Shroud



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  1. Public Bookmark 19

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    Javert’s observing of Valjean as the older man toiled in the garden had become an experience almost akin to reverie. This impossible man became something else as he knelt amidst the stalks and brambles of the rosebush. He walked among trees and flowers like a god among children. He was Demeter, and summer followed in his footsteps.

    With only a touch of his hand, he made green shoots sprout from Javert’s wooden heart, and they curled around it with soft tendrils. They coiled around his lungs and slithered into his arteries. There was monkshood blooming in his areoles and wisteria in his liver. Valjean’s touch had woken something in him. It felt as though a tree had taken root in his breast.

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    02 Jul 2014

  2. Public Bookmark 44

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    Surely Valjean knew. Yet he has been calm and self-assured through it all, never faltering, never flinching—and even as Javert leaned forward to kiss him, he watched him with that assured benevolence and did not move away.

    And now he gasps at an accidental brush of fingers, and when Javert goes to chide him, finds that he is blushing. "Now you've done it, Javert," he says to himself under his breath. "That's just the thing I need—to make a fool of us both."

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    16 May 2014