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So, In The End

For: self-imposed 30-minute fic challenge

Series: Card Captor Sakura

Word Count: 368

 

Posted: 2005.02.23

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So in the end, it all comes down to this.  It was everything Eriol had expected and had not.  The mansion was just as she left it --- the flowery drapes, the parasol, the shawl on the swing set, the charred curls of bark in the hearth.  From outside the library window, a fancy straw hat occasionally bobbed into view.  The hat was hers as well.  Nakuru, who found it while rummaging in the attic, borrowed it for shade as he weeded the flowerbeds. 

 

The weeding was punishment for something Eriol had already forgotten.  And this too, was punishment: Spinel perched on his knee; reading aloud from the most basic of spell books in the library.  "Page eighty.  Conjuring Light."

 

"Next."  Eriol absently placed a palm on Spinel's small back, brushing light spun wings aside, and felt a rumble coarse through the fur, a bristle of annoyance.

 

Paw flipped page.  "Page eighty-one.  Lightning, Imitation."    

 

"Next."

 

"Page eighty-two.  Lightning, The Summoning Of."

 

Through the glass, Nakuru was waving garden shears with one hand and a badly cut rose with the other, mouthing YOOHOOO EEE-RI-OOOLL.

 

Because there was no other way to mime kindly keep gardening disasters to a minimum, Eriol pointed a finger at the rose, brought the finger close to him, then slid it smoothly against his throat.

 

Nakuru pouted. 

 

(One of the last few things she said to him was something about Nakuru.  Something about growth, too much heart and cheek and whimsy and air; something sad and untrue that made him want to reach up --- she was still taller --- and close tight fingers around her neck.)  

 

"Page ninety," Spinel read in a monotone.  "Curing the Common Cold.”  Then he coughed.  “May I skip a few pages now?"

 

Eriol took his glasses off and touched the bridge of his nose, suddenly tired.  Yes, you may skip, and you may cut all the roses down, and you may leave everything in place until they're all swimming in dust, until we’re all swimming in dust, because I couldn't care less, and nothing really matters anymore.

 

Spinel flipped the pages, halted to press a paw against a spread.

 

"Page hundred and twenty."  He hesitated.  "Curing Sadness."

 

 

[ snip ]

 

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