hlbr.livejournal.com (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
hlbr.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2009-02-28 08:32 pm
hlbr.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-02-28 08:32 pm
Entry tags:
Five Ways Jane Austen Never Died by Samantha Henderson (PG)
Fandom: JANE AUSTEN (RPF)
Pairing: none (slight Mr. Bigg-Wither/Jane Austen)
Length: 4200 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
samhenderson
Author Website: Samantha Henderson
Why this must be read:
By turns terrifying and amazing; in all its definite weirdness, it really does Jane Austen justice.
(1)
“Fly! It’s beautiful, Fly!”
Captain Frank Austen smiled at his sister, for she was beaming at him and paid the little statue in her hand no mind at all.
“You might look at it at least, Jane,” he teased. “It cost me a pretty penny in the Shanghai marketplace.”
“Oh—of course—yes...” She looked at the intricately carved figure and smiled. It was a year and more since Frank had sailed to the South Seas, and his white teeth in his sunburned face were strange and wonderful to her.
But what a monstrosity he brought her! She laughed with amused horror and turned it over in her palm.
It was carved from a jet-black stone that seemed to swallow the light from the wide, sunny window, leaving nothing but a void in a convoluted knot of tentacles. It was cold, colder than stone should be in a woman’s warm hand, and it gave her a strange feeling, like the memory of a toothache or the lingering weakness of a fever.
“What a dreadful creature, Fly,” she laughed, holding the statuette closer to her face. “Is that what an octopus looks like?”
“A little, although I understand it’s supposed to be some heathen god. Villainous fellow it was who sold it to me, darker than a Chinaman. A trader from an island to the South, I imagine. Gave my steward the vapors, at any rate. He’s from the West Indies, a superstitious boy, and he said that the thing was cursed and would bring bad luck to the owner. I had to hide it away in my trunk in the end, and tell him I’d thrown it in the sea. You’re not afraid, are you, Jane?” He grinned down at her.
“Never, Fly! Although Cassandra will make me cover it over before she’ll sleep in the same room.”
And Cassandra did, and Jane swathed the statue with her pelisse, for she would have her brother’s gift near her, although she was afraid of it, a little, almost a pleasurable thrill of fear, like the moment after a nearby lightning strike. And so that first night, and the second, and the third, when she had sunk into the little death of sleep, the long, smoky whips of darkness coiled from underneath the carving’s shroud, spiraled across the room to where Jane lay, insinuated themselves gently up her nostrils and down her throat, and began their work.
Anyway, this is my last rec! It's been a pleasure.
Five Ways Jane Austen Never Died
Pairing: none (slight Mr. Bigg-Wither/Jane Austen)
Length: 4200 words
Author on LJ:
samhendersonAuthor Website: Samantha Henderson
Why this must be read:
By turns terrifying and amazing; in all its definite weirdness, it really does Jane Austen justice.
(1)
“Fly! It’s beautiful, Fly!”
Captain Frank Austen smiled at his sister, for she was beaming at him and paid the little statue in her hand no mind at all.
“You might look at it at least, Jane,” he teased. “It cost me a pretty penny in the Shanghai marketplace.”
“Oh—of course—yes...” She looked at the intricately carved figure and smiled. It was a year and more since Frank had sailed to the South Seas, and his white teeth in his sunburned face were strange and wonderful to her.
But what a monstrosity he brought her! She laughed with amused horror and turned it over in her palm.
It was carved from a jet-black stone that seemed to swallow the light from the wide, sunny window, leaving nothing but a void in a convoluted knot of tentacles. It was cold, colder than stone should be in a woman’s warm hand, and it gave her a strange feeling, like the memory of a toothache or the lingering weakness of a fever.
“What a dreadful creature, Fly,” she laughed, holding the statuette closer to her face. “Is that what an octopus looks like?”
“A little, although I understand it’s supposed to be some heathen god. Villainous fellow it was who sold it to me, darker than a Chinaman. A trader from an island to the South, I imagine. Gave my steward the vapors, at any rate. He’s from the West Indies, a superstitious boy, and he said that the thing was cursed and would bring bad luck to the owner. I had to hide it away in my trunk in the end, and tell him I’d thrown it in the sea. You’re not afraid, are you, Jane?” He grinned down at her.
“Never, Fly! Although Cassandra will make me cover it over before she’ll sleep in the same room.”
And Cassandra did, and Jane swathed the statue with her pelisse, for she would have her brother’s gift near her, although she was afraid of it, a little, almost a pleasurable thrill of fear, like the moment after a nearby lightning strike. And so that first night, and the second, and the third, when she had sunk into the little death of sleep, the long, smoky whips of darkness coiled from underneath the carving’s shroud, spiraled across the room to where Jane lay, insinuated themselves gently up her nostrils and down her throat, and began their work.
Anyway, this is my last rec! It's been a pleasure.
Five Ways Jane Austen Never Died
no subject