Quiet
Fandom: Discworld
Claim: Monstrous Regiment
Characters: Mal/Rosamond (OC), Mal's Mother.
Prompt: Quiet
Rating: G/PG13?
Word Count: 245
Title:
Self-Discovery
I have no memories of a time when I didn’t follow women with my eyes, didn’t think them beautiful. But if I were asked – and I have been asked – to pick a specific moment, I think it would be this:
I was thirteen, barely old enough for my parents to feel they could bring me to one of the events at a neighbouring estate.
I spent most of the evening playing, quietly, with my favourite doll, until my mother came to fetch me.
“Come on, Mashka,” she coaxed, taking my hand. “I want you to meet someone.”
She led me, unexpectedly, to a girl much older than myself. I hardly registered my mother telling me the girl’s name, telling me she would be taking care of me in a few days, for I was utterly transfixed.
She wore a black velvet gown that bared her graceful throat, her pale shoulders, and her long, dark hair hung loose down her back – she must have only just turned fifty.
“Aren’t you precious,” she murmured, stroking my hair.
I couldn’t have spoken if I tried, and oh, how I wanted to touch her. I lifted my arms, wanting her to pick me up.
When she did, I buried my face in her dark hair, clinging to her neck. She smelled of calla lilies and irises, and I didn’t want to let go.
If I had to pick a specific moment, then that was the beginning of my self-discovery.
Claim: Monstrous Regiment
Characters: Mal/Rosamond (OC), Mal's Mother.
Prompt: Quiet
Rating: G/PG13?
Word Count: 245
Title:
Self-Discovery
I have no memories of a time when I didn’t follow women with my eyes, didn’t think them beautiful. But if I were asked – and I have been asked – to pick a specific moment, I think it would be this:
I was thirteen, barely old enough for my parents to feel they could bring me to one of the events at a neighbouring estate.
I spent most of the evening playing, quietly, with my favourite doll, until my mother came to fetch me.
“Come on, Mashka,” she coaxed, taking my hand. “I want you to meet someone.”
She led me, unexpectedly, to a girl much older than myself. I hardly registered my mother telling me the girl’s name, telling me she would be taking care of me in a few days, for I was utterly transfixed.
She wore a black velvet gown that bared her graceful throat, her pale shoulders, and her long, dark hair hung loose down her back – she must have only just turned fifty.
“Aren’t you precious,” she murmured, stroking my hair.
I couldn’t have spoken if I tried, and oh, how I wanted to touch her. I lifted my arms, wanting her to pick me up.
When she did, I buried my face in her dark hair, clinging to her neck. She smelled of calla lilies and irises, and I didn’t want to let go.
If I had to pick a specific moment, then that was the beginning of my self-discovery.