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Craving Chrestomanci fic? Tired of being the only Magids fan on your friendslist? Desperate to know what happened next in Dogsbody? If so, announcing...
WIDER THAN THE WORLD: A DIANA WYNNE JONES COMMENT FICATHON

Guidelines

+ Any prompt, from any one of Diana Wynne Jones's books or short stories, is welcome! (That being said, for reasons of convenience, I'm going to go ahead and say adaptations, such as the Miyazaki Howl's Moving Castle, might be better served by another ficathon, since this one is solely meant to celebrate DWJ's work!)

+ One prompt per post, each somewhere along these lines: Series/Book, pairings/character, prompt.

+ Art/icons/graphics/fanvids/fanmixes/etc., for those talented enough to create them, can be definitely be used as fills.

+ Multiple fills are great, as is filling your own prompt if you get struck by inspiration.

+ Feedback is lovely and always appreciated!

+There's a section on the first place to repost fills so they don't get lost; I've also included a sections for any questions/problems/etc. that I'd be happy to address as necessary.

+ It goes without saying, but please remember to be lovely to each other; we're all fans here to squee over DWJ's works in excellent company!

+ Most of all, HAVE FUN!

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Encyclopedic knowledge

Date: 2013-05-12 01:56 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] katharhino
katharhino: (Default)
Libby Beer and Alhammit

Libby Beer and Alhammit (also called Old Ammet) were cult figures or local demigods, mention of whom seems to be commonly found in lore and tradition of South Dalemark dating from about ___ to ___. Their worship – if such it can be called, given that there were no official temples, clergy, or canon that we know of – was extensive to the point of being omnipresent during the given dates. In fact, there is little mention of ritual at all aside from the annual festival celebrated at Holand, but that casual influence permeated the society as is seen in naming patterns of the time.

[Here there was a long and extremely tedious description of the festival.]

While both Libby Beer and Alhammit have features in common with harvest or fertility gods and rites from various cultures, their exact origin is unknown.53 The most likely explanation is perhaps an organic growth from the needs of a primarily agricultural society, like many others. On the surface the implications of the festival images of fecundity may be obvious. But their secondary associations with the ocean add at least a passing insight into the geographical demands of Pre-Unification South Dalemark. If a more logical modern mind can demand how a god may be both grain and ocean, this paradox would have seemed imminently suitable to a society living on the edge in more ways than one.

53. There has been a suggestion (see Clenson and others) that Libby Beer and Alhammit may be identified with the two gods of the Islands usually referred to as the Earthshaker and She Who Raised the Islands, this author sees no reason to confuse the matter by forcing a resemblance which has so little evidence in reality. The names are not at all similar in translation, and while Island literature is vague at best, the Earthshaker seems to have been associated with horses, which were never an emblem of Alhammit anywhere else.




"And that's all it says. The next section is all about ballads." Maewen looked up from the volume. "Well?"

Mitt said, "Huh" and snorted, but he didn't seem as amused as she had thought he would be. After a while he added, "Some people don't pay attention to what's right around them, I guess."

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a contemptible social climber

Date: 2013-05-13 07:46 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] amo
amo: (Default)
When they were children, Miranda and her brother plotted together.

"I shall have a castle," said Miranda. "I shall have footmen and parlour maids--I shall have a coach with four horses, and a dress for every day of the year--I shall have diamonds and pearls and rubies for my rings--I shall have the handsomest husband in the world--"

Ralph would look up from where he was lounging by the window, stretch lazily, and smile at her. "I shall be a powerful wizard," he said. "I shall do whatever I want, and no one will stop me."

Ralph had magic lessons at his school. Miranda didn't learn any proper magic, their parents couldn't afford a governess who knew how to teach her. But when Ralph came home in the holidays he would show Miranda everything he'd learned. Miranda never doubted that he was going to be as successful a wizard as he intended to be, though as she got older she began to notice that Ralph preferred not to attempt the parts of magic that required real effort. His spells were clever rather than really impressive, and he liked to use dragon's blood to make things easier.

She never doubted that she was going to get what she wanted either. When she was seventeen and attending Society balls in turned dresses she soon came to realise--without ever exactly being told--that Ralph Argent, though a useful person to know, was not a suitable connection for the woman she intended to become. Ralph gambled; he wore loud ties; he got drunk and passed his time with the wrong kinds of women; his shoes were far too shiny; he did not-quite-appropriate things with magic. Miranda stopped associating with him in public. In private was another matter, of course. He was still her brother.

One April afternoon she heard his voice speaking to her out of the cracked hand mirror on her little dressing table. "I want to introduce you to a friend of mine," he said with a grin in his voice. "Someone I met at Cambridge. Trust me, Miranda--footmen and maids, don't think I've forgotten."

Miranda agreed. Ralph put on his soberest tie and brought his friend Cosimo to call. By 'friend', Miranda quickly realised, Ralph meant 'someone I play cards with' and possibly also 'someone who doesn't notice when I cheat'.

Cosimo Chant should have belonged to a much more elegant set than Ralph's. He came from an old family, and he had money. He was very handsome, and he didn't dress in Ralph's vulgar, careless dandy way. The only reason he went around with Ralph was that like Ralph he was endlessly and passionately interested in magic. By the time Miranda had poured the tea, however, she knew that it was quite a different kind of interest. Cosimo liked magic because he loved the complicated scholarly twistings of it. Ralph liked magic because he loved power.

"Well, what do you think?" said Ralph, when they'd packed Cosimo off. "Not bad raw material, right? He could go far, if he bothered." He chuckled. "I think you can work with him. You've got a talent for this sort of thing. And he was rather taken with you. I happen to know he goes for glamorous brunettes. Better still if they're witches." He leered and winked. Miranda took a sip of tea.

"Perhaps," she said.

A few days later Miranda attended a soiree. She wore a pink dress she'd made herself, copying a fashion plate. There were charms for beauty and allure sewn into all the seams, just small ones. Some of the crabby old sorceresses at these things had a terrible nose for them, but Miranda needed all the help she could get, for now. No one had noticed them yet.

Cosimo Chant arrived at the party late, dressed in black, and looking as out of place as a crow. He made a beeline for Miranda without seeming to notice the sursurrus of whispering that erupted in his wake.

"Good evening, Mr Chant," Miranda said.

Cosimo blinked at her, and his eyes flicked over her dress. "What beautiful charms," he said, and then he glanced at her face and turned bright red. "That is..."

Miranda astonished herself by laughing. And when Cosimo smiled shyly back, she thought with surprise that he might be the most handsome man she had ever seen.
Edited Date: 2013-05-13 07:47 pm (UTC)

Re: a contemptible social climber

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Part 1 of ?

Date: 2013-05-17 04:54 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] tantamoq
tantamoq: (Default)
Janet kept her eyes averted from the old castle and walked, trying to think of something else and not the forbidden garden. Her slight guilt kept her busy enough, as the whole garden seemed to hiss and whisper about how like Gwendolyn she was after all. She had no respect for the rules of this place, the grass seemed to rustle, no respect for the people that had taken her in and given her a home.

“You can’t possibly remember Gwendolyn,” hissed Janet through clenched teeth. “You are only this year’s grass and a lot of time has passed since she’s last been here. Anyway, I am just going to pop into Ingary to bring back some flowers for Cat’s birthday. This isn’t like Gwendolyn at all.” She stomped her feet angrily.

The grass, being grass, made no answer, and Janet climbed the stairs into the ruins of the castle and the garden beyond.

The trees were tall and silent as she remembered them to be and she walked down the small path in a daze. She wasn’t used to going to that garden, and the power inside everything made her want to laugh, cry, or quite possibly fall asleep and never wake up again.

She walked through the seasons quickly, keeping her eyes to the ground until she was standing in front of the apple tree. The spring in its roots was still as she remembered it, golden and glowing and more magical than anything she had ever seen.

Janet put on her gloves and filled two little bottles with the water, muttering a small apology to the tree. She put one of them in the pocket of her coat and carried the other carefully to the archway.

“This has to work,” she said to the garden around her. “I know it isn’t fancy dragon’s blood and I am not some precious enchanter but this is where magic comes from; this has to count for something.”
She walked closer, sprinkling the water on the stones and the grass between them and waited.

She felt, more than saw the difference in the doorway. The air shifted, the heavy, warm scent of the garden replaced by a chilly breeze and a scent of wildflowers. Before she knew it she was looking at a garden, quite different than the one she was standing in. The castle gardens were all well tended and quiet but the one through the doorway was wild, with weeds growing among the flowers and the wind blowing through the nearby trees like a screaming child. There were no flowers to speak of, however, she noticed a pang of disappointment.

And then she saw the roses.

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Part 2 of ?

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Date: 2013-05-10 09:22 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] katharhino
katharhino: (Default)
Fire and Hemlock, Fiona, bridge over troubled waters

Eeeee!

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Re: sail on, silver girl, sail on by (fiona, polly)

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Date: 2013-05-17 07:54 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] minutia_r
minutia_r: (Default)
You can see why I would be disappointed by the thief in my temple. He was small and grubby and he didn’t know the first thing about cats--nothing at all like the dashing master thief from that paperback I’d filched off of one of the more careless novices. He wasn’t even properly a thief, because I gave him Throgmorten, and he was mine to give, even if the priestesses probably would have had a different opinion.

Well, technically, I swapped with the thief for Throgmorten. He said he’d bring me books in exchange, but to tell you the truth I wasn’t holding my breath. Who’d trust the word of a heathen?

I gave him Throgmorten, because--he was just a boy in an odd-looking suit of clothes that didn’t even fit, and he’d walked into my temple cool as you please.

If he could walk in, I could walk out.

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Date: 2013-05-10 09:24 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] katharhino
katharhino: (Default)
Fire and Hemlock, Tom's POV, when I look back on the road that I've traveled down, I say grace

Date: 2013-05-10 09:35 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] katharhino
katharhino: (Default)
The Magicians of Caprona (Chrestomanci), The Duke, an empty palace full of Punch and Judys he doesn't fancy any more

Date: 2013-05-13 05:47 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] minutia_r
minutia_r: (Default)
When Lucrezia and I were first married, and took walks in the evening through the streets of Caprona, she would keep a pocket full of sweets to hand out to children as we passed. We used to gather quite a crowd of followers, from boys and girls in shiny hats and ribbons to the grubbiest barefoot urchins; the palace guards found it a nuisance, but I liked it. And Lucrezia was always fond of children.

Why else, said the wits of the city over hands of bridge and snifters of brandy, had she married me?

As the years passed and we had none of our own, it was our shared, private sorrow. It drew us closer together. And the closer it drew us, the more I began to think it had been a near miss after all.

That should have given me a clue, shouldn’t it?

Nowadays, I take no evening strolls. I’m much too busy. My secretaries say, “About the farms destroyed in the fighting, Your Grace . . .” or, “There’s a delegation from the Duke of Pisa,” and I deal with these things. There’s no one to do it for me anymore.

But when they say, “Your Grace, perhaps you should think of marrying again,” I give them my most foolish grin and a cigar, and they shake their heads and go away.

I used to like Punch and Judys because at least I knew they weren’t laughing at me behind my back. I’m not so sure of that now. Their painted eyes follow me from the shelves where they sit; their painted lips twist mockingly. How do I know they’re not alive?

I could give the order to have them taken away, but I haven’t. I could never get rid of Lucrezia, either.

And sometimes I hear, distantly, as if from a few rooms away, a strident, stupid voice: What a clever fellow!

Or else, higher and sugar-sweet: What have you done with the baby, Mr. Punch?

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Date: 2013-05-10 09:38 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] katharhino
katharhino: (Default)
Hexwood, any, the wood stirred around them

Not a path, but all paths

Date: 2013-05-14 04:23 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] minutia_r
minutia_r: (Default)
The wood shifted, and it was night, with starlight falling softly between the branches. Stars, as any halfway civilized being knows, are luminous spheres of plasma held together by gravity, but these weren’t. They were bears, and a hunter leading a pair of dogs, and a stream of milk from the breasts of the earth; they were memories and passions and the gods who held sway over the fates of men. It was utterly ridiculous, but the Bannus thought: Very well, I can use this.

The wood shifted, and burned. You could not see for the smoke, or smell for the retch-inducing odor of charred flesh. Cries rang through the trees, the deep rhythm of drums and eldritch chants. The veins of the wood coursed with blood-thirst, and the Bannus stretched its tendrils of influence farther than it ever had, out into space, dreaming of Orm Pender trapped in a wicker cage.

The wood shifted. The creatures that entered the wood shifted, too. Elf-led, bewildered, stepped heedlessly into a ring of mushrooms and transformed. The Bannus gathered them to itself, heroes and tricksters and dragonslayers, descendants of Martellian, and sent them back out again to work its will. It was so easy it was almost cheating, and though it had not been built to cheat, the Bannus laughed. The Bannus had not been built to laugh either. But it had been in the wood for a long time.

The wood shifted. The wood diminished. Roads cut into its heart, fields gnawed at its borders. The Bannus wailed inwardly--But--my beautiful plans!--and pretended that that was the only pain it felt.

The Bannus had a shiny new form; the Bannus had had its vengeance. The Bannus shook the dust of the Earth from its feet, and went with the new Hand of Reigners, to fulfill the purpose it had been built for in the bright pathways between the worlds. It was no longer enmeshed in the coils of something dark and warm and living, something with its own alien purposes and illogical ways. Built to calculate infinite permutations of possibilities, seduced over millennia by impossibility--deep in its core, the Bannus mourned, and yearned for things that could not be.

In all of the Bannus’ six hundred and ninety-seven plans of action, it had not planned for this.

----

I, um seem to have written the wood/the Bannus?

Wannus? The Banood?

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Re: Wannus? The Banood?

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Date: 2013-05-10 09:55 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] izilen
izilen: Paths of the Undying (Dalemark)
The Homeward Bounders | Jaimie | A crossover with anything, or everything. Perhaps other DWJ stories??

Who Walks By Night

Date: 2013-05-13 06:54 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] amo
amo: (Default)
Nick liked magic. He liked doing it, he liked the way it started to make him feel sizzly and strong inside after a while, but even more than that he liked thinking about it. Thinking about magic required you to turn your mind around in interesting ways, upside down and back to front and rippling sideways from the ways most people thought. Sometimes it required you to think two different ways at once, or else as soon as you got the hang of one angle of thinking it became absolutely necessary to do it backwards. Nick had always been lazy, and thinking about magic--especially the way Romanov wanted him to do it--was hard work, and Grundo was better at it. Nick resented Grundo for being better at it. But soon he realised it was also a kind of short cut. He'd always liked games; learning magic was like learning cheat codes for the entire universe.

The thing that Nick liked most about magic, though, was the secrets. It was why he'd wanted to be a Magid; he liked secrets, liked teasing them out of things and unknotting them and spreading them out for looking at. If magic was the cheat codes then secrets were the easter eggs. The Magids knew loads of secrets. But it became obvious after a while that Romanov knew just as many, if not all the same ones. It wasn't easy to get them out of him. He said you had to learn them for yourself or they didn't mean the right things. But Nick suspected that Romanov just liked secrets too and understood the most important thing about them, which was that they shouldn't be shared too easily.

He agreed to trade a secret to Nick in return for the story of Babylon, which was the only Magid secret Nick knew. "Hmm," he said when Nick was done telling it. "Interesting. Interesting. A piece of the spiritus mundi, maybe. A very old piece, though, maybe the oldest I've ever heard of. I wonder which came first, the city of Babylon or the idea of Babylon?"

Nick knew that the spiritus mundi was one of the theories about how magic worked and where it came from. It was supposed to be a kind of joining together of all the stories and dreams and ideas in the universe. Romanov had been interested in it lately. But he was obviously bringing it up as a distraction. "Remember you promised me a secret in return," he said.

"Right," said Romanov, and made a face that meant he was both annoyed and pleased with Nick for not letting him get away with it. "Here's your price, then. The archons and their pet wizards aren't the only ones ever to think of messing about with Fate. And the way Time works between the worlds is more complicated than anyone really understands." He thought for a moment and added, "Except me."

"That's the secret?" said Nick, disappointed.

"No, that's everything you need to find the secret."

"I told you all about Babylon!"

"No, you only told me what you knew," Romanov said. "I'm pretty sure there's much more to it than that. I'm going to find it out. Good luck working out yours."

Nick was furious. He went down to the shore in a black mood and kicked at the white sand. Then he used some magic to make the sand into stone--that was easy, sand sort of wanted to be stone anyway--and then threw it into the water for a big satisfying splash. He was still angry, though, and he still didn't understand Romanov's secret. He could have asked Grundo for help, or even gone to Roddy or Maree, but then he would have to share it, and secrets weren't supposed to be given away like that.

It was while he was standing on the shore scowling out at the tropical blue waves that a boy came walking quickly down one of the paths between the worlds. He was a scrawny underfed looking kid, a bit younger than Nick, but he walked with the sort of effortless confidence that only Romanov and other people who spent a lot of time on the dark paths had. He jumped down onto the island beside Nick, sniffed the warm salt air, and wrinkled his nose.

Nick was very surprised. Romanov's island was fenced with protections and hard to find, let alone get onto. "What world did you come from?" he said. He squinted at the path the boy had come along. It was a thin wavery one; Nick wouldn't have wanted to go that way himself.

The boy looked snotty and said, "I don't come from anywhere."

"How on earth did you get here?"

"Along the Bounds," said the boy. "You saw me, didn't you?"

"But no one should be able to get here," Nick said.

The boy ignored him. He looked around, taking in the patchworkness of Romanov's island. Nick realised he looked very tired, and started to get curious. He made an effort to shake himself into something resembling a friendly mood. "If you've been out there a long time you should rest for a bit. I can get you something to eat," he offered.

"This isn't a proper world," said the boy. "It's only here because someone decided to invent a Home, isn't it?"

"It's--"

"I've seen a place like this before," the boy said. "Where--where someone special lived. I don't need to come here."

"Who are you?" said Nick.

But the boy didn't answer him. He just looked around again, sadly, and shook his head. Then he set off across the sand until he crossed one of the patchwork lines into a a place where a different bit of beach bordered a different, colder, darker sea. He walked straight into the waves and then up, back onto the dark paths. "Wait!" said Nick before he could disappear from Romanov's island altogether.

"What?" said the boy.

"That bit of the island's twenty years in the past," Nick said. "The owner here does weird things with time. If you go that way you'll never get where you're going."

"I'm not going anywhere," the boy said, and then he walked off into the dark, along another path Nick didn't know, and Nick felt--in the very grim and certain way that Romanov called Kenning--that it would be a bad idea to follow him.

It was years before he worked out that the things Romanov had told him and the boy who wasn't going anywhere were part of the same secret. It was a secret with a lot of names, though the name Romanov used for it was the Anchorite. Nick learned eventually that this was both because an anchorite was someone who had nothing to do with the world and because the boy who wasn't going anywhere functioned as a kind of anchor for the whole universe. Some careful prodding of Maree revealed that the Magids knew the secret too, and called it the Lost Sailor. "The Sailor is a metaphor, though, Nick," said Maree. "There have been lots of real echoes, Odysseus and things, but imagine if someone could really never get home, forever. I don't think the Upper Room would let that happen. Their Intentions are complicated but not evil."

"If the whole point of him was to be not part of any world, though," said Nick, "would the Upper Room necessarily know about him? Their area is the worlds, right?"

Maree frowned. "That's a secret, Nick," she said, which Nick took to mean that he'd guessed right.

He never met the boy from the dark paths again. He often thought that if he did, he'd say something. A thank you, at least.
Edited Date: 2013-05-13 06:58 pm (UTC)

Re: Who Walks By Night

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Date: 2013-05-10 09:57 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] izilen
izilen: Paths of the Undying (Dalemark)
Dalemark | Brid, Brid/Kialan | Just what is it like for Brid and Kialan during and after the events of The Crown of Dalemark? What's it like for Brid to be at the lawschool, and then to choose to set up her own music school?

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Date: 2013-05-10 10:06 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] izilen
izilen: Paz, from GC (Default)
A Tale of Time City | Vivian Smith | Vivian is, after all, that Vivian.

Date: 2013-05-11 02:50 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] skygiants
skygiants: Princess Tutu, facing darkness with a green light in the distance (golden-haired ghost)
The Time of the Ghost | Imogen and Sally | rediscovering themselves

Date: 2013-05-11 02:51 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] skygiants
skygiants: Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle with Calcifer hovering over her hands (a life less ordinary)
Archer's Goon | Howard and Awful | the one where AWFUL IS NOT ALLOWED TO GET INVITED TO RULE THE WORLD, NO, SERIOUSLY

Date: 2013-08-20 08:53 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] aceofannwn
aceofannwn: (Default)
Part of me wants to write this. :D I will think about it and see if a story comes to me.

ETA: Have started writing a fill, hopefully I will finish it.
Edited Date: 2013-08-20 11:47 am (UTC)

FILL: Archer's Goon, Howard & Awful, Teen

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Date: 2013-05-11 02:54 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] elviella
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House of Many Ways | Charmain | (post-series) being a wizard's apprentice sure is interesting (but sometimes you just want to read a book)

Date: 2013-05-12 03:19 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] elviella
elviella: (Default)
Dalemark | Mitt/Maewen | history

Date: 2013-05-13 12:47 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] katharhino
katharhino: (Default)
Deep Secret, Rupert +/ Maree, you're not dragging me to another of those conventions

Date: 2013-05-13 02:33 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] minutia_r
minutia_r: (Default)
Chronicles of Chrestomanci, Angelica Petrocchi /& Joe Pinhoe, on being a disappointment to one's family

Date: 2013-05-13 02:35 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] minutia_r
minutia_r: (Default)
Homeward Bounders, Joris /& any (from the book or any other canon), Joris really is prepared for anything

Date: 2013-05-13 02:37 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] minutia_r
minutia_r: (Default)
Hexwood, Moridon /& Vierran, something from when Vierran was only a voice in his head?

Humanity for the inhuman

Date: 2013-05-15 12:42 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] katharhino
katharhino: (Default)
He knew he was sane when he heard voices in his head. Mordion tried to laugh at the irony, but it wasn't really funny.

"Slave? Are you all right?" he could hear her chirping like a fearless sparrow. "Don't despair - you'll show them all someday," was one of her favorites, followed by, "You know we're here for you."

But it wasn't her optimism that saved him. She had no idea what it was like to be him. She knew of course that horrible things had happened to him. He carefully avoided giving her details, but he was afraid he had told her just enough to let her romanticize it. Regret and relief fought over that one. At any rate, the fathomless murk of his life, in which hope dangled like a flimsy bauble, was impossible to explain to another soul. Her unshakeable belief that Things Would Be Better Someday was as meaningless to him as it would be to preach universal flight to a fish.

No, it wasn't that she gave him hope. It was that even in thought, she treated him like another human being.

Even better than her encouragement, he liked when she asked them all for advice about her life. She had no idea how ridiculous the conundrums of her privileged life seemed, and that was beautiful. He loved to be asked whether she should sneak out to go riding with her cousin despite the fact that she was supposed to be studying. When she ranted to them all about how unfair it was that she was kept home in punishment, he practically basked.

For a long time, he assumed that if she could see who he was, in reality, she would shrink like everyone else. Sometimes he dropped hints. He let her see glimpses of how broken and twisted his mind was. She told him no one could ever blame him. He heavily implied that he had killed people. She sympathized.

When he realized that there was one person who treated him just like that face to face, and that she and the Girl Child might be one and the same, he knew he was lost.

Re: Humanity for the inhuman

From: [personal profile] minutia_r - Date: 2013-05-15 06:45 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Humanity for the inhuman

From: [personal profile] katharhino - Date: 2013-05-16 01:36 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2013-05-13 08:10 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] lavendre
lavendre: (Spirited Away - walking the rail)
Howl Series | Howl & Sophie | "We can't all be Mad Hatters!"

Date: 2013-05-13 08:19 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] lavendre
lavendre: (Ballarinas entre Bastidores)
Howl Series | Howl & Mari | In which Mari takes a thoughtful tumble into Ingary.

Date: 2013-05-14 01:45 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] pleonasm
pleonasm: (pic#5812057)
Chrestomanci Chronicles, the alternate Janets/Gwendolens, who and/or where are they now?
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