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Victory Marches by Elesphyl
Chapter 1 : The Minor Fall, The Major Lift
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 18


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Disclaimer All of the things you recognize belong to JK Rowling. Chapter title and story title taken from Leonard Cohen's song Hallelujah. I own nothing but the plot. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note Well, what can be said? The goal was to write a 500-word one-shot. Susan (Violet Gryfindor) told me about Ilia's challenge, so I joined. Well, make what you will of this weird little thing. And enjoy. :)









Have you seen this girl?

She’s eighteen, brunette, and has chocolate eyes. Her skin is tanned, her lips like wine, and her smile would have an army at her feet. She could end wars. Her favorite color was - is - ruby red, her favorite animal a mallard duck.

She’s been missing since October 17.





Those days, soot covered the sky. Charon led more people across the Styx than ever before. I could not see the sun. Too long had my people - the people of light, those who desire for white surrenders - fought against the chasm. But we could not see in front of ourselves anymore. Our hands were covered with ashes, and with blood. Our spines were falling and unlocking, bone shedding bone shedding marrow.

James told me he could not feel anything in this darkness but my skin. Soft. Rotten. A babe born of evil. We sang nightingale songs when we were together to keep out the moon. To keep out eyes, ever-watching. Ever-seeing. We kept the light on in our delicate, ragged room. Words were painted in blood on every surface, every wall.

Breathing. Dirty. Anger. Velocity.

They searched for us in shadows, but we hid ourselves in light. The thing about light is it swallows. You can never be away from it. Shadows need it to survive, and without shadows, light would be nothing but white. We didn’t want the white.

Hunt. Rage. Sanctuary. Destruction.

“Kiss me now.”

Feeling. Eternal. Moon. Quaking.

I didn’t want to, but James insisted and so my lips found their wayward way unto his own. We did not love each other: we never had. We were two people, condemned by war, desperate for consolation. Any kind would work, we had not the time to be dissatisfied.

Yearning. Elope. Parishioner. Respite.

“Again.”

Untie. Malice. Safety. Eden.


I suppose he felt it made him feel worth a little more. He’d always loved the wrong person, the one who would love him so completely. But she would enrage him and make him cry out to the milky stars in desolate despair. James was a deranged man. So I kissed him again.

Porch. Speed. Distance. Time.


There it was again - the shadow covering our sun. My face would be lighted. We would laugh and he would pin wilted daisies in my curls. I kept them there until they faded into ash.

Miracles. Babies. Unnerving. Last.


The fireplace was beside us in the room. Its warmth never permeated our bed. Our sinful bed, alone in the candlelight.

Grow. Run. Heart.

... Love.

And that night, I was stolen.




Have you seen this girl?

She’s eighteen, brunette, and has chocolate eyes. Her skin is tanned, her lips like wine, and her smile would have an army at her feet. She could end wars. Her favorite color was - is - ruby red, her favorite animal a mallard duck.

She’s been missing since October 17. Her name is Marlene McKinnon.

She’s me.

Please. Please, I beg you. Someone, anyone ... save me.





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