May. 23rd, 2006

cuimhinliom: (butterfly)
The winds roared, an ocean of sound, waves of air crashing over and around her again and again. They lifted her up and blew her down, sliding her along currents of air that spiraled around like a whirlpool in the sky. There were rocks, surfaces shining in the sun. Trees, with branches waving, tantalizing, entreating her to stop. To rest. To take her ease. She struggled toward them, feeling the breeze tugging at her delicate wings, pulling her backward. Through pain, ripping anguish that stretched the scales and membrane, making her want to scream, though she had no voice left, she struggled toward the promise of a rest, the promise of respite. One leg reached for the twig only to have a gust rip her away hurling her through leaves far too quickly for her to grab on. She beat her wings, gasping for breath. She was tired. Exhausted. Agony in every cell, and there was no respite to be had. It was a moment only, the space of a heartbeat in which she stopped fighting and let the wind take her where it would, crashing her into the waiting rocks and praying for release, but even in that there was nothing but unending pain until she took up the fight again.

Keelia woke, gasping for breath, trembling. The sounds of soft, even breaths danced in the air behind her. Her boys, sleeping soundly. At least she hadn't screamed. She slipped out of the bed, trying not to let it shift too much and moved to the bay window looking out over the Tower grounds. The nightmares had let her alone for most of the months, no almost a year now, they'd been here. Sweet sleep, uninterrupted except by the exuberance of a well-loved little boy.

It seemed they were back.


cuimhinliom: (Default)
Keelia Gallagher / Étáin

January 2010

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