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Title: A gulf
Fandom: Soulcalibur
Characters: Siegfried
Rating: PG
Words: 200
Summary: Siegfried is a difficult child; Margaret is long-suffering.
A/N: ...i do not know what possesses me to write such things. :X fwiw, Siegfried is around 11-12 years old in this. (also, a jerk.)
---
"You can't keep doing this, Siegfried," Margaret tells her son. She peels off his shirt, flinching at the sight of bruises blossoming under the fragile skin. Margaret washes his back, sticky with dirt and blood, her hands gentle as she passes over dark, tender flesh. Margaret flinches; her child does not.
Unbidden, Margaret finds herself wishing for Frederick- they had never been close, even during the years he'd been home, but he, at least, could coax their son out of the sullen moods he so often indulged in. She, on the other hand, might as well speak to a rock, for all the response Siegfried gives her.
"Not every insult must be answered with your fists, my love," Margaret says, resisting the urge to snap, to yell; cruel experience has taught her that neither rage nor disapproval can break through the walls her son has built.
"I'm not the one they make fun of."
Margaret pauses in her ministrations. Siegfried rarely speaks to her, these days, and never when she scolds him.
"Then- why..."
"They call you a whore, Mother." His words are cold, sharp, aimed to hurt; Margaret shudders as they cut deep. "But I'll stop, if that's what you want."
Fandom: Soulcalibur
Characters: Siegfried
Rating: PG
Words: 200
Summary: Siegfried is a difficult child; Margaret is long-suffering.
A/N: ...i do not know what possesses me to write such things. :X fwiw, Siegfried is around 11-12 years old in this. (also, a jerk.)
---
"You can't keep doing this, Siegfried," Margaret tells her son. She peels off his shirt, flinching at the sight of bruises blossoming under the fragile skin. Margaret washes his back, sticky with dirt and blood, her hands gentle as she passes over dark, tender flesh. Margaret flinches; her child does not.
Unbidden, Margaret finds herself wishing for Frederick- they had never been close, even during the years he'd been home, but he, at least, could coax their son out of the sullen moods he so often indulged in. She, on the other hand, might as well speak to a rock, for all the response Siegfried gives her.
"Not every insult must be answered with your fists, my love," Margaret says, resisting the urge to snap, to yell; cruel experience has taught her that neither rage nor disapproval can break through the walls her son has built.
"I'm not the one they make fun of."
Margaret pauses in her ministrations. Siegfried rarely speaks to her, these days, and never when she scolds him.
"Then- why..."
"They call you a whore, Mother." His words are cold, sharp, aimed to hurt; Margaret shudders as they cut deep. "But I'll stop, if that's what you want."
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Date: 2009-09-28 08:41 pm (UTC)From:i have been playing around with writing more about Siegfried's childhood, and (possibly) Margaret's life before his birth but haven't put down anything concrete yet. it might take awhile to work out since i'm having a bit of crisis as far as writing longer fic is concerned. :(
btw: i've tried leaving a review for "Bitter Frost" on FF.net a few times but the site dislikes either my browser or uh...me?...and apparently haven't gone through. :( i'll try it again tonight but if there are still problems - i could try PMs or commenting through LJ? (or something else if it works better for you)