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perfectworrytitle: Only If For a Night
event: #femslash february
community:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writerverse
prompt: Phase #5: Challenge #26: Legendary Places
word count: 345
rating: PG13
warnings: implied suicide
summary: Marjukka returns from Kyopelinvuori to retrieve the lover she left behind.
notes: in Finland, Kyopelinvuori is a mountain where the ghosts of virgins are said to reside. around Easter, they leave the mountain to frighten children. (source.)
day early and a dollar over for #femslash february.
I watch the skies for the ragged silhouettes of the witches, black against the night sky. I wait for her gold hair shining under the moon, her skin like alabaster.
Last fall, Kyopelinvuori kept me alive. I would have followed her, but for the hope that she might return to me from the mountain of ghosts. Legends say that the spirits of young women go to Kyopelinvuori when they die. At Easter, they come out to make mischief.
I remember the mischief we used to make at night. Warmth floods my cheeks, and other places besides.
The first of the witches appear along the horizon, like scraps of ash drifting across the moon, heavy with the promise of springtime. Oh, how I used to tremble with fear, but something else makes me shake tonight.
I recognize Marjukka from the others when she tosses her silken hair. I used to twine my fingers in her hair on cold nights like this, and it felt like holding sunlight in my hands. Her laughter carries on the wind like the little church bells. I threw open the window and lean out into the night, the last of the winter winds tangling my dark hair.
"Like a raven's wings," said Marjukka one night, her breath warm against the shell of my ear. When I've missed her, I cup my hand to listen to the blood flowing; Marjukka told me to listen for the sound of the sea, and she would never be far.
She swoops down to me from on high, silent as the grave; she sings even sweeter songs than an angel. Flying on her willow branch, she reaches out to me with her arms wrapped in scraps of black silk.
"Come with me," she breathes into my ear. Her breath fogs up my mind like glass. "Fly on your raven's wings."
I stand in the windowsill, my nightgown billowing in the wind. With the moon shining down on me, I must look like an angel as I step out to meet her. I fall into her arms.
event: #femslash february
community:
writerverse prompt: Phase #5: Challenge #26: Legendary Places
word count: 345
rating: PG13
warnings: implied suicide
summary: Marjukka returns from Kyopelinvuori to retrieve the lover she left behind.
notes: in Finland, Kyopelinvuori is a mountain where the ghosts of virgins are said to reside. around Easter, they leave the mountain to frighten children. (source.)
day early and a dollar over for #femslash february.
I watch the skies for the ragged silhouettes of the witches, black against the night sky. I wait for her gold hair shining under the moon, her skin like alabaster.
Last fall, Kyopelinvuori kept me alive. I would have followed her, but for the hope that she might return to me from the mountain of ghosts. Legends say that the spirits of young women go to Kyopelinvuori when they die. At Easter, they come out to make mischief.
I remember the mischief we used to make at night. Warmth floods my cheeks, and other places besides.
The first of the witches appear along the horizon, like scraps of ash drifting across the moon, heavy with the promise of springtime. Oh, how I used to tremble with fear, but something else makes me shake tonight.
I recognize Marjukka from the others when she tosses her silken hair. I used to twine my fingers in her hair on cold nights like this, and it felt like holding sunlight in my hands. Her laughter carries on the wind like the little church bells. I threw open the window and lean out into the night, the last of the winter winds tangling my dark hair.
"Like a raven's wings," said Marjukka one night, her breath warm against the shell of my ear. When I've missed her, I cup my hand to listen to the blood flowing; Marjukka told me to listen for the sound of the sea, and she would never be far.
She swoops down to me from on high, silent as the grave; she sings even sweeter songs than an angel. Flying on her willow branch, she reaches out to me with her arms wrapped in scraps of black silk.
"Come with me," she breathes into my ear. Her breath fogs up my mind like glass. "Fly on your raven's wings."
I stand in the windowsill, my nightgown billowing in the wind. With the moon shining down on me, I must look like an angel as I step out to meet her. I fall into her arms.
