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| "Love is An Art" |
Suggested by: S. Rose LeClaire (Aka "VelvetFaeling" on DeviantArt)
The List:
-A Name: "Brighton, Sarah, Lilly"
-A Time: "Valentine's Day"
-A Place: "Suburban home"
-An Object: "A Gift"
-Title: "After All"
The Result:
Title:
The Result:
Title:
"After All"
("Soul Mates" Part 4)
"Ahh, that's good."
"Right here?"
Sarah Brighton wriggled and kicked her foot as his fingers traced her
ticklish arch. "Just keep rubbing the toes, smarty-pants," she told
him.
Her husband obliged, his strong hands massaging the balls of
her feet.
"Ohh, man! You have no idea how good this feels,"
she sighed. "After the day I had!"
He grinned at her. "Lemme guess, another field trip
day?"
Sarah shook her head. "No, even weirder—and I was on my
feet the whole time in those gawdawful pumps." She scowled at the offending
shoes laying on the floor.
"Why did you wear them, then?"
"Ugh! The pitfalls of ladyhood." She let her head
flop back against the cushion.
"Mommy!" The family cat, a calico named Shade,
bounded into the room. Close on her tail trotted a young girl in a pink tee
shirt. The curly bow holding her hair bounced as she curled up on the couch
next to Sarah.
"Well, if it isn't my Lilly-belle!" Sarah crooned,
stroking her daughter's light-brown hair. "Why aren't you in bed,
munchkin?"
Lilly twiddled the pink, heart-shaped fairy wand she'd
gotten just the other week for Valentine's Day. "Daddy and I talked to
Poppa Paul and Nanna Betty!"
"Oh yeah, your folks called," Tyler said. "It
seems Paul is having another exhibit on Friday and wanted to know if you can be
there."
Sarah nodded, "I think that would be fine. I'll check
with Larry and see if it would be okay to get someone to fill in for me that
day."
"Hey, it's not every day that the daughter of NewYork's own P. R. Williamson gets to attend her father's exhibits; after all the
hard work you’ve put in at the museum, how could he refuse?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "He's turned me down
before."
It wasn’t easy being the daughter of a famous artist—and the fact
that she never cared to follow in his footsteps only made it harder. The
progeny of a world-class artist demeaning herself to the level of tour guide at
an art museum? A lowly fate indeed! But what her hands lacked her eye could
see. She had a knack for “reading” paintings and arranging pieces in an exhibit
hall at just the right positions—and the hours let her have time at home with
her family. She looked down at Lilly, who was busy waving the wand just beyond
the reach of Shade. She didn’t need to paint; love was her art—and this was the
beginning of her masterpiece.
"Okay, time's up, Lilly!"
"I'm just
not tired!" whined the little girl.
"Well, mommy is," Sarah gave her a little push.
"And it's after your bedtime, missy!"
"Aww, please, mama?"
Sarah sat up. "Nope; bed."
Tyler stood and took his daughter's hand. "Come on,
I'll tuck you in," he said.
"I wanna stay up! I'm in second grade!"
"Second graders need sleep," Sarah responded as Ty
swung Lilly up into his arms. "You'll thank me when you're older,"
Sarah grinned and blew a kiss, which Lilly obligingly "caught" and
pressed against her cheek.
Alone in the silence, Sarah mused over the strange day she'd
had. In all the years working at the Museum of Fine Art, they had never
received an endowment quite like this one. Absently, she replaced the lid on
the box of Valentine's chocolates and brought it back into the kitchen.
Without warning, strong arms wrapped around her waist and
she felt someone burying his face in her curly red hair.
"Eep! Tyler!" Sarah turned in his arms and
snuggled against his chest. She sighed, and all the troubles melted away.
His chin rested on the top of her head. "Wanna talk
about your weird day now?" He offered.
"Yeah." Sarah walked with him back to the couch.
"So what happened?" He asked.
Sarah huffed. "It wasn't weird, it was just dumb! So
this package arrives from, I dunno, somewhere in the UK—"
"Really? Why ship it here?"
"Pssh! How should I know? Anyway, it's supposed to be a gift from some eccentric billionaire or something, and there are these three
antiques in there, already cased up and everything, along with—I kid you not—a
small novel of care and display instructions." She indicated the thickness
of the pamphlet with her fingers.
Tyler snorted, "You're kidding! Display instructions?
What were they, Crown Jewels or something?"
Sarah shook her head. "No—well, there was this crown,
and a sword, and a necklace thing, but they were all really old and kind of
tarnished." She sighed and leaned back on the couch. "So they came
with their own plaques and everything, and they had to be displayed at a
certain height and they could not be within a certain range of any windows and
doors—"
"What?"
"I know! And they couldn't be displayed together, and
there are like a dozen parameters for when we can display them—like if there
hasn't been a break-in for six weeks or something, which kind of makes sense,
but still! They all had these funky names, like the Collar of Cuimhne, and the
Diadem of Baetha Sìoraì, and the Sword of Láidreacht—but nothing that says who
any of these people were, or why they have things named after them."
Tyler nodded pensively. "You're right, that is a little
strange."
Sarah ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head.
"Whatever, I'm done thinking about that right now." She stood and
tugged on Tyler's hand. "Come to bed?"
He smiled and joined her. "Right behind you."
>>>>>
(Six months later, in August)
A young man, an old woman, and a small pixie sat around the
little kitchen table, staring at the weathered letter.
"The one who wants it doesn't need it," Kenneth
read. "That must be me, because I want the collar, but I don't need it for
myself."
"Allyra need, but she no want," Nakoma pointed to
the next line.
Kenneth snorted. "No, I don't imagine she would, if she
knew we were doing this—at least, not the way she is now," he frowned.
"So how do we figure out who has it?" Agnes said.
"It's not as if we can just look for scenarios of people miraculously
recovering their memories—"
Kenneth nodded, "Right, because the riddle says that
the one who has it can't use it."
The question remained: who could it be? In what sort of
scenario would a person unwittingly own an ancient Celtic necklace without
using it?
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