Last Updated on
She stood before him, the tension palpable. He had come; appeared as suddenly as he had left all those months ago.
His clear blue eyes flashed steel grey, and for a moment she found herself idly wondering at this sudden colour shift.
Then her attendants sprang forward and she realised that the colour of his eyes reflected an intention.
It was over swiftly, and they were alone.
Her thoughts returned to the letter she had dropped as she left the room; mere moments ago, yet in another time.
How can this be?
He held out his hand; his eyebrow raised in question. Time froze.
When they first met they dreamed of escape. Of change. They dreamed of a sky free from storms; an azure canvas for a nurturing sun.
They had still remembered life before the storms had merged into one giant, howling beast. When sunshine and joy still had a place. When hope still walked with them.
Before we were Chosen.
They had a imagined a world without the temper and fury of the leaden storms; the tranquility of a pale blue sky, calm replacing desolation, bright replacing bleak.
They had talked of the moments that make up a life; of love and laughter, of enchantment and fear. Of the moments that proved they were alive; a smile glimpsed across a room, a touch stolen in passing, the caress of raindrops on an upturned face, the wonder of a rainbow against a cobalt sky.
Then came the day they attempted to quiet the storms.
They had left the ball that night so full of confidence, of optimism.
We were so hopeful.
They had planned. They had calculated. They had analysed. They had thought through every possible solution, and every consequence. They had honed their powers, sharpened their skills.
There was no need for surrender, for sacrifice; their gifts were strong.
The storms were stronger.
And then he was gone and the memory of that shattering moment still lingered after all this time; seeping into her dreams, her thoughts, her soul.
Yet, here he was. Asking her to join him, again.
What has changed?
His eyes had returned to blue; the clear turquoise of a sun-drenched sea, and she wanted more than anything to lose herself in them.
Had he found a way to temper the beast, to blunt the rage, without her sacrifice? To channel their powers without the need to flare and burn out.
Or, was he simply unable to let her go?
She could hear the crowds chanting as they lined the city streets below. She was expected; they were restless, savage, greedy. But, they were hers to deliver or condemn. Could she save them, and still save herself?
I’m almost out of time.
You can find this weeks #ThePrompt linky here. I do hope this week’s prompt inspired you; I look forward to reading your posts.