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{Isobel} Merry Christmas
Dec. 29th, 2006 10:45 pmShe sat in a dim loungeroom, her eyes closed against the light that offended them so, fighting the urge to leap up and destroy the CD player that tinkled with trite carols, songs that no longer applied. Out of habit, her lips shaped the words that echoed the Christmases she had left behind when she had died, and her teeth lengthened in a sneer at the last piece of humanity left to her at this season.
O, little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep,
The silent stars go by...
She had sent her mother the usual basket of chocolate and lavender scented body wash, and the nurses at the ward a larger box of confections and a bottle of wine. Not that the woman would awake from her catatonic state, let alone for this night.
She'd had a harder time explaining to Ben why she didn't want to see him for Christmas this year. Eventually he had understood when she had told him about the orphan, who would spook at seeing a stranger, and that she wanted him to have somewhere safe to enjoy the most holy of nights. With promises of dinner and long conversations some time before the new year, she had evaded that small trouble.
Richard was at his parents, selling them some story about the wonderful pay over Christmas Day, and wasn't the night so much more traditional, anyway? He had struggled with the lies he would have to tell them, but she supposed he would get used to it as the years passed. She didn't have to worry over her boy tonight, who's heart had been broken by an Alder of his covenant, who's faith was starting to slip away.
Much as hers was.
...Yet, in thy dark streets shineth
the everlasting light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
are met in thee tonight...
It had taken much of the night for her to prepare this dinner. The chicken was a bit of a mystery to her, but she had sorted it out in what she hoped was a delicious way. The potatos and peas were easier, as was the corn. The gravy was a little lumpy, but in her memory it had always been lumpy, and tastier for it.
...For Christ is born of Mary
And gathered all above
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love...
The places were set, and there was water and juice waiting in the fridge. The hat was perched on the hatrack near the door, a little more rumpled for it's time away from it's boys head, but no less loved. Richard had looked at her strangely when she asked for it, but the confusion had changed to a sad smile at her answer; "For good little boys who come home for Christmas."
...O morning stars together
Proclaim the holy birth
And praises sing to God the King
And Peace to men on earth...
Even now, as she felt dawn slowly approaching, she fought to hold onto that last little bit of hope. This year had been so hard- first Canberra, then Melbourne with it's strange and brash Kindred. Then Mary's deposing of Mikhail, and the boy-child's part in that. Months learning the miracles from the hands of Gabriel, who she once trusted- only to see the cost of that trust written in scars on Sister Eschiel's flesh. The boy leaving, insisting that he had to, for fear of the lives of those he had come to love. The revelations of Perth, brothers and sisters found and lost, the searing touch of an angel's blade against her throat, and the blindness that had followed. The word reaching her ears of Mary's death, and the thought, the hope of peace brought by Davion's hand, and the relisation of how much of a lie that had become. The truth about Abidan, so clear once come to light, the choice that remained unmade, the question of what to do about her blood. The urging, the mission, to find this sinner and bring them to God's light, the quest going nowhere...
...and now this. One small night. One evening of succour, of joy, of a promise in the eyes of a little boy as he said goodbye to his mother. Swiftly vanishing into the light of the approaching sun.
...O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in
Be born to us today...
She sprang up, eyes wild with loathing and hatred, casting about for something to destroy. She seized onto some gilded bit of frippery, some lie that she had let herself believe in, and raised it above her head to be dashed upon the floor-
-and the Beast was given pause by the most hesitant of sounds at the door.
...We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell...
Almost reluctantly, she went to the door, not daring to hope.
And yet there he was, against all things, golden hair shining in the light, expression unsure. His eyes were darker, older than she remembered, and the edges of his smile were lined with deep sadness, but here was her boy, her miracle, her one humanity.
He shyly held out a fist full of dandelions, roots still dangling from the ends of battered stalks.
"Merry Christmas, Mummy. I bought you flowers."
In reply she gathered him up in her arms, felt the massive strength that lay beneath the illusion of frail childhood, and laughed.
...O come to us, abide with us
Our Lord Emmanuel
She scooped up the hat from where it rested, and put it in it's rightful place, delighting at the way his face lit up.
"Merry Christmas, Adam. Welcome home."
O, little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep,
The silent stars go by...
She had sent her mother the usual basket of chocolate and lavender scented body wash, and the nurses at the ward a larger box of confections and a bottle of wine. Not that the woman would awake from her catatonic state, let alone for this night.
She'd had a harder time explaining to Ben why she didn't want to see him for Christmas this year. Eventually he had understood when she had told him about the orphan, who would spook at seeing a stranger, and that she wanted him to have somewhere safe to enjoy the most holy of nights. With promises of dinner and long conversations some time before the new year, she had evaded that small trouble.
Richard was at his parents, selling them some story about the wonderful pay over Christmas Day, and wasn't the night so much more traditional, anyway? He had struggled with the lies he would have to tell them, but she supposed he would get used to it as the years passed. She didn't have to worry over her boy tonight, who's heart had been broken by an Alder of his covenant, who's faith was starting to slip away.
Much as hers was.
...Yet, in thy dark streets shineth
the everlasting light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
are met in thee tonight...
It had taken much of the night for her to prepare this dinner. The chicken was a bit of a mystery to her, but she had sorted it out in what she hoped was a delicious way. The potatos and peas were easier, as was the corn. The gravy was a little lumpy, but in her memory it had always been lumpy, and tastier for it.
...For Christ is born of Mary
And gathered all above
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love...
The places were set, and there was water and juice waiting in the fridge. The hat was perched on the hatrack near the door, a little more rumpled for it's time away from it's boys head, but no less loved. Richard had looked at her strangely when she asked for it, but the confusion had changed to a sad smile at her answer; "For good little boys who come home for Christmas."
...O morning stars together
Proclaim the holy birth
And praises sing to God the King
And Peace to men on earth...
Even now, as she felt dawn slowly approaching, she fought to hold onto that last little bit of hope. This year had been so hard- first Canberra, then Melbourne with it's strange and brash Kindred. Then Mary's deposing of Mikhail, and the boy-child's part in that. Months learning the miracles from the hands of Gabriel, who she once trusted- only to see the cost of that trust written in scars on Sister Eschiel's flesh. The boy leaving, insisting that he had to, for fear of the lives of those he had come to love. The revelations of Perth, brothers and sisters found and lost, the searing touch of an angel's blade against her throat, and the blindness that had followed. The word reaching her ears of Mary's death, and the thought, the hope of peace brought by Davion's hand, and the relisation of how much of a lie that had become. The truth about Abidan, so clear once come to light, the choice that remained unmade, the question of what to do about her blood. The urging, the mission, to find this sinner and bring them to God's light, the quest going nowhere...
...and now this. One small night. One evening of succour, of joy, of a promise in the eyes of a little boy as he said goodbye to his mother. Swiftly vanishing into the light of the approaching sun.
...O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in
Be born to us today...
She sprang up, eyes wild with loathing and hatred, casting about for something to destroy. She seized onto some gilded bit of frippery, some lie that she had let herself believe in, and raised it above her head to be dashed upon the floor-
-and the Beast was given pause by the most hesitant of sounds at the door.
...We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell...
Almost reluctantly, she went to the door, not daring to hope.
And yet there he was, against all things, golden hair shining in the light, expression unsure. His eyes were darker, older than she remembered, and the edges of his smile were lined with deep sadness, but here was her boy, her miracle, her one humanity.
He shyly held out a fist full of dandelions, roots still dangling from the ends of battered stalks.
"Merry Christmas, Mummy. I bought you flowers."
In reply she gathered him up in her arms, felt the massive strength that lay beneath the illusion of frail childhood, and laughed.
...O come to us, abide with us
Our Lord Emmanuel
She scooped up the hat from where it rested, and put it in it's rightful place, delighting at the way his face lit up.
"Merry Christmas, Adam. Welcome home."
