Touch of the Father [repost]

[Cody Capulet-Kane]

The mists that surround Venice part slightly, allowing Cody to pass through. Her growing mass of red hair is contained in single leather tie at the base of her neck and her bare feet slip through the dew covered grass. Slowly, she picks her way through the damp field, a fencing sword too big for her bouncing against her legs. First she looks right, then left and all she sees is the expanse of proper where it meets the mist filled home that was once her Father’s.

Like a phantom, his final words to her come back, whispering through her mind.

      "When you can touch the mists, you can touch me."

The Citadel sighs and looks around again, half expecting to see him standing beside her, taunting her with something. Another sigh and her thoughts drift to the horse in Chance’s stable, still unnamed. She had always said she wanted a pony and to be surrounded by animals. Hell, her first day in the Nexus, Tybalt had given her, her own circus to do with as she pleased. Sometimes, she still wanted that pony.

      “Cody, ponies are for children and fools and you, my dear, are neither…”

She was starting to forget how soothing his voice was. How his scent seemed to calm her when she was upset. Days after Mom died she sought solace not in Green’s arms, but in Tybalt’s lap.

      “I’ve come to be the Citadel sacrifice, Tybalt. I’ve come to help with your debt -- with Her debt.”

Absently her fingers trail the scar at her throat. She could still feel the steel cutting her flesh and her veins. She could almost feel her body hitting the floor as Chance walked through the front door of the Manor with her so innocent question of why Daddy was hurting her cousin. Cody could feel her shame for doubting him, for not having the strength of faith to trust him without asking.

      “You don’t mind it that I think of you as my Father?”
      “I am honored that you think of me as such.”

But she was getting better. Bit by bit, Cody was building herself up. She sighs and pushes the arms of her oversized swordsman shirt past her elbows. She really needed to get her own clothes, but now wasn't the time to be thinking about a shopping trip through the streets with the Delphi, turned Galahad.  Solemnly she carefully undoes the belt which hold her Father’s sword and kneels. Carefully, she places the sword in front of her and her fingers linger on the hilt before resting her hands on her thighs. Cody closes her eyes and takes a few calming breathes to find her center.

Instead she finds Him. She can almost feel His arms around her waist. She can very nearly hear His deep laugh and the feeling of his clothes against her skin. Her mind calls up the memories of silly jokes with pink dresses and the fighting back to back in a boat house float. Flashes of His eyes caught in fire light and the smell of ponies waft past her. She can almost fee the touch of His hand against her…

Her eyes fly open. “Damnit, this is supposed to be the one place without you. This is my hideaway. Get out,” she snarls. Her eyes dart around the mist, looking for the Him. Her lips form a tight line and the tension in her arms releases slightly when she discovers that she really is alone; an alone that is both a blessing and curse here.

      “And if you ever turn back on your sister and your family like that again…”
      “I know what will happen.”

Biting her lip, she closes her eyes again. “Tybalt,” she whispers. “I need you. Please… Let me touch the mist.”

      "When you can touch the mists, you can touch me."

Minutes go by. The mists roll over her body, unperturbed by her presence.  The cool moist air caresses her skin as the world around her slows down. Time nearly pauses as the air caresses her cheek. Somewhere a bird caws and takes flight, only its voice slows to a crawl.

A soft blue glow begins to ting the moss green grass. Minutes go by while it slowly takes form, little beads of light tracing the lines. The lines form curves and the curves form connections of interwoven light as the form of the Knotwork of Sanctuary and a copy of the one that Cody now wears makes itself known.

“Please,” her voice cracks as droplets of either tears or perspiration form on her face. The mist continues to float around her, absorbing her into the scenery.

And like a voice on a breeze, his words haunt her.

      “When you can touch the mists, you can touch me.”

The small Citadel reaches out her hand.