Post by namjai on Jun 18, 2009 10:14:19 GMT -4
INDEX CARD
TITLE: The Stolen Child
AUTHOR: namjai
TYPE (one-shot, chapters, part of a series): one-shot
RATING: (K, T, M, MA): T
LEAD CHARACTERS: Chris, Piper
ORIGINAL CHARACTERS:
SHORT SUMMARY: Melinda was lost, forever six years old in a future that would never happen. Then, when I found out about me, I finally understood our kinship.
“Mom, tell me about her.”
When I was a kid, and first heard about her, she fascinated me. Mom told me what little she knew, unable to disguise her own wistfulness for the girl she herself had scarcely known more than ten minutes.
She was six years old. She was never any younger; she would never be any older. Just for that day when Mom saw her, she was six years old. And that was just a guess based on her appearance anyway, but in my mind, I decided the guess must have been right: She was six.
“She had dark hair, of course,” Mom said. “And freckles … here.” Smiling, she brushed her finger across the bridge of my nose.
Mom said she seemed smart. And she was cheerful. Probably no one told her that her aunt was to be executed that day. She was only six, after all. So she happily played with her tea set and resolutely told her mother — our mother — that she would not use her powers. Mom thought about binding those powers, but in the end, let them be.
So she always had her powers, whatever those were, but she would never use them.
Her name was Melinda. My sister. ...
TITLE: The Stolen Child
AUTHOR: namjai
TYPE (one-shot, chapters, part of a series): one-shot
RATING: (K, T, M, MA): T
LEAD CHARACTERS: Chris, Piper
ORIGINAL CHARACTERS:
SHORT SUMMARY: Melinda was lost, forever six years old in a future that would never happen. Then, when I found out about me, I finally understood our kinship.
The Stolen Child
“Mom, tell me about her.”
When I was a kid, and first heard about her, she fascinated me. Mom told me what little she knew, unable to disguise her own wistfulness for the girl she herself had scarcely known more than ten minutes.
She was six years old. She was never any younger; she would never be any older. Just for that day when Mom saw her, she was six years old. And that was just a guess based on her appearance anyway, but in my mind, I decided the guess must have been right: She was six.
“She had dark hair, of course,” Mom said. “And freckles … here.” Smiling, she brushed her finger across the bridge of my nose.
Mom said she seemed smart. And she was cheerful. Probably no one told her that her aunt was to be executed that day. She was only six, after all. So she happily played with her tea set and resolutely told her mother — our mother — that she would not use her powers. Mom thought about binding those powers, but in the end, let them be.
So she always had her powers, whatever those were, but she would never use them.
Her name was Melinda. My sister. ...
