Fanfiction, 1 of 3
Oct. 9th, 2004 06:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflydreamingFor the "letter" mini-challenge at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tsukimineshrine.
Time: 45 minutes, plus 5 for the portion in italics & reading through, not counting typing and proofreading afterward.
Dear Future Me,
I am writing two copies of this: one to you, and one to your twin-of-sorts. I would address you by name, but I have not yet decided on names for you. If you are reading this, it is because you have come of age, and have become aware, with your growing abilities in magic, of memories and experiences that are not your own. Do not be alarmed, for those memories are mine.
I am the sorcerer Clow Reed, and you are one half of my reincarnation. Your birth is an unusual circumstance; we have circumvented nature's usual course, for you were not born as an infant from any woman's womb, nor did I die in the usual manner. (There are reasons for this, which I will come to shortly.) Forgive me for making you (me) into an orphan. It could not be avoided.
My childhood is, therefore, your childhood as well, with one difference: imagine the power that you now have, doubled, and couple that with the mentality of a very young child. You may well sigh, my dear descendant. I was lucky to have an endlessly patient mother, and a father who did not spare the rod, else I may have become like some of my collegues, power-hungry and twisted... the results of which have led to many ugly deaths, not the least of which, their own. But, I digress. I was telling you about my (our) parents.
Father was considerably older than Mother, though the difference did not show, due to a technique that slowed the effects of aging. (I have perfected that technique. You will come to the knowledge of it instinctively yourself, or if you do not, then perhaps it is for the best. This is one of those aspects of magic that is very much a two-edged blade... and one without a hilt!) The story of Mother and Father's introduction has eluded my discovery, for they were closed - mouthed about its details. It is something of a family secret, something whispered about, but those whispers hushed when I pursued them. I believe that this was Mother's wish. Mother was... enigmatic, and kept much to herself. But she was a gentle and patient teacher, with a love for poetry and nature. She was fond of birds. There was always a winged companion attending her in her workroom, ready to produce a sweet song for her diversion.
I greatly admired Father, though his solemn and serious nature often clashed with my own, especially in my early manhood. Father smiled often, but there was ever an aire of restraint about him. His discipline was decisive -- but always earned. His quick intervention saved me from committing near-fatal accidents on too many occasions. (I still wince to remember the well deserved thrashings that followed.) I look nothing like father in my colouring, and I wonder if you or your "twin" will have anything of him -- the deep voice, like thunder, the night-blue eyes, or the hair that was as golden as Apollo's. All I take of him, myself, is his fine mind (if I may be so presumptuous to say so) and his stature.
A heavy droplet of ink splashed the page, obscuring the last curls of Clow's script. He realized that his mind had been wandering for several minutes, and the ink had welled up until the nib could no longer hold the volume. He set the pen down and stood up from the desk. I was far too late for such contemplations, he thought to himself; taking the unfinished letter over to the fireplace, he tossed it lightly onto the flames.
{owari}
tsukimineshrine.
Time: 45 minutes, plus 5 for the portion in italics & reading through, not counting typing and proofreading afterward.
Dear Future Me,
I am writing two copies of this: one to you, and one to your twin-of-sorts. I would address you by name, but I have not yet decided on names for you. If you are reading this, it is because you have come of age, and have become aware, with your growing abilities in magic, of memories and experiences that are not your own. Do not be alarmed, for those memories are mine.
I am the sorcerer Clow Reed, and you are one half of my reincarnation. Your birth is an unusual circumstance; we have circumvented nature's usual course, for you were not born as an infant from any woman's womb, nor did I die in the usual manner. (There are reasons for this, which I will come to shortly.) Forgive me for making you (me) into an orphan. It could not be avoided.
My childhood is, therefore, your childhood as well, with one difference: imagine the power that you now have, doubled, and couple that with the mentality of a very young child. You may well sigh, my dear descendant. I was lucky to have an endlessly patient mother, and a father who did not spare the rod, else I may have become like some of my collegues, power-hungry and twisted... the results of which have led to many ugly deaths, not the least of which, their own. But, I digress. I was telling you about my (our) parents.
Father was considerably older than Mother, though the difference did not show, due to a technique that slowed the effects of aging. (I have perfected that technique. You will come to the knowledge of it instinctively yourself, or if you do not, then perhaps it is for the best. This is one of those aspects of magic that is very much a two-edged blade... and one without a hilt!) The story of Mother and Father's introduction has eluded my discovery, for they were closed - mouthed about its details. It is something of a family secret, something whispered about, but those whispers hushed when I pursued them. I believe that this was Mother's wish. Mother was... enigmatic, and kept much to herself. But she was a gentle and patient teacher, with a love for poetry and nature. She was fond of birds. There was always a winged companion attending her in her workroom, ready to produce a sweet song for her diversion.
I greatly admired Father, though his solemn and serious nature often clashed with my own, especially in my early manhood. Father smiled often, but there was ever an aire of restraint about him. His discipline was decisive -- but always earned. His quick intervention saved me from committing near-fatal accidents on too many occasions. (I still wince to remember the well deserved thrashings that followed.) I look nothing like father in my colouring, and I wonder if you or your "twin" will have anything of him -- the deep voice, like thunder, the night-blue eyes, or the hair that was as golden as Apollo's. All I take of him, myself, is his fine mind (if I may be so presumptuous to say so) and his stature.
A heavy droplet of ink splashed the page, obscuring the last curls of Clow's script. He realized that his mind had been wandering for several minutes, and the ink had welled up until the nib could no longer hold the volume. He set the pen down and stood up from the desk. I was far too late for such contemplations, he thought to himself; taking the unfinished letter over to the fireplace, he tossed it lightly onto the flames.
{owari}