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gribouille(Une fois n'est pas coutume, je suis tombée amoureuse de personnages secondaires... mais quand j'ai voulu écrire, c'est venu naturellement en anglais... donc voilà...)
Title : The Ghostmaker's hand
Author : Mélie, aka gribouille
Fandom : Torchwood
Pairing : The Ghostmaker/Pearl
Rating : PG
SPOILERS Torchwood 2x10
The only thing she could remember was the feeling of her hand in the Ghostmaker's.
She was noone but Pearl the mermaid. It had always been so, or so she thought. She couldn't remember anything. So many tales had been told to her. Many tales of the Night Travellers. Anyway, it didn't matter.
The Night Travellers. They came from out of the rain and stole the breath of their audience away. And she, Pearl the mermaid, was part of them. Had always been. Would always be.
And she loved them. Each of them. But him she loved the most.
And she needed them. Each of them. But him she needed most.
Him. The Ghostmaker.
She liked the way he introduced her to the audience. The audience. Their audience. The Night Travellers always knew where to find one. There were children, many, many children. But there were parents too. There were lovers. And there were lonely people. It was so easy to see their tears… they had so many tears to share…
Hers, the tears. His, the breath. Theirs, the ghosts. Pretty ghosts. She liked to watch them. She would have loved to see their breath. Sometimes, she asked him, though she knew what his answer would be.
She could not remember who she was before the Night Travellers. She didn't know if there had been a "before".
All she could remember was the feeling of her hand in the Ghostmaker's.
Sometimes, they danced. Sometimes, he hold her in his arms. Sometimes, he kissed him. On the arms. On the lips.
She could not remember the beginning. Sometimes, she imagined herself laying in his arms, dehydrated. Maybe he had saved her. But maybe there had never been a beginning.
It didn't matter.
They were the Night Travellers. All of them. And she loved every one of her companions. But him, she loved the most.
The Ghostmaker. His, the breath. Hers, the tears.
Maybe there had never been a beginning. She didn't know.
The only thing she could remember was the feeling of her hand in the Ghostmaker's.
THE END.
Title : The Ghostmaker's hand
Author : Mélie, aka gribouille
Fandom : Torchwood
Pairing : The Ghostmaker/Pearl
Rating : PG
SPOILERS Torchwood 2x10
The only thing she could remember was the feeling of her hand in the Ghostmaker's.
She was noone but Pearl the mermaid. It had always been so, or so she thought. She couldn't remember anything. So many tales had been told to her. Many tales of the Night Travellers. Anyway, it didn't matter.
The Night Travellers. They came from out of the rain and stole the breath of their audience away. And she, Pearl the mermaid, was part of them. Had always been. Would always be.
And she loved them. Each of them. But him she loved the most.
And she needed them. Each of them. But him she needed most.
Him. The Ghostmaker.
She liked the way he introduced her to the audience. The audience. Their audience. The Night Travellers always knew where to find one. There were children, many, many children. But there were parents too. There were lovers. And there were lonely people. It was so easy to see their tears… they had so many tears to share…
Hers, the tears. His, the breath. Theirs, the ghosts. Pretty ghosts. She liked to watch them. She would have loved to see their breath. Sometimes, she asked him, though she knew what his answer would be.
She could not remember who she was before the Night Travellers. She didn't know if there had been a "before".
All she could remember was the feeling of her hand in the Ghostmaker's.
Sometimes, they danced. Sometimes, he hold her in his arms. Sometimes, he kissed him. On the arms. On the lips.
She could not remember the beginning. Sometimes, she imagined herself laying in his arms, dehydrated. Maybe he had saved her. But maybe there had never been a beginning.
It didn't matter.
They were the Night Travellers. All of them. And she loved every one of her companions. But him, she loved the most.
The Ghostmaker. His, the breath. Hers, the tears.
Maybe there had never been a beginning. She didn't know.
The only thing she could remember was the feeling of her hand in the Ghostmaker's.
THE END.
