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adventdrabblesTitle: Illuminate the House, and turn the Night into Day
Universe: Babes in Toyland
Character(s): The Toymaker, Jane
Rating: U
Warnings: N/A
Summary: His death overly reported, at the end of things, before the burning fire, the Toymaker considers what will happen next.
Length: 452 words
Author's Notes: Foradventdrabbles Day 26. also: external link.
Illuminate the House, and turn the Night into Day
The poison had scoured his insides, rotting him with within, his face turning red and then ghastly pale in those last moments, and none had cared. Now the toy soldiers remained silent, devoid of the spirit that had moved them, the pneuma which had stirred them into existence, and Barnaby was dead, whilst he alone remained in his workshop, the semblance of festive decorations about the place, the Yule log still burning in the hearth. Here he was, the Toymaker of Toyland, impotent in his ineffectual schemes, his power cut off at the root, his pawn bloated with the poison of his demise, and Alan and Contrary Mary now united in holy matrimony.
In his armchair before the fire, he brooded, long shadows cast upon the wall, old golems unmoving, half-finished automata stationed about the place, each one lacking in life, lacking in movement. Old enough to remember how the world had once been, he could still recall what life had been under the rule of mothers, when moonlight had presided over the world world, and the burning of the log in the hearth each night of Yule was a reminder of that power that no man might know, the secret of life itself. He drew breath, he exhaled it, and around him, he was surrounded by those who could not, as behind him, Toyland was a place that defied him with its beauty and diversity.
The flames flickered before him, the black smoke rising up through the chimney. The imitation of life, he thought, the only thing he had it in his power to create, short-lived, white hot things that burnt brightly and then burnt up, not like the eternal, whispering, singing spirits of the true power, the secrets of the old mothers.
And what would happen now, what would happen now that Barnaby was a corpse, now that his own death had been greatly over reported, now that Alan and Mary were married? What would he do now that the world had been reset, and he still lacked the power of true creation?
Abruptly, the door creaked open, and he felt a presence enter his workshop, the winter winds billowing at their back. He smiled, looking into the flames, not turning away. Of course, he thought, it should have been obvious. Who was it, save for dead Barnaby, who stood to lose the most from Alan and Mary’s marriage?
“My brother,” announced Jane, her voice firm and full of resolve, “tell me how I might dispose of my brother.”
In the blistering light of the Yule log, in the fire consecrated to those old mothers, the Toymaker saw the future, and with its warmth upon his pale features, he smiled.
Universe: Babes in Toyland
Character(s): The Toymaker, Jane
Rating: U
Warnings: N/A
Summary: His death overly reported, at the end of things, before the burning fire, the Toymaker considers what will happen next.
Length: 452 words
Author's Notes: For
adventdrabbles Day 26. also: external link.Illuminate the House, and turn the Night into Day
The poison had scoured his insides, rotting him with within, his face turning red and then ghastly pale in those last moments, and none had cared. Now the toy soldiers remained silent, devoid of the spirit that had moved them, the pneuma which had stirred them into existence, and Barnaby was dead, whilst he alone remained in his workshop, the semblance of festive decorations about the place, the Yule log still burning in the hearth. Here he was, the Toymaker of Toyland, impotent in his ineffectual schemes, his power cut off at the root, his pawn bloated with the poison of his demise, and Alan and Contrary Mary now united in holy matrimony.
In his armchair before the fire, he brooded, long shadows cast upon the wall, old golems unmoving, half-finished automata stationed about the place, each one lacking in life, lacking in movement. Old enough to remember how the world had once been, he could still recall what life had been under the rule of mothers, when moonlight had presided over the world world, and the burning of the log in the hearth each night of Yule was a reminder of that power that no man might know, the secret of life itself. He drew breath, he exhaled it, and around him, he was surrounded by those who could not, as behind him, Toyland was a place that defied him with its beauty and diversity.
The flames flickered before him, the black smoke rising up through the chimney. The imitation of life, he thought, the only thing he had it in his power to create, short-lived, white hot things that burnt brightly and then burnt up, not like the eternal, whispering, singing spirits of the true power, the secrets of the old mothers.
And what would happen now, what would happen now that Barnaby was a corpse, now that his own death had been greatly over reported, now that Alan and Mary were married? What would he do now that the world had been reset, and he still lacked the power of true creation?
Abruptly, the door creaked open, and he felt a presence enter his workshop, the winter winds billowing at their back. He smiled, looking into the flames, not turning away. Of course, he thought, it should have been obvious. Who was it, save for dead Barnaby, who stood to lose the most from Alan and Mary’s marriage?
“My brother,” announced Jane, her voice firm and full of resolve, “tell me how I might dispose of my brother.”
In the blistering light of the Yule log, in the fire consecrated to those old mothers, the Toymaker saw the future, and with its warmth upon his pale features, he smiled.
