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tamingthemuseTitle: Untitled
Fandom: Original (based on the Arthurian Legends)
Prompt: #283 - Masterpiece
Warnings: Reincarnation theme.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The Arthurian Legends are in the public domain. I make no reference to any copyrighted work. So all is mine.
Beta: None, so any mistakes you see are mine.
Summary: Mordred had been an artist once.
Mordred had been an artist once. He wasn't sure he could have been called that because none of his work had been really great or even simply worth being shown in any gallery but he had liked to call himself an artist. He had spent his days painting and sculting. He had liked the latter better than the former. He had enjoyed the feeling of clay, marble or wood under his hands. Feeling the material come alive had been glorious. He had especially loved clay. It could be modelled into anything but most importantly he had been able to work it with his eyes closed. He had loved shutting himself from the wolrd and letting his emotions, his inner side come to life without any restraint and express itself the way it wanted to. The results weren't always very good but sometimes they were amazing.
Mordred could remember one time when the result had blown his mind. He had sculpted what he had considered a tribute to his father, a form all vertical and going higher, reaching for the stars, for a better world. It had been majestic and inspiring. He had wanted to transcribe it into marble to give it a proper honourable material to fit the figure but the results had always been too heavy, too full of stone. He had never been able to give lightness to the stone. He had angered him to have such limited abilities no matter how hard he trained but in the end he didn't really matter. He doubted he would have ever shown this piece of work to anyone. It had been a masterpiece, at least in his eyes, but it had also been too personal for him to allow other people to see it, to touch it. Because if they had, they would have make it theirs, they would have taken parts away from Mordred and in the end nothing would have been left for him to admire and smile at.
But now, Mordred wished he would have given it to someone, would have place it somewhere safe because that way he would maybe have been able to see it still nowadays, years and years after his sculpting. But it was gone, destroyed as the rest of his old studio. No one had ever seen the sculpture, no one had ever wanted to take care of it and it had been lost in time, destroyed with so many other insignificant things of History.
Mordred lived over and over again but not since that first time had he really left a mark in History. He wasn't sure it was by choice but it didn't really matter. In a way it was safer that way. He lived unoticed, he died unoticed and he didn't do any more damage to the world and people. He was alone and everyone was safe. But still, sometimes he wish he didn't have to start all over again everytime, that he could bring some things with him in every life to remind him of what he loved, of what he thought, of what he wanted to do, needed to do.
Fandom: Original (based on the Arthurian Legends)
Prompt: #283 - Masterpiece
Warnings: Reincarnation theme.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The Arthurian Legends are in the public domain. I make no reference to any copyrighted work. So all is mine.
Beta: None, so any mistakes you see are mine.
Summary: Mordred had been an artist once.
Mordred had been an artist once. He wasn't sure he could have been called that because none of his work had been really great or even simply worth being shown in any gallery but he had liked to call himself an artist. He had spent his days painting and sculting. He had liked the latter better than the former. He had enjoyed the feeling of clay, marble or wood under his hands. Feeling the material come alive had been glorious. He had especially loved clay. It could be modelled into anything but most importantly he had been able to work it with his eyes closed. He had loved shutting himself from the wolrd and letting his emotions, his inner side come to life without any restraint and express itself the way it wanted to. The results weren't always very good but sometimes they were amazing.
Mordred could remember one time when the result had blown his mind. He had sculpted what he had considered a tribute to his father, a form all vertical and going higher, reaching for the stars, for a better world. It had been majestic and inspiring. He had wanted to transcribe it into marble to give it a proper honourable material to fit the figure but the results had always been too heavy, too full of stone. He had never been able to give lightness to the stone. He had angered him to have such limited abilities no matter how hard he trained but in the end he didn't really matter. He doubted he would have ever shown this piece of work to anyone. It had been a masterpiece, at least in his eyes, but it had also been too personal for him to allow other people to see it, to touch it. Because if they had, they would have make it theirs, they would have taken parts away from Mordred and in the end nothing would have been left for him to admire and smile at.
But now, Mordred wished he would have given it to someone, would have place it somewhere safe because that way he would maybe have been able to see it still nowadays, years and years after his sculpting. But it was gone, destroyed as the rest of his old studio. No one had ever seen the sculpture, no one had ever wanted to take care of it and it had been lost in time, destroyed with so many other insignificant things of History.
Mordred lived over and over again but not since that first time had he really left a mark in History. He wasn't sure it was by choice but it didn't really matter. In a way it was safer that way. He lived unoticed, he died unoticed and he didn't do any more damage to the world and people. He was alone and everyone was safe. But still, sometimes he wish he didn't have to start all over again everytime, that he could bring some things with him in every life to remind him of what he loved, of what he thought, of what he wanted to do, needed to do.
