[Fic] Original: Vnuchka Yaga - drabbles

[ishime]

Disclaimer:
Vnuchka Yaga's story, universe and characters are mine. (They are inspired by Russian folk tales, mainly Vasilisa the Beautiful).
Rating: PG-13 (allusions to sadistic glee and anthropophagy).
Notes:
Those are drabbles (of the "a 100 words each" variety). The themes come from 500themes . I might add some if I keep writing them. (I'm not posting them on the community because I know I'd never write 500 drabbles of anything, even if I tried.)


1. The vacuum of time. (The Folk)
Time has a peculiar way of affecting the Folk.
Most often, it seems like it forgot their existence long ago and left them to their own devices - older than dirt but forever the same. Thousands of years can pass without anything happening to them. They do what they always did, and watch as time flows by out of their forsaken lands.
Then someone's foolish enough to meddle with humans affairs, to remind their time of the Folk, and it sends all his wheels spinning to make up for the centuries wasted. Suddenly everything changes in the same little heartbeat.

2. Terror in the night. (Cat)
Humans are afraid of the night. Dark, quiet places make them twitch and squirm like mouses, quickening their step and glancing over their shoulders every now and then, not knowing what they fear yet frightened all the same.
The lightest breeze can make them shiver, the softest noise make them jump. They sweat over any foreign smell, mistaking it for the sweet, rotten breath of ogres. Their teeth chatter at any glint reminding them of long fangs glowing in the shadows. With good timing, a mewl can send them home screaming with delicious high-pitched, child-like voices.
Cat loves the night.

3. Flashes of euphoria. (Vnuchka Yaga)
Vnuchka Yaga is a strange girl, and an even stranger witch.
She has a taste for sweets of all kinds, and spends hours pouring sirup, honey and jam in teacups, trying to get the perfect mix of all things sugary in one beverage.
She likes her meat soft, and has her servants boil it until it almost melts on her tongue. She likes her blood fresh and warm, and her bones crunchy, with reddish, juicy marrow.
But what she craves most is the bright, fleeting glee of those rotten humans, just before they realize they've been fooled and loose everything.

4. Dancing with the devil. (Vnuchka Yaga)
The way humans distort legends never ceases to puzzle Vnuchka Yaga.
She still doesn't know whether to laugh or be offended by the Sabath stories. Witches are born from ice and blood and nights swallowing months - what bound could they share with anything Christian? The Folk hates their devil just as much as their God.
Picturing Baba Yagas dancing around a fire is quite entertaining, though. The poor old things would have broken within an hour!
(Maybe that's why they were replaced - but this thought isn't entertaining at all, and Vnuchka Yaga doesn't waste her time pondering it.)

5. Fatal accident. (Cat, Dog)
Cat bends over what used to be a pretty Chinese vase adorning the chimney.
"Oh my," he says, and he pronounces it nyah-y, but Dog is too anxious to feel annoyed. "I suppose this is what they call broken beyond repair."
Dog groans.
"Damn you, you twisted son of a- cat. She'll be pissed."
Cat turns and smiles like the day he swallowed an entire flock of starlights. Dog tenses up. This smile means trouble. Possibly a fight. (Which he might loose. Again.)
"Well," Cat purs, "it's common knowledge that cats are gracious animals and never break anything, isn't it?"

6. Haunting melody. (Birch)
Baba Yaga's days were spent in the darkest of the woods, where everything is silent but the trees themselves. There wasn't much to do beween their human visitors, so everyone spent most of their days napping, lulled by the whispers of the trees.
(Leaves rustled a soft, hypnotic melody, while branches whipped an irregular rythm into it, and when someone approached the palissade of skulls, it grew into a furious chorus of hisses, rousing the entire household.)
Vnuchka Yaga's isba walks from town to town and never settles in forests, but their Birch brings the woods' melody everywhere it goes.

7. Black ice. (Vnuchka Yaga, Morozko)
Under the biggest dead tree of the woods sits Vnuchka Yaga. She's rested her skull back against the frozen trunk, and snow covered her boots and dress in white. She keeps staring at the blizzard raging around her, still as a corpse - a corpse with an eerie smile and purple eyes gleaming between her bangs.
Above her, the branches creak a warning as the darkest, cruelest ice swallows them up: something's lurking up there, something tall and ancient and gelid.
"Are you cold, dear?" a soft, chilling voice asks.
"Yes grandfather," Vnuchka Yaga sighs, "I'm perfectly cold, thank you."

Comments

[rebecca-kalista.livejournal.com]

Haha, j'aime Cat en particulier. Pauuvre Dog. :3

Dans l'ensemble, les drabbles me plaisent. C'est très choupy creepy, plein de sous-entendus macabres dans une ambiance qui rappelle tout de même les contes de fées... ~<3

Désolée, j'aimerais en dire plus mais j'ai pas vraiment le temps ce matin.