Kuja (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
histrionic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
queenoflogs2012-02-14 08:28 pm
histrionic) wrote in queenoflogs2012-02-14 08:28 pm
Entry tags:
The Would-be World Destroyers' Poetry Club
Characters: Kuja & Kadaj
Date: 2/14
Summary: Two Final Fantasy villains, forced to bond
Warnings: Surprisingly, not much. They're unable to harm each other, even if they wanted to. Oh right, likeliness of gratuitous poetry and discussion of Mother are very, very high.
In spring, when the moon rose, it meant
time was endless. Snowdrops
opened and closed, the clustered
seeds of the maples fell in pale drifts.
White over white, the moon rose over the birch tree.
And in the crook, where the tree divides,
leaves of the first daffodils, in moonlight
soft greenish-silver.
We have come too far together toward the end now
to fear the end. These nights, I am no longer even certain
I know what the end means....*
The voice that speaks is light and pleasant. Kuja sits in her treehouse, alone, reading poetry to herself. Surely, nothing unexpected will disturb the peace and quiet of her poetic contemplation?
*From "The Silver Lily", by Louise Glück
Date: 2/14
Summary: Two Final Fantasy villains, forced to bond
Warnings: Surprisingly, not much. They're unable to harm each other, even if they wanted to. Oh right, likeliness of gratuitous poetry and discussion of Mother are very, very high.
In spring, when the moon rose, it meant
time was endless. Snowdrops
opened and closed, the clustered
seeds of the maples fell in pale drifts.
White over white, the moon rose over the birch tree.
And in the crook, where the tree divides,
leaves of the first daffodils, in moonlight
soft greenish-silver.
We have come too far together toward the end now
to fear the end. These nights, I am no longer even certain
I know what the end means....*
The voice that speaks is light and pleasant. Kuja sits in her treehouse, alone, reading poetry to herself. Surely, nothing unexpected will disturb the peace and quiet of her poetic contemplation?
*From "The Silver Lily", by Louise Glück