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Title: Disoriented
Fandom: Soulcalibur
Pairing: Raphael/Cassandra
Rating: PG
Words: 200
Summary: Raphael, and the dreams that haunt him after a chance meeting.
Notes: set during SCIII.
---
When Raphael submits to sleep – never willingly, though each moment spent conscious under the rays of the sun is agony: when Soul Edge seals shut his eyes, weighs down his limbs with lead and robs his very lungs of breath: when Soul Edge inflicts its toll for its unasked-for gifts - that is when Raphael finds her again.
She invades his dreams the way she invaded his fortress, alone and unwitting, blue eyes and gold hair and sunkissed skin and steel sword cutting unafraid through the depths of the night. Soul Edge sends him nightmares; she tramples these roughshod, until all he sees is her hand, reaching out from her blinding bright center.
He remembers how her skin felt beneath his fingertips, when he stole the shard of darkness she carried; how his dead flesh had withered at even this simple contact. He hesitates.
Raphael wakes, then, gasping for air as if he is dying, blood boiling as if he is burning. Soul Edge's curse swims like a plague in his veins, displeased, while her memory burrows under his skin, her image inlaid on the backs of his eyelids.
He cannot tell the difference between her salvation and the sword's damnation.
Fandom: Soulcalibur
Pairing: Raphael/Cassandra
Rating: PG
Words: 200
Summary: Raphael, and the dreams that haunt him after a chance meeting.
Notes: set during SCIII.
---
When Raphael submits to sleep – never willingly, though each moment spent conscious under the rays of the sun is agony: when Soul Edge seals shut his eyes, weighs down his limbs with lead and robs his very lungs of breath: when Soul Edge inflicts its toll for its unasked-for gifts - that is when Raphael finds her again.
She invades his dreams the way she invaded his fortress, alone and unwitting, blue eyes and gold hair and sunkissed skin and steel sword cutting unafraid through the depths of the night. Soul Edge sends him nightmares; she tramples these roughshod, until all he sees is her hand, reaching out from her blinding bright center.
He remembers how her skin felt beneath his fingertips, when he stole the shard of darkness she carried; how his dead flesh had withered at even this simple contact. He hesitates.
Raphael wakes, then, gasping for air as if he is dying, blood boiling as if he is burning. Soul Edge's curse swims like a plague in his veins, displeased, while her memory burrows under his skin, her image inlaid on the backs of his eyelids.
He cannot tell the difference between her salvation and the sword's damnation.
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no subject
Date: 2010-02-04 05:55 am (UTC)From:Anyway, keep writing...Raphael really is the (something?).
Oh crap there goes my ability to find words for things. Time for the sketchbooks!
no subject
Date: 2010-02-05 08:50 pm (UTC)From:thanks for reading :)