Jul. 19th, 2012

pagemistress: (the fates of angels)
Fandom: Original (The Fates of Angels)
Character(s): None. Focused on the setting of Heaven.
Word Count: 793
Author's Note: I tend to have a bit of trouble when describing the surroundings of my world, especially when they are complete fabrications so I thought I'd give this prompt a try. And it came out in a kind of weird second person narrative as well...I don't know if it works but it's how it wanted to come out.

It should be cold. You look around at the marble floors and the columns that continue upwards beyond your sight and it looks hard and solid and uncomfortable. But when you touch it, it instantly warms to your body temperature. It's strange and yet welcoming at the same time. The floor seems more inviting then, as you slip your shoes off to feel the marble beneath your feet. Again, the expected shock of cold doesn't come and instead the smooth surface of the stone seems to almost massage the newly tender skin of your soles. It's not like walking on air or grass but it moulds itself around you with every pace you take, assuring you that it's there, that you won't fall.

You look around you and can see for leagues. The white scenery, like a blank canvas, continues indefinitely in every direction. It's daunting and makes you feel so small yet you feel a cloying sense of claustrophobia, that a move in any direction will make you lose your way. You reach out a hand to steady yourself as your head spins slightly but there is nothing there, no walls to lean on. It's freeing, of course it is, but it's also too much. Too much open space to get swallowed in. You shuffle over to a column to at least have some kind of support should your legs give out. Moving seems like terrifying prospect all of a sudden so, with a quick shake of the head and a harsh blink of your eyes, you continue to just focus on your surroundings.

The lack of colour is obvious though not unexpected. The sheer volume of white makes it hard for your eyes to adjust but it's getting easier. You notice some muted blues and greens and the occasional pastel yellow but nothing vibrant or bold. At least where the people are concerned. The decoration appears to be treated somewhat differently. Furniture is sparse but the odd bench can be found here and there, possibly more for aesthetic purposes than for resting legs and backs that no longer get tired.

There is, however, quite a large quantity of flora scattered about. No, scattered is the wrong term. If you were to have a bird's eye view of the area, you're sure that everything would be symmetrical, nothing would look out of place. Numerous ferns add a dense green to the surrounding areas but there are no trees, nothing taller than any of the people around. The flowers provide pinpricks of colour, a veritable rainbow with the amount of exotic species there seem to be, many of which you suspect might not have even existed back home. But despite their beauty, there is something almost sad about them. They seem rigid and deliberately crafted rather and wild and alive. The lack of any breeze makes them stand stiff and awkward, like those fabric decorations you used to see in department stores. But you brush your fingers delicately across a petal and feel the softness and fragility within, revealing it is indeed real. The smell is sweet and yet unobtrusive as it permeates the air.

Beautifully crafted yet simplistically designed fountains are dotted throughout, the water flowing over the rim rather than the heavy gushing. You look into the base and the water is so clear that were it not for the reflection of light skimming over the surface, you could swear there was nothing there at all. It's cool to the touch and no doubt refreshing to taste but you refrain as you see no-one else indulging.

The technology is something else entirely and not something that you can decipher at this stage. Beams of light zip constantly above your head, silently and unobtrusively and transparent board hover under glass domes with an image of what looks to be a blueprint but is more likely to be a map. You notice similar beams of light on the image, moving at a greater speed over the scaled distance. The writing covering the map is as useful as hieroglyphs to you so leave it be for now.

You've been walking for a while now and not a lot appears to change. If it weren't for the frequent new faces, you might be convinced you were walking in circles. You close your eyes for a moment to soak in the absolute tranquillity: the smell of the flowers, the flow of the water, the gentle warmth soaking into your skin...and you still feel ill at ease. It's too quiet. The soft murmurs of friendly discussions filter around you but there are no birds, no sudden noises or outbreaks of laughter or tears...no life. It's a strange kind of perfection, but maybe you'll get used to it.

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Catherine

August 2012

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