Archiving older fic: Mirror
Dec. 15th, 2001 07:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eve11Mirror by Eve11
Summary: My people never wondered at the stars.
Author Notes: This is my first attempt in this fandom, though I've been lurking at the archive for a while *g*. You guys rock.
Story Notes: mild spoilers: Nerve, The Hidden Memory
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Above is a gaping black sky. Below, infinite space reflected in a deep waveless ocean. I neither float nor fly. I saw this place as a blind child, my energy too rampant even for half-forms. This screaming void; it would be terrifying if not for the reflection of the room on my skin, the cradle of walls just beyond my fingertips.
This is my side; there is nowhere to go.
On your side is pain. On your side I scream and spit and speak in reflex. The chair spins round and a thousand dead faces spill out of my mind.
"Yes, but what do you show them?"
Your side, fill the void; nothing is precious. I laugh, a half-mad sound, a half-mad half-man on your side.
My side, always the void and flat reflection. My people never wondered at the stars.
Your side, wrists bleed and a half-face stares at the screen. "Just show me, and I won't have to hurt you any more." But your side will be empty when the pain comes. I will not be there to feel it.
My side, there is no time, it is full like the silence between speech.
Your side, the chair slows. On the screen is a retching slave. Your side, I need to scream, if only I could take a breath deep enough. The slave on the screen is gasps and hitches and terrible sounds.
"What is this?" at my ear.
On the screen there is a black figure, there is a screen with a retching slave. And on that screen . . .
"What is this?" echoes down the screens, faster and faster until it is static noise.
The retching slave tries to laugh. In motion made fluid by infinite extension, the figure grabs the slave. "Tell me!" launches across the screens.
There is nothing to tell.
"Break through," the figure snarls, endlessly repeating itself. On your side, the screens and chairs start to spin in an ever-slowing progression. But there is nothing to break, the figure is told.
"Enough of this!"
My side, my people never wondered at the stars, but at the space between.
Your side, "You will show me what you show them, Stykera!"
My side, you don't understand what you say. Stykera, mirror, an old word. I show death in a reflection of life; everyone sees something different.
On your side, a hollow voice. "Increase the extraction."
On my side I show the void, and no-one sees it except me.
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Summary: My people never wondered at the stars.
Author Notes: This is my first attempt in this fandom, though I've been lurking at the archive for a while *g*. You guys rock.
Story Notes: mild spoilers: Nerve, The Hidden Memory
-----------------------------
Above is a gaping black sky. Below, infinite space reflected in a deep waveless ocean. I neither float nor fly. I saw this place as a blind child, my energy too rampant even for half-forms. This screaming void; it would be terrifying if not for the reflection of the room on my skin, the cradle of walls just beyond my fingertips.
This is my side; there is nowhere to go.
On your side is pain. On your side I scream and spit and speak in reflex. The chair spins round and a thousand dead faces spill out of my mind.
"Yes, but what do you show them?"
Your side, fill the void; nothing is precious. I laugh, a half-mad sound, a half-mad half-man on your side.
My side, always the void and flat reflection. My people never wondered at the stars.
Your side, wrists bleed and a half-face stares at the screen. "Just show me, and I won't have to hurt you any more." But your side will be empty when the pain comes. I will not be there to feel it.
My side, there is no time, it is full like the silence between speech.
Your side, the chair slows. On the screen is a retching slave. Your side, I need to scream, if only I could take a breath deep enough. The slave on the screen is gasps and hitches and terrible sounds.
"What is this?" at my ear.
On the screen there is a black figure, there is a screen with a retching slave. And on that screen . . .
"What is this?" echoes down the screens, faster and faster until it is static noise.
The retching slave tries to laugh. In motion made fluid by infinite extension, the figure grabs the slave. "Tell me!" launches across the screens.
There is nothing to tell.
"Break through," the figure snarls, endlessly repeating itself. On your side, the screens and chairs start to spin in an ever-slowing progression. But there is nothing to break, the figure is told.
"Enough of this!"
My side, my people never wondered at the stars, but at the space between.
Your side, "You will show me what you show them, Stykera!"
My side, you don't understand what you say. Stykera, mirror, an old word. I show death in a reflection of life; everyone sees something different.
On your side, a hollow voice. "Increase the extraction."
On my side I show the void, and no-one sees it except me.
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