Apr. 22nd, 2007

alainn_aislinn: (Wistful and alone)
I haven't one. How pathetic is that? Two hundred and some odd years old and there is no one I can say I would consider a best friend. I suppose there are candidates. Aurelia and I have always been close, but in the end, she is my big sister and the nature of what we are and our mother's ambition for us both divides us.

Fergus has stood by me in times when no one else did, but there are only so many times I can go running home to him without compromising us both. He has his duties, and for a time I was one of them. He was kind to a child, but I am no longer a child, and the times when I could crawl in through his window and curl up in his bed and beg him to make it all better are long past.

Byron? Perhaps he is the closest. He knows me, better than anyone else and I, him. But in the end, we are not friends, either. Not truly. It's too complex for that, too twisted up in everything we have been and everything we could have been but weren't.

When I think of a best friend, I think of a confidante. Someone who's there, no matter what. Who you can tell anything to and who will tell you anything in return. Someone you trust and who trusts you. Equality, balance, dependence, love. Someone who will call you on things when you're in the wrong, but loves you anyway. Someone you can speak your mind to, without fear. Someone you can laugh with. Someone you can cry with. Someone you can trust with all your secrets, big and small, and someone who will tell you theirs in return.

I've never had that, and I doubt I ever will.
alainn_aislinn: (Aislinn kitten)
The dustbunnies under the bed made her sneeze and she wriggled back out. Byron was gone somewhere, probably the library, but he'd left his door open, and that was an open call to a kitten to explore. Another sneeze shook her whole little body and made her jump, looking around with paranoid little glances.

The room stayed silent.

Slowly she crept around, looking for something to play with, when a pair of boots caught her eyes. They had tassels and she crept toward them, low to the ground, then pounced, batting the tassels madly and chewing on them with a ferocity that would have been terrifying had she been bigger more than half the size of the boot. The tassels destroyed, she crept inside, retreating back out quickly with the narrowing to support her leg almost trapped her.

The sneezing was more violent this time, and she immediately sat down to take a bath to regain her composure. It was while she was running her paw over her face that the idea hit her. Being up high would be wonderful. She could walk the canopy and that would be fun.

But she had to get there first.

Conveniently, Byron had chosen to follow his usual style, decorating the room with bed curtains that trailed all the way to the ground. She ran and took a little leap, landing about two feet off the ground and digging her claws in tight, dangling there. Her back feet flailed a little until she was able to attach those claws to the velvet as well. It took a moment to adjust to the swaying and her first movement was tentative, but she soon got the hang of it, digging claws in, retracting them, digging them in again as she climbed, hauling herself upward until she reached the canopy and balanced there in triumph.

Then she looked down.

It was very far down.

She hunkered close to the canopy, watching the floor far below her and started mewing quietly, wondering how she'd ever get down.

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alainn_aislinn

December 2007

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