As she slumped down into the soft iron chair, awaiting her host with silent anticipation that could awaken even the dead themselves, Alice pondered where her white, fuzzy jacket had wandered off to. In the midst of her grammatical calculations, her host snuck in with loud footsteps, alarming his own iron chair that immediately swooped him off his feet and carried him to the tea party, placing him at the only central spot of the small, round coffee-table.
“So, my dear, what brings you to the torch dare I ask?”
The host asked jovially, bopping his head up and down with practiced ease all the while. Alice heated the question for a second or two, before she folded it neatly and put it out to dry.
“I am here to be, not to do the opposite. Is that not what all guests do when they search fruitlessly for something that is not nutritional?”
The host seemed utterly delighted by her reply. He must have been so, for his answerless reply bore many a fire, though it was a repetitive question.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, “but if to be is what you wish, should you not seek a mean to an end?”
Alice’s shoulders sagged at the response, for the host was so wrong that he did the answer right.
“I hail from a circular room with so many soft squares that even the single, pointy end seems plushy to the touch. I seek not riches through an end.”
She whispered softly. The host could do naught but nod in forced agreement, albeit reluctantly so. For while he was the lord, master and overseer, it was her whom decided when the torch lived and when it died. Alice merely looked at the host horizontally before she continued.
“The nutrition and the occasional fire have become inconsequential in the greater scheme, Mr. Host, for I have decided to ascend to ‘fireless’ through a beginning.”
The host felt the fire in his veins freeze in fear, nearly being extinguished for a fleeting moment. Alice had decided that she did not need the fire anymore. The day of life had finally come.
“Have you finally left the root of fire behind, even here in the torch?”
Even the normally carefree host sounded slightly solemn as he asked, for he knew why he was. He knew that the root of fire had been both a beginning and an end. It had been the first descend and it had created him. The host’s train of thought was derailed, however, by Alice, whom decided to speak at that exact moment.
“I still hear his voice clear as fog. I bear the fruitless result, now ripe for the picking and I want to be ice, not fire, when I finally become a part of a whole once more.”
Her voice was hoarse, heavy with the burden of Atlas. At her tone, the host decided that enough was enough and in a flash of dark light, Alice was sent spiraling back into the unrelenting grip of the grey doctors, whom had tirelessly tried to save the life of the pregnant, insane widow’s bastard child for the last twenty four hours.
______________________________________________
I know there are a lot of paragraphs, but I wasn't quite sure of how to present this.
Again, this is not exactly fanfiction, just something I've written, loosely basing it on a few worlds and ideas.
I do, however, claim this as my own.
“So, my dear, what brings you to the torch dare I ask?”
The host asked jovially, bopping his head up and down with practiced ease all the while. Alice heated the question for a second or two, before she folded it neatly and put it out to dry.
“I am here to be, not to do the opposite. Is that not what all guests do when they search fruitlessly for something that is not nutritional?”
The host seemed utterly delighted by her reply. He must have been so, for his answerless reply bore many a fire, though it was a repetitive question.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, “but if to be is what you wish, should you not seek a mean to an end?”
Alice’s shoulders sagged at the response, for the host was so wrong that he did the answer right.
“I hail from a circular room with so many soft squares that even the single, pointy end seems plushy to the touch. I seek not riches through an end.”
She whispered softly. The host could do naught but nod in forced agreement, albeit reluctantly so. For while he was the lord, master and overseer, it was her whom decided when the torch lived and when it died. Alice merely looked at the host horizontally before she continued.
“The nutrition and the occasional fire have become inconsequential in the greater scheme, Mr. Host, for I have decided to ascend to ‘fireless’ through a beginning.”
The host felt the fire in his veins freeze in fear, nearly being extinguished for a fleeting moment. Alice had decided that she did not need the fire anymore. The day of life had finally come.
“Have you finally left the root of fire behind, even here in the torch?”
Even the normally carefree host sounded slightly solemn as he asked, for he knew why he was. He knew that the root of fire had been both a beginning and an end. It had been the first descend and it had created him. The host’s train of thought was derailed, however, by Alice, whom decided to speak at that exact moment.
“I still hear his voice clear as fog. I bear the fruitless result, now ripe for the picking and I want to be ice, not fire, when I finally become a part of a whole once more.”
Her voice was hoarse, heavy with the burden of Atlas. At her tone, the host decided that enough was enough and in a flash of dark light, Alice was sent spiraling back into the unrelenting grip of the grey doctors, whom had tirelessly tried to save the life of the pregnant, insane widow’s bastard child for the last twenty four hours.
______________________________________________
I know there are a lot of paragraphs, but I wasn't quite sure of how to present this.
Again, this is not exactly fanfiction, just something I've written, loosely basing it on a few worlds and ideas.
I do, however, claim this as my own.
