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Thu, May. 11th, 2006 11:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annarti
Title~ Chery Red
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Bloke is mine, fic is mine, Duchess is not. She's Robert Browning's.
Notes~ I ficced again! This~ one is an intervention on the poem My Last Duchess that we read as part of the class. Basically, it's a poem told by a Duke, who's talking about his last wife to the servant of his prospective next wife. The heavy undertones are that he bumped her off, because he figured she kinda got around a bit. So yeah, not-so-subtle hint to the wife-to-be X3
Kinda went over the length I was aiming for, which means my last piece for this folio has to be somewhere in the vicinity of 250 words. I'm screwed!
~ ~ ~
The Duchess hitched her skirts up as she picked her way through the long, dry grass of late summer. One hand grasped a small branch of cherries, and she hoped the fruit’s dark red juices wouldn’t stain her dress. Seeds, prickles and dirt may well weave their way into the beautiful garment, given to her by her Duke, but they would come out easily enough. Cherry juice, as the servants had complained to her once before, was a nightmare.
She paused, hooking her long, dark curls behind her ear as the wind caught them and blew them in front of her face. She closed her eyes and smiled into the breeze, deeply inhaling the dry but somehow fresh scents of summer. The hot smell of the hushing grass around her mingled with the sharp tang of citrus from the orchard beyond, and underneath it all was the familiar musty scent of her beautiful white mule.
“Snowy!” she cried into the wind, grinning again when she could see the mule’s glowing coat under the trees beyond. The given to the beautiful creature by his previous owner’s daughter. It was a simple, child’s name, but the Duchess hadn’t the heart to change it, and so Snowy he remained.
She picked off another cherry from the bough and popped it in her mouth, savouring the sweet tang of the not-quite-ripe fruit, making sure that her teeth scraped every last morsel of flesh from the pip before she picked it from between her teeth.
“We’re going to plant a cherry orchard,” she told the mule.
Snowy merely flicked his tail at a passing fly and perked his ears.
The Duchess gave a light giggle. “I thought you’d like that idea.” She bent down, sweeping her skirts under her with her free hand, and dug a small hole in the ground to place the pip in. “Do you think it will grow into a beautiful big tree next year, Snowy?”
The horse said nothing. He just stood there and watched her movements with his big, black eyes.
“You’re silly,” the Duchess giggled, drawing herself to her feet and pointlessly brushing seeds and dust from her skirts.
A strong arm suddenly grasped her around the waist, making her cry out in surprise. “Is that any way to approach your Duchess?” she giggled, turning around in her captor’s grip to see who it was. “I should think you’d do well to show some more respect than that, sir. What if my Duke should see you?”
“Ah, but the Duke is the one who sent me here,” the stranger told her. Even one so carefree as the Duchess could hear the malicious undertones in his voice.
“Now why would he do that?” She tried to keep her voice light and airy, but the sweet smell of the cherries was growing decidedly sour in her nostrils.
The stranger turned her around again so she couldn’t see him as he wrapped both arms tightly, possessively around her. When he next spoke, she could feel his venomous breath against her ear. “You enjoy the gifts of other men far too much, the Duke has told me. How much else, he wonders, do you appreciate of the men who aren’t your husband?”
The Duchess frowned in confusion. “I thank them for their gifts, certainly, but—”
“Ah.” The stranger’s voice was barely above a whisper in her ear, and he slowly took one arm away from her, sliding it to his waist. “So you admit to your actions.”
She could feel her heartbeat quickening now, and dropped her gaze to follow the man’s hand. His fingers wound smoothly around something on his hip, resting there for a few moments as the Duchess’s confusion was almost completely replaced by fear.
In barely the blink of an eye, the man’s hand whipped out again. A flash of sunlight glinted from the short blade.
The Duchess hadn’t even had the time to scream.
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Bloke is mine, fic is mine, Duchess is not. She's Robert Browning's.
Notes~ I ficced again! This~ one is an intervention on the poem My Last Duchess that we read as part of the class. Basically, it's a poem told by a Duke, who's talking about his last wife to the servant of his prospective next wife. The heavy undertones are that he bumped her off, because he figured she kinda got around a bit. So yeah, not-so-subtle hint to the wife-to-be X3
Kinda went over the length I was aiming for, which means my last piece for this folio has to be somewhere in the vicinity of 250 words. I'm screwed!
The Duchess hitched her skirts up as she picked her way through the long, dry grass of late summer. One hand grasped a small branch of cherries, and she hoped the fruit’s dark red juices wouldn’t stain her dress. Seeds, prickles and dirt may well weave their way into the beautiful garment, given to her by her Duke, but they would come out easily enough. Cherry juice, as the servants had complained to her once before, was a nightmare.
She paused, hooking her long, dark curls behind her ear as the wind caught them and blew them in front of her face. She closed her eyes and smiled into the breeze, deeply inhaling the dry but somehow fresh scents of summer. The hot smell of the hushing grass around her mingled with the sharp tang of citrus from the orchard beyond, and underneath it all was the familiar musty scent of her beautiful white mule.
“Snowy!” she cried into the wind, grinning again when she could see the mule’s glowing coat under the trees beyond. The given to the beautiful creature by his previous owner’s daughter. It was a simple, child’s name, but the Duchess hadn’t the heart to change it, and so Snowy he remained.
She picked off another cherry from the bough and popped it in her mouth, savouring the sweet tang of the not-quite-ripe fruit, making sure that her teeth scraped every last morsel of flesh from the pip before she picked it from between her teeth.
“We’re going to plant a cherry orchard,” she told the mule.
Snowy merely flicked his tail at a passing fly and perked his ears.
The Duchess gave a light giggle. “I thought you’d like that idea.” She bent down, sweeping her skirts under her with her free hand, and dug a small hole in the ground to place the pip in. “Do you think it will grow into a beautiful big tree next year, Snowy?”
The horse said nothing. He just stood there and watched her movements with his big, black eyes.
“You’re silly,” the Duchess giggled, drawing herself to her feet and pointlessly brushing seeds and dust from her skirts.
A strong arm suddenly grasped her around the waist, making her cry out in surprise. “Is that any way to approach your Duchess?” she giggled, turning around in her captor’s grip to see who it was. “I should think you’d do well to show some more respect than that, sir. What if my Duke should see you?”
“Ah, but the Duke is the one who sent me here,” the stranger told her. Even one so carefree as the Duchess could hear the malicious undertones in his voice.
“Now why would he do that?” She tried to keep her voice light and airy, but the sweet smell of the cherries was growing decidedly sour in her nostrils.
The stranger turned her around again so she couldn’t see him as he wrapped both arms tightly, possessively around her. When he next spoke, she could feel his venomous breath against her ear. “You enjoy the gifts of other men far too much, the Duke has told me. How much else, he wonders, do you appreciate of the men who aren’t your husband?”
The Duchess frowned in confusion. “I thank them for their gifts, certainly, but—”
“Ah.” The stranger’s voice was barely above a whisper in her ear, and he slowly took one arm away from her, sliding it to his waist. “So you admit to your actions.”
She could feel her heartbeat quickening now, and dropped her gaze to follow the man’s hand. His fingers wound smoothly around something on his hip, resting there for a few moments as the Duchess’s confusion was almost completely replaced by fear.
In barely the blink of an eye, the man’s hand whipped out again. A flash of sunlight glinted from the short blade.
The Duchess hadn’t even had the time to scream.