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A/N: This was originally written in Word with his thoughts in one column and her thoughts in a neighboring column. I think the story reads best that way. If you are interested in reading this in that format, drop me a line.
~*~*~
Pomegranates always made him think of her.
As the first burst of tart flavor exploded on his tongue, his mind involuntarily, unconsciously took him back to memories he didn’t want and couldn’t use. It made no difference, he had already remembered.
***
He loved watching her laugh. She got such pleasure out of it. Her laugh was quick and wicked, and made him want to join in. He knew her laugh before he knew her. He could hear it bouncing off the walls of the Great Hall, happy and free. Sometimes he missed that laugh. Sometimes he wished he could be her laugh.
Her hair intoxicated him. It was never calm, always a riot of color and life. Even after he had fucked her, when both of them were near comatose with pleasure, her hair still had fire, still had life. His hair was always cold.
It seemed he was always hungry now. Nothing could satisfy him. Her taste clung his mind. Even after all this time, he still dreamed of her taste. It followed him everywhere. He could never get the taste of pomegranates out of his mouth.
***
He looked down, the pomegranate finished. He had been clumsy, the blood red color stained his fingers. He smiled wryly, a little more blood on his hands made no difference now. He pulled on his mask, the mask that was now synonymous with death, and left his rooms. The smell of pomegranates lingered in the air, bringing a little bit of color into his stark life.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Pomegranates always made her think of him.
She watched her hands peel the fruit. Before she could guard herself against it, she remembered how he taught her how to eat one. She sighed, she wanted to be stronger then the memories, but she knew she wasn’t.
***
His fingers enthralled her. On an aristocratic body, his hands were absolute royalty. Slim and quick and always sure, they could undress her with lightening quick speed. They played her body like an instrument. She would joke she was an accordion, ridiculous and fun. He would whisper she was a Stradivarius, changeable and beautiful.
She was transfixed by his eyes. They were volatile and passionate when the rest of him was ice. She felt engulfed, surrounded, enveloped by his eyes. Although it was dangerous, she always willingly drowned again.
Secretly she thought that he took all the smoothness out of her life. Without him all the edges were just bit jagged and never exactly fit. Sometimes all she wanted was to feel his silken hair drift through her fingers
***
She discarded the pomegranate. She couldn’t finish eating it now, she never could. This was her secret, her longing to eat a pomegranate and her sorrow when she couldn’t. As she pulled on her cloak emblazoned with a golden Phoenix, she wondered if she would see him. She had almost convinced herself it no longer mattered. But the pomegranate was left uneaten.
~*~*~
Pomegranates always made him think of her.
As the first burst of tart flavor exploded on his tongue, his mind involuntarily, unconsciously took him back to memories he didn’t want and couldn’t use. It made no difference, he had already remembered.
***
He loved watching her laugh. She got such pleasure out of it. Her laugh was quick and wicked, and made him want to join in. He knew her laugh before he knew her. He could hear it bouncing off the walls of the Great Hall, happy and free. Sometimes he missed that laugh. Sometimes he wished he could be her laugh.
Her hair intoxicated him. It was never calm, always a riot of color and life. Even after he had fucked her, when both of them were near comatose with pleasure, her hair still had fire, still had life. His hair was always cold.
It seemed he was always hungry now. Nothing could satisfy him. Her taste clung his mind. Even after all this time, he still dreamed of her taste. It followed him everywhere. He could never get the taste of pomegranates out of his mouth.
***
He looked down, the pomegranate finished. He had been clumsy, the blood red color stained his fingers. He smiled wryly, a little more blood on his hands made no difference now. He pulled on his mask, the mask that was now synonymous with death, and left his rooms. The smell of pomegranates lingered in the air, bringing a little bit of color into his stark life.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Pomegranates always made her think of him.
She watched her hands peel the fruit. Before she could guard herself against it, she remembered how he taught her how to eat one. She sighed, she wanted to be stronger then the memories, but she knew she wasn’t.
***
His fingers enthralled her. On an aristocratic body, his hands were absolute royalty. Slim and quick and always sure, they could undress her with lightening quick speed. They played her body like an instrument. She would joke she was an accordion, ridiculous and fun. He would whisper she was a Stradivarius, changeable and beautiful.
She was transfixed by his eyes. They were volatile and passionate when the rest of him was ice. She felt engulfed, surrounded, enveloped by his eyes. Although it was dangerous, she always willingly drowned again.
Secretly she thought that he took all the smoothness out of her life. Without him all the edges were just bit jagged and never exactly fit. Sometimes all she wanted was to feel his silken hair drift through her fingers
***
She discarded the pomegranate. She couldn’t finish eating it now, she never could. This was her secret, her longing to eat a pomegranate and her sorrow when she couldn’t. As she pulled on her cloak emblazoned with a golden Phoenix, she wondered if she would see him. She had almost convinced herself it no longer mattered. But the pomegranate was left uneaten.
The End.
romancegeek is the author of 1 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 1 members. Members who liked Pomegranate Memories also liked 278 other stories.
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