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Posted: Tue Feb 10, 2009 7:06 pm
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Her eyebrows knit into another, then unfurled back, slightly raised higher from her delicately closed eyes.
It must look strange to you, mother, that I am looking at this child as so. This child, curled up so tightly in her bed. This child that I guard by involuntary will yet sudden yearn to protect. This Child, so very special now, but no one --not even I-- knows. But with this sentence, as I know, you could not blame my reason in the next action.
I raised my hand and let it hover over her face. I nearly touched her, my intention to wake her. My conscience was the only restriction from my instinct to save this child from nightmare.
Why? It would have been effortless, as you might think. But, no, from the time she met me she begged me again and again: "Never awake me from my slumber. Let me tarry over yonder, Even if it hurts me so, I will always know." She bade me promise. She begged me to never wake her. And, foolishly, I gave my word. I fear that I may be unable to stay on it one day, but my cowardice may prevent that.
But, the importance... Mother, I wanted to teach another human being. I was filled with some... how did you call it... desire? I was filled, I felt that if I did not touch her then, I would lose another chance to be fully human. The irony of that is that although I am human, unfortunately, my heart is not. Or so people have told me. I care not. But this feeling, I was not fulfilled since I did not touch her. I do not comprehend this emotion.
We both know that Father was never one for this kind of thing. We also know that his arrogance led to my mistakes and the eventual Death.
But, yes. Mother, there is also something about her. I cannot quite touch on it... it is sort of what they called "Like a very large baby." The child seemed peaceful for the rest of the night, none the less. She was a very large baby... the words escape me.
Ah, this is the word. "Cherubic." She is cherubic now, in her slumber, as I write to you. So odd, how this word seems to fit her. Almost as though it makes the moonlight into a dress for her... almost I can hear the music... the long lost ones you told me you had loved. Why you never play them is still a wonder.
Ah... how... cute? Mother, she wrinkled her nose. Now she tosses over, making an odd impression, her eyebrows knit again. It was almost as though ...
[The transcript ended here.]
Beyond the paper, the child giggled and the knight threw down the pen, afraid to show new feeling of warm face.
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Posted: Sun Mar 01, 2009 5:51 pm
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Posted: Sat Mar 14, 2009 7:39 am
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Posted: Thu Mar 19, 2009 12:38 pm
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Posted: Thu Mar 19, 2009 2:44 pm
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