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Title: not even my prayers reach you
fandom: Exalted
square: plushie/furry
word count: 681
summary: Amiti makes dolls, in her spare time, soft little things made of silk and plush, well-made and every stitch imbued with thaumaturgy to bring luck and every bit of affection that she has left. A First Age Twilight's devotion to a Circlemate who has long ago left her behind.
content notes: no standard notes apply.
Amiti makes dolls, in her spare time, soft little things made of silk and plush, well-made and every stitch imbued with thaumaturgy to bring luck and every bit of affection that she has left. She has no need for dolls and stuffed animals, her childhood is long passed and barely remembered at all and even less thought of, but she is not making them for herself.
Clair is asleep and dreaming, as she is so often now, and Amiti smiles fondly down at her, smoothing her green hair out of her closed eyes and sets another doll down beside her, a fanciful bird with iridescent white feathers that had existed once but had been burned out of all existence with ninety percent of Creation after the war. It should make Clair smile, once she wakes up and sees it.
Flowers and plush dolls sewn with love decorate the room where the other Twilight sleeps in her deep dreaming, like a princess out of an old story, cursed and waiting for her prince, her true love, to awaken her: perhaps Clair was too old for dolls, for stuffed toys, but Amiti doesn't care, because they make her smile, they make her happy, a fragile smile to set her face alight and too old or not, she can't bring herself to take that from her.
She sits by her, sword across her knees, and sews another plush doll, without thinking at all what she is trying to make, and just watches Clair sleep, wondering when she will wake this time. Clair has always dreamed for long stretches of time, for as long as Amiti knew her, even during the war, even before the war when they were yet mortal, and her dreams take the shape of the future and always have: nothing to match the Sidereals and their mastery of fate, but the future regardless, and perhaps Clair would have been better off to be one of the Star-Chosen instead, able to control that prescience, to understand the web that spreads itself out before her.
In her sleep, Clair weeps silently, and not for the first time, Amiti wonders what she is dreaming of, what she sees, and gently wipes the tears away. Some of her first stuffed animal gifts have magic in them to ward off bad dreams, or meant to, though the charms never seem to work, and part of her wonders just how long it will be before Clair wakes this time, or whether she'd come back at all.
But for now, Clair's chest still rises and falls, dreaming time and the world away, and Amiti keeps the others out of her room, wards and locks them out with sorcery and artifice, keeps the room bedecked with flowers and enchanted stuffed animals. No one will disturb her sleep, and she shouldn't even be here herself, her hands stained with blood.
This world is not worthy of her: Clair never cared for kingdoms or for ruling, caught in her dreaming sleep, but Amiti will make a world where suffering does not exist, where the future will not make her weep in her dreams and where Clair can awaken into and smile, even if she has to break the world and reshape it.
Amiti looks down at the doll, for the first time: the plush doll has Clair's face, smiling in a way she hasn't in years, a whole and bright smile, and for a moment, Amiti clutches it tight, uncertain of what to do with it. In the end, she takes the doll with her and rests it on her bed, where she can see that smile: Clair dreams still, but for her, Amiti will do anything.
fandom: Exalted
square: plushie/furry
word count: 681
summary: Amiti makes dolls, in her spare time, soft little things made of silk and plush, well-made and every stitch imbued with thaumaturgy to bring luck and every bit of affection that she has left. A First Age Twilight's devotion to a Circlemate who has long ago left her behind.
content notes: no standard notes apply.
Amiti makes dolls, in her spare time, soft little things made of silk and plush, well-made and every stitch imbued with thaumaturgy to bring luck and every bit of affection that she has left. She has no need for dolls and stuffed animals, her childhood is long passed and barely remembered at all and even less thought of, but she is not making them for herself.
Clair is asleep and dreaming, as she is so often now, and Amiti smiles fondly down at her, smoothing her green hair out of her closed eyes and sets another doll down beside her, a fanciful bird with iridescent white feathers that had existed once but had been burned out of all existence with ninety percent of Creation after the war. It should make Clair smile, once she wakes up and sees it.
Flowers and plush dolls sewn with love decorate the room where the other Twilight sleeps in her deep dreaming, like a princess out of an old story, cursed and waiting for her prince, her true love, to awaken her: perhaps Clair was too old for dolls, for stuffed toys, but Amiti doesn't care, because they make her smile, they make her happy, a fragile smile to set her face alight and too old or not, she can't bring herself to take that from her.
She sits by her, sword across her knees, and sews another plush doll, without thinking at all what she is trying to make, and just watches Clair sleep, wondering when she will wake this time. Clair has always dreamed for long stretches of time, for as long as Amiti knew her, even during the war, even before the war when they were yet mortal, and her dreams take the shape of the future and always have: nothing to match the Sidereals and their mastery of fate, but the future regardless, and perhaps Clair would have been better off to be one of the Star-Chosen instead, able to control that prescience, to understand the web that spreads itself out before her.
In her sleep, Clair weeps silently, and not for the first time, Amiti wonders what she is dreaming of, what she sees, and gently wipes the tears away. Some of her first stuffed animal gifts have magic in them to ward off bad dreams, or meant to, though the charms never seem to work, and part of her wonders just how long it will be before Clair wakes this time, or whether she'd come back at all.
But for now, Clair's chest still rises and falls, dreaming time and the world away, and Amiti keeps the others out of her room, wards and locks them out with sorcery and artifice, keeps the room bedecked with flowers and enchanted stuffed animals. No one will disturb her sleep, and she shouldn't even be here herself, her hands stained with blood.
This world is not worthy of her: Clair never cared for kingdoms or for ruling, caught in her dreaming sleep, but Amiti will make a world where suffering does not exist, where the future will not make her weep in her dreams and where Clair can awaken into and smile, even if she has to break the world and reshape it.
Amiti looks down at the doll, for the first time: the plush doll has Clair's face, smiling in a way she hasn't in years, a whole and bright smile, and for a moment, Amiti clutches it tight, uncertain of what to do with it. In the end, she takes the doll with her and rests it on her bed, where she can see that smile: Clair dreams still, but for her, Amiti will do anything.
