaled, directing the stream of air at the paper. The words rippled off of the parchment as if they were floating on water instead, seemingly taking their own life as they rose into the air. Neither paper nor gravity could hold them bound, not when the miracle's magic was at work. Quickly, it began to flow together into one spiraling stream. Rosaline looked at it anxiously. She had seen this too many times to be amazed by the lack of physical boundaries the liquid was displaying, yet she didn't even realize that she was holding her breath in unsettled patience.

Soon the spiral slowed and stretched into a straight line, hovering straight up from the floor. Threads of ink branched out from the line, moving and weaving in all directions, resembling a sped-up view of what roots must be like as they wound through non-existent earth. They connected, interwoven in seemingly arbitrary patterns, but after a few minutes a purpose was in sight. The beginning line was becoming thinner as the ink spread to other areas, and a very recognizable torso shape was becoming visible in the knitted lines. Rosaline smiled, but the waiting game was not over yet, oh no. It was far from over.

After a few minutes the original stream of ink had completely disappeared. The diagram of a whole young man stood before her now, handsome and perfect in every detail that Rosaline had painstakingly described. This was her Gabriel. Slowly the ink began to change color and spread to cover the holes that had been left in the building process. The young woman was very happy with the progress. So far, nothing had been constructed incorrectly. The details were all in the right place, as it seemed. Once it appeared finished, Rosaline felt an intense, painful longing to run up to her creation and embrace it; but she held back out of necessity. She knew that the process would not truly be finished until the creation recognized her, not the other way around. Touching it before it was completed would mean disaster. She watched the eyes she had crafted herself with the most intensity. She wanted so badly for them to spring out of their suspended state and move to rest on her; needed to hear the voice she had taken several hours to find the right words to describe.

Suddenly, she saw it. The spark; the one saying the process was indeed finished. The glint of life that brought her creation out of its building state and into the real world. She watched eagerly as his eyes took in the room around her, shivered as his entire head turned to look at her. It was a horrendously tense moment for her, but she quickly relaxed as his eyes softened. "Rosaline..." he said softly.

Her face broke into a delighted smile. “Gabriel!” She rushed forward to wrap her arms around him and hug him close to her. His first breath was cut short by her thin arms pressing her body to his in an exuberant, joyous expression of her happiness. “I missed you,” he said, his soft, gentle laugh entered her ear and making her entire body tingle with recognition, “Much too much.” Rosaline was too ecstatic to speak. She had done it... She had finally done it. She had written the right words, she had pieced it all together perfectly. It was as if he had never died. Her love could finally be with her.

Her rejoicing was cut short, however, by a soft, ill-omened sound: the sound of ripping paper from the floor beside her. Rosaline's happy face turned to one of horror as she looked to the ground. The paper was ripping of its own accord, tearing apart by the same forces that had brought its contents to life. His time was up. Her heart froze in its beating as she realized the consequences of this. What? No, she thought in horror, NO! She looked up to him, her eyes filled with fear and confusion as the realization that he, her creation, was leaving; much faster than she had ever wanted him to. He looked down at her, his eyes narrowed as he frowned. "I'm sorry." he whispered as he closed his beautiful orbs.

"No!" she screamed. She couldn’t let him go, not yet. Quickly she leaned in to kiss him, to gain at least one small victory in this lost war, but she was met with nothingness as his being fell apart in her arms. “Gabriel!” All she could do was watch as her creation-- her love-- disintegrated and turned to dry, black ink dust in her hands. She knelt by the pile of soot, holding a portion of it in her hands, staring at it in dismayed disbelief. She had worked so hard... and it hadn't even lasted a minute.

Her eyes filled with tears as she began to cry softly, releasing the piles of soot she held as she sobbed. She had been so close, so close... She had done everything right! And now her words... her beautiful words... they were all gone.
Yeah, uh... Resubmitted. Changed her name because, even though it is beautiful, no one can relate to it as much.

And Gabriel has his own story, so neh.

© 2007 - 2020 Serpentgamer
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readyornothereicome's avatar
Serpentgamer's avatar
Thanks, babe. :) It needs more work, though.
dogleish's avatar
You write so well, and the story was so beautiful, it was nothing I expected and it was just so interesting to read that I had to finish it. Although how sad the ending, it is just right and leaves me asking for more. :)
Serpentgamer's avatar