“I don’t like this,” Winter says, screwing up her mouth.
Cinder shrugs languidly, stretching her arms over her head. “I brought fireweed. Feels symbolic, doesn’t it?”
“You always were annoying.”
Winter steps back so Cinder can kneel down by the grave, sinking the heels of her boots into fine soil. The whole world feels off-balance, cast in the soft gold light of the setting sun, melting into itself. She wouldn’t be here if she had a choice.
But then again, she thinks, watching Cinder’s shoulders rise in a sigh, she wouldn’t be anywhere else, either.
“I was a lot of things,” Cinder says, “but it doesn’t matter now. They’re all gone. Right?”
“Right,” Winter echoes, adjusting her grip on her mourner’s cloak. The Atlesian nobility used to wear them in the weeks leading up to funerals, before the city fell to the ground. Klein found her one from an old Valean charity shop and gave it to her, just so she could wear the mask of respectful enemy a little better. “Fireweed, huh?”
“For growing out of the embers of an old life,” Cinder says. Winter catches the fading edges of a smile as she turns to her, away from the grave. There’s a kind of eerie stillness to her now, a loss of vitality, and she isn’t sure if she’s quite comfortable with it. “I’m burying myself today. Gotta have something symbolic, right?”
“Mm. Bit morbid, though, don’t you think?”
“I’m nothing if not morbid,” Cinder shrugs. She rises to her feet, brushing her hand over the top of the headstone, and steps away, head haloed by the setting sun. “Home?”
Winter extends an arm to her. She threads her own through it, pulling her close. “Home.”
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FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-06-30 04:16 pm (UTC)word count: 288
pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall
characters: winter schnee, cinder fall
fandom: RWBY
//
“I don’t like this,” Winter says, screwing up her mouth.
Cinder shrugs languidly, stretching her arms over her head. “I brought fireweed. Feels symbolic, doesn’t it?”
“You always were annoying.”
Winter steps back so Cinder can kneel down by the grave, sinking the heels of her boots into fine soil. The whole world feels off-balance, cast in the soft gold light of the setting sun, melting into itself. She wouldn’t be here if she had a choice.
But then again, she thinks, watching Cinder’s shoulders rise in a sigh, she wouldn’t be anywhere else, either.
“I was a lot of things,” Cinder says, “but it doesn’t matter now. They’re all gone. Right?”
“Right,” Winter echoes, adjusting her grip on her mourner’s cloak. The Atlesian nobility used to wear them in the weeks leading up to funerals, before the city fell to the ground. Klein found her one from an old Valean charity shop and gave it to her, just so she could wear the mask of respectful enemy a little better. “Fireweed, huh?”
“For growing out of the embers of an old life,” Cinder says. Winter catches the fading edges of a smile as she turns to her, away from the grave. There’s a kind of eerie stillness to her now, a loss of vitality, and she isn’t sure if she’s quite comfortable with it. “I’m burying myself today. Gotta have something symbolic, right?”
“Mm. Bit morbid, though, don’t you think?”
“I’m nothing if not morbid,” Cinder shrugs. She rises to her feet, brushing her hand over the top of the headstone, and steps away, head haloed by the setting sun. “Home?”
Winter extends an arm to her. She threads her own through it, pulling her close. “Home.”