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Entry tags:
well you done done me;
Summary: The book that Rossiu had received, found underground, was actually written by Lord Genome, as he discarded princess after princess.
Lord Genome decided to write a book.
He first wrote it in the language of his forefathers, a faint recollection of a time before. Brusquely, holding the pen like a twig in his hand, he swept the pages full of ink before deciding on a beginning. Resting his chin on his fist, he gazed at the blank pages. The ink was nearly dried before he pressed the tip against paper.
“What are you writing, father?”
Ally, a pretty girl with dull blond hair, peered over his shoulder. Her limbs struck at an odd angle, gangly and long, and he wondered if she was growing.
“A story,” he said. “What have I told you about coming into my study?”
“Why don’t you use the equipment on the Ganmen, father?” she asked, her straight hair falling quizzically across her eyes. She smiled at him, and he disliked her limbs. Her eyes, he thought, did not fit the rest of her body.
“I told you not to come into my study,” he said, “Ally.”
She smiled at him, in a trusting way that said she knew that she wouldn’t get punished. She teased his shoulder and rested her chin on it, and her long arms wrapped comfortably around his neck. He gazed out the window for a little longer, annoyed by the flash of inspiration that had suddenly disappeared.
“I have a surprise for you,” he told her, “in the other room.”
He used the language of even before his forefathers, an ancient scripture that he pored over his books in a half-interested fashion, words impressing on the back of his mind. Out in the garden, he could hear Leah giggling below, playing with her precious golden ball. He rested his palm against the paper, and absently scratched out a few words.
“An ancient language, Lord Genome?” Guame murmured respectfully. “I did not realize you had an interest in such things.” He kept his head low.
“Even the best encryptions may be broken,” he said merely, and looked out the window. Leah, a girl with a lighter color of blond hair, slightly curled, threw her ball high in the air and laughed like bells when it came down again.
“She has been asking for you,” Guame said.
He did not want to play with his toy. Instead, he toyed with the ancient pen before pressing the spine back down upon the paper. “Where should I begin?” he wondered out loud, not expecting an answer. The throne room was otherwise empty, except for Gaume, whose head was still bowed low to the ground.
“What about your own life, Lord Genome?”
“It would be fitting,” he said. The sun glanced off Leah’s hair, and she turned and smiled at him, waving happily before returning to her ball. “But where would I begin there?”
He did not listen to Guame’s answer, but instead dipped the pen into the ink and began to write. His childhood, he considered, would be the best place to start. His childhood, perhaps. He gazed upon Guame without nostalgia or mercy, but with a cold gaze. As a child, he had a troupe of animals that he may have considered friends. There were many, but, he thought, now there was only one. Guame had been smaller then. But Lord Genome had fixed that.
Rather, he wrote, he had been forced to fix it. The Anti-Spirals had attacked, though at first, he hadn’t realized it. Yet there had been an explosion, not too far from his mound, surrounded by his animals, and the world had burned, fiercer than a raging fire. The skyscrapers were nothing but the firewood to such a flame. That was when he had discovered the face—
His pen snapped in his hand. He gazed coolly downwards, where his hand had inadvertently formed into a fist.
With a wry smirk, he chuckled.
“Lord Genome?”
“I did not know that I was capable of holding such emotions, still.” He tossed the pen away carelessly. “Tell me what you wished to see me for.”
“It is only, Lord Genome,” Guame told the cold floor, “that Leah has been asking for you.”
“Get a new one.”
“Lord Genome?”
“Defective,” he said. Though his eyes gazed upon the wall, he stared upon the Ganmen instead, and his own cold face, so long ago. Had he felt hopeful? Was that what emotions felt? With the fire swallowing the earth behind him, had he felt hopeful?
Those dreams had been defective.
“Throw her away.”
It was his own language, so that even if Dani hung over his shoulder, she could not read a word that he wrote. Her hair was somewhat white, with purple tinges. Her eyes were a shade of purple as well. She was much prettier, he considered, than his first attempts. She was especially fond of him, constantly giving him butterfly kisses and sighing contentedly to be near him.
The pen continued to snap when he attempted to write about his fight, so he skipped forward ahead of time, to when he had built his invincible fortress that nobody could penetrate, a perpetual eden where he could toy with his princesses until they asked too many questions. Perhaps he could fix that.
Dipping his pen into the ink again, he wrote down, with great consideration, about the way he had created them in the beginning. Asexual reproduction. Genetics. It was all genetics. They could not reproduce, but there were many advantages to his way. Not because of his fear for the Anti-Spirals. This was not because he feared them. It was simply better this way. No, it had to be that way.
Lord Genome decided to write a book.
He first wrote it in the language of his forefathers, a faint recollection of a time before. Brusquely, holding the pen like a twig in his hand, he swept the pages full of ink before deciding on a beginning. Resting his chin on his fist, he gazed at the blank pages. The ink was nearly dried before he pressed the tip against paper.
“What are you writing, father?”
Ally, a pretty girl with dull blond hair, peered over his shoulder. Her limbs struck at an odd angle, gangly and long, and he wondered if she was growing.
“A story,” he said. “What have I told you about coming into my study?”
“Why don’t you use the equipment on the Ganmen, father?” she asked, her straight hair falling quizzically across her eyes. She smiled at him, and he disliked her limbs. Her eyes, he thought, did not fit the rest of her body.
“I told you not to come into my study,” he said, “Ally.”
She smiled at him, in a trusting way that said she knew that she wouldn’t get punished. She teased his shoulder and rested her chin on it, and her long arms wrapped comfortably around his neck. He gazed out the window for a little longer, annoyed by the flash of inspiration that had suddenly disappeared.
“I have a surprise for you,” he told her, “in the other room.”
He used the language of even before his forefathers, an ancient scripture that he pored over his books in a half-interested fashion, words impressing on the back of his mind. Out in the garden, he could hear Leah giggling below, playing with her precious golden ball. He rested his palm against the paper, and absently scratched out a few words.
“An ancient language, Lord Genome?” Guame murmured respectfully. “I did not realize you had an interest in such things.” He kept his head low.
“Even the best encryptions may be broken,” he said merely, and looked out the window. Leah, a girl with a lighter color of blond hair, slightly curled, threw her ball high in the air and laughed like bells when it came down again.
“She has been asking for you,” Guame said.
He did not want to play with his toy. Instead, he toyed with the ancient pen before pressing the spine back down upon the paper. “Where should I begin?” he wondered out loud, not expecting an answer. The throne room was otherwise empty, except for Gaume, whose head was still bowed low to the ground.
“What about your own life, Lord Genome?”
“It would be fitting,” he said. The sun glanced off Leah’s hair, and she turned and smiled at him, waving happily before returning to her ball. “But where would I begin there?”
He did not listen to Guame’s answer, but instead dipped the pen into the ink and began to write. His childhood, he considered, would be the best place to start. His childhood, perhaps. He gazed upon Guame without nostalgia or mercy, but with a cold gaze. As a child, he had a troupe of animals that he may have considered friends. There were many, but, he thought, now there was only one. Guame had been smaller then. But Lord Genome had fixed that.
Rather, he wrote, he had been forced to fix it. The Anti-Spirals had attacked, though at first, he hadn’t realized it. Yet there had been an explosion, not too far from his mound, surrounded by his animals, and the world had burned, fiercer than a raging fire. The skyscrapers were nothing but the firewood to such a flame. That was when he had discovered the face—
His pen snapped in his hand. He gazed coolly downwards, where his hand had inadvertently formed into a fist.
With a wry smirk, he chuckled.
“Lord Genome?”
“I did not know that I was capable of holding such emotions, still.” He tossed the pen away carelessly. “Tell me what you wished to see me for.”
“It is only, Lord Genome,” Guame told the cold floor, “that Leah has been asking for you.”
“Get a new one.”
“Lord Genome?”
“Defective,” he said. Though his eyes gazed upon the wall, he stared upon the Ganmen instead, and his own cold face, so long ago. Had he felt hopeful? Was that what emotions felt? With the fire swallowing the earth behind him, had he felt hopeful?
Those dreams had been defective.
“Throw her away.”
It was his own language, so that even if Dani hung over his shoulder, she could not read a word that he wrote. Her hair was somewhat white, with purple tinges. Her eyes were a shade of purple as well. She was much prettier, he considered, than his first attempts. She was especially fond of him, constantly giving him butterfly kisses and sighing contentedly to be near him.
The pen continued to snap when he attempted to write about his fight, so he skipped forward ahead of time, to when he had built his invincible fortress that nobody could penetrate, a perpetual eden where he could toy with his princesses until they asked too many questions. Perhaps he could fix that.
Dipping his pen into the ink again, he wrote down, with great consideration, about the way he had created them in the beginning. Asexual reproduction. Genetics. It was all genetics. They could not reproduce, but there were many advantages to his way. Not because of his fear for the Anti-Spirals. This was not because he feared them. It was simply better this way. No, it had to be that way.