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lesmodsalouette) wrote2025-03-16 03:54 am
lesmodsalouette) wrote2025-03-16 03:54 am
Graveyard
Graveyard
The garden is still sprawling and green – despite having entirely lost all its riotous flowers and colors, along with any sign of wildlife or birdsong – though one thing stands out more than anything else: from Monday to Thursday, you can’t see the castle anymore. All that remains where it once stood (or perhaps, usually stands) is an incongruously large tree that towers over everything else and somehow looks larger and more imposing than the castle ever did. The tree’s branches are bare, without any hint of life nor leaf – however, on the weekends (that is to say, Friday through Sunday) a faint projection of the castle appears around it, cradling the only things that the denizens of this alternate garden can see in detail from the other side: the flurry of activity around the investigation, the circus-like dimension that holds the trial, and the mirrors and the grassy dimension that display the execution.
For those curious what the land of the living are up to, a mirage-like and upside-down reflection of the castle garden in its original arrangement can be spotted occasionally overlaying the sky. This strange illusion may sometimes show those in the garden on the other side, flitting in and out of view like stray clouds; but much like the weather, their appearance is mercurial – they cannot be reached and cannot be heard.
Water, Flower, Everywhere
The fountains remain active somehow, though their features seem to have eroded, obscuring the identities of the deities and the wings of the birds, cracking pottery down into nothing but worn shards and handles. At night, only maybe half the lights work (and here they are real candlelight, rather than magical), plunging most of the garden into crepuscular darkness. The trellis walkway looks quite overgrown (mysteriously, bamboo is taking over), entirely covering some statues and other features along its length, and it’s no longer walkable – a miniature canal runs the whole length underneath the arches, feeding into other new waterways around the garden that cut off footpaths seemingly at random. There are small footbridges here and there, but the lack of logic to the whole arrangement makes falling into one of the streams or canals a real hazard.
The waterways do all manage to converge at the pond by the pavilion – neither of which are all that soothing or classical anymore. The pond is only half-full, and entirely lacks water lilies or any dragonflies; its banks sit jagged above the dark waters, and perhaps that’s why the pavilion, too, is half collapsed down into it all. Gone are the curtains and ivies; only dead curling vines and half-collapsed columns are left, but there’s still someplace to sit if you put your mind to it.
Most of the flowerbeds sit fallow or overtaken by weeds – there’s signs here and there that someone might have tried to clear them out, but the bulk of the effort seems to have gone to the orchard by the gardener’s cottage. It might be more accurate to say cottages, given that there are a few of them dotted around that area for some reason. None of them are locked, but all of them have only minimal furnishings apart from the original; they’re also all provided with the full complement of gardener’s tools. Next to them, there are new saplings and half-grown flowering trees: some pear and apple, but also some not. There are new shoots in the kitchen orchard that have just barely taken root, the dirt recently turned.
The waterways do all manage to converge at the pond by the pavilion – neither of which are all that soothing or classical anymore. The pond is only half-full, and entirely lacks water lilies or any dragonflies; its banks sit jagged above the dark waters, and perhaps that’s why the pavilion, too, is half collapsed down into it all. Gone are the curtains and ivies; only dead curling vines and half-collapsed columns are left, but there’s still someplace to sit if you put your mind to it.
Most of the flowerbeds sit fallow or overtaken by weeds – there’s signs here and there that someone might have tried to clear them out, but the bulk of the effort seems to have gone to the orchard by the gardener’s cottage. It might be more accurate to say cottages, given that there are a few of them dotted around that area for some reason. None of them are locked, but all of them have only minimal furnishings apart from the original; they’re also all provided with the full complement of gardener’s tools. Next to them, there are new saplings and half-grown flowering trees: some pear and apple, but also some not. There are new shoots in the kitchen orchard that have just barely taken root, the dirt recently turned.
Hedge Maze(?)
The other most eye-catching feature is what once was an ornamental hedge maze: instead of being a tame height here, it has seemingly grown wild and completely unchecked, towering above the rest of the garden almost like its own overgrown mountain. The hedge walls go up and up and up, making it entirely impossible to see the center or even how far it goes despite the fact that sections of the hedges have also died, reduced to the branches underneath, bristling with interlocked thorns.
Part of it had even spilled over into the garden itself, huge gnarled branches spreading out like burnt-blackened fingers all the way to the edge of the pond – wherever the branches touch, even the greenery is withered, and any statues look more ruined than those in the rest of the area. As of the end of Week 3, however, the branches have retracted entirely and the way into the hedge maze has opened even more. However, there is now a storm brewing over what might be the center or the general area of it. Getting close to the hedge maze or any of the hedge(?) branches is... unpleasant, though it doesn’t usually go beyond a buzz of wrongness and a slight headache.
Part of it had even spilled over into the garden itself, huge gnarled branches spreading out like burnt-blackened fingers all the way to the edge of the pond – wherever the branches touch, even the greenery is withered, and any statues look more ruined than those in the rest of the area. As of the end of Week 3, however, the branches have retracted entirely and the way into the hedge maze has opened even more. However, there is now a storm brewing over what might be the center or the general area of it. Getting close to the hedge maze or any of the hedge(?) branches is... unpleasant, though it doesn’t usually go beyond a buzz of wrongness and a slight headache.
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...
Back down, careful steps. Shifting back in his lap to work his way down G'raha's front. This is fun, too. ]
So you'd be fine with me sleeping in your lap? Kissing your face and clinging to you no matter where we are? Is that less?
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Mayhap in more secluded areas…
[ Not because he can’t help himself, but because he wouldn’t live it down if Krile or Alisaie saw him.
Or Alphinaud, too. G’raha knows the boy has a bad habit of gossiping. ]
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I guess we'll just have to stick to holding hands, unless even that's too much.
[ For one reason or another. ]
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…It is not.
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Then I wanna kiss you whenever.
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He gasps, more audibly this time, and does his best not to lift his hips up into the touch because that would be far too embarrassing, especially when Siffrin is aware of the power that they hold over him.
And he thinks that Siffrin should kiss him whenever. That would be fine, little warm presses of their lips together, a comfort amongst everything else that he can lean into.
Which he does now, though this kiss isn't exactly a little warm press of lips. It's hungry, almost, and demanding in a way that G'raha can only be demanding (the sort that demands that Siffrin take what he wants from him), lips parted as he all but licks into their mouth, hand settled on the back of his head to keep him there. ]
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But regardless he returns it, putting more of his weight once again onto G'raha and lifting a hand to rest against the trunk. Yes, they're aware... a little aware, though not to a dangerous extent-- just enough that maybe when it suits them, they'll use it as a way to escape questions they don't want to answer, even if it won't work for long.
It isn't the slow, languid sort from before, but it isn't overly demanding either. Giving G'raha what he wants, yes, but this branch is no place for Siffrin do all that they want either. Not because of who might be below -- who could even see this far up, blossoms swaying in the breeze -- but because they don't fancy a tumble if either grip fails. What hunger could they possibly have with the knowledge of forever in their pocket? When, soon enough, they'll part and all Siffrin will have left is memories, memories, memories,
something that has sustained them these past weeks already, will sustain them for "weeks" longer, adding in the scent of flowers to decorate each one. Oh, when he brings the bright flower to his nose he'll recall this; when he lays in the meadows, loop after loop, he'll recall this, when he peers close at the frozen flowers he'll recall this, and it'll be a necessary reminder to keep those very same memories safe, tucked away, unable to be forgotten. The taste, the feel, the heat and want -- his, his, his.
Their other hand remains pressed at G'raha's hip, massaging small circles idly into it. Half as a precaution, half as a tease. ]
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His fingers curl in their hair, breaths heavy with circles traced into his skin, setting his nerves alight. This is a feeling he doesn't want to let go of, not right now. He needs to burn it into his skin, sear it into his memories, tattoo it to his lips and tongue like the Archon marks.
With a sigh, he breaks the kiss momentarily, pressing his face into Siffrin's neck and settling his lips against his pulse point. ]
'Twould be dangerous to do as I promised two weeks ago.
[ Claiming him, he means. ]
Though I am certain you are aware.
[ He can tell that this is a balancing act for them, pressed against him and the tree as they are, and G'raha grips more tightly onto their thigh. ]
Even so, I will not allow you to fall.
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maybe definitely teased him too much!!!!!!!!!)
Small pleasantly panicked thoughts aside, the face in his neck feels good, pulse no better than a hummingbird beneath his lips. They're moving, too. The lips. Siffrin is vaguely aware that G'raha is saying something, something to do with the hand on his thigh and the lingering tingle of his own lips and tongue, head lighter than it had been a moment ago.
... Something to do with the hand in his hair, the flush of both their bodies... ]
Um. [ Promise? Promise... Oh. Oh. ] Oh. Right, your promise. For the next time.
[ Truly, when it comes to being served what they dish out, Siffrin simply cannot handle it. Embarrassment floods their system just as much as the same desire to be close, to be the reason for G'raha's pleasure, to-- well, feel good the way they did then, because it is fun, with him.
A glance off the side of the branch, a full beat as they try to decide if this is where they should "keep him in check" as promised, or if that point came and went somewhere between climbing into his lap and pretending his chest was a mountain to scale.
...
But the longing...
(You've always been awful at saying no anyways.) ]
As long as you swear you won't, my Raha. Can't think of anything that'd lose the mood quicker.
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But.
There's one question burning at the tip of his tongue. So he leans back, tilts his head curiously, the quick pace of Siffrin's pulse against his lips remaining there like a phantom. ]
Did you already forget?
[ Not that he could blame Siffrin, as that entire visit was a whirlwind of emotion and touch and warmth, only to be followed hours later by his execution. Most people would forget.
But he wants to ask anyway, if only to see if it embarrasses Siffrin more.
Maybe that attitude is rubbing off on him. ]
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... No. [ They lied. ] I just wasn't thinking about it. Like you.
[ ... But the embarrassment lingers anyway, yes he forgot but G'raha, as he's said to excuse his poor macaroon skills, is distracting-- ]
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[ Liar, but he doesn't mind, not if the soft smile on his lips is any indication. G'raha cups their cheeks, hoping he can feel some of the warmth in their cheeks radiate against his palms. ]
I will gladly admit I was thinking of it, however. 'Tis not a shameful thing to think of my partner in that way, so long as they are not opposed.
[ Even if... it's embarrassing to say. He brute forces through it anyway, ears pinned back. ]
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(You still don't think it's true. But you guess everyone has their... tastes.) ]
I'm not opposed.
[ It feels nice, after all, to hear he's wanted. His partner... Siffrin captures one hand to hold it still, turning to press a kiss into his palm and then up to his fingertips, nipping at them playfully. ]
... And I'm not opposed to you making good on your promise, too. I wanna be yours.
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Then I shall make good on it when we reunite.
[ A long time from now, most likely, buuuut… he thinks that it’ll be something to look forward to, at least.
Besides, their current location isn’t the best for that particular activity anyway (though he will kiss them again momentarily, that’s for certain) and the mood would be ruined by the time they both climb the long way down. He was onto something about burning off energy.
His fingers wiggle in their grasp. ]
Now, I do hope I am not caught up in research upon your return to me, but we will make do.
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I'll pull your tail.
[ Guaranteed way to get his attention, unfortunately. Another gentle, lingering kiss to the hand and he'll let it go, tapping fingers back up G'raha's front. ]
... Or I'll just wander around for a while until you're done. Not like I have a lot going on in my life.
[ They say, and then they have the single day to visit because they're busy with their family members in the future, but, ]
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But then he smiles, soft, as he arches up into that touch, reaching down to pull on their hips and bring them closer. He’d still very much like to continue whatever trajectory they were on, but maybe after a little bit of talking.
Though it’s never a little bit with the two of them. He’ll have to interrupt at some point, but not quite yet. ]
You could join me in my studies. I would be glad to have you.