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I really wish I could come up with more than this. And it doesn't even go anywhere or say anything.
Title: (untitled)
Characters: Severus Snape
Genre: plotless random imagery (I decree a genre in the name of me *stabs a flag in it*)
Rating: G
Words: 149
Light shimmered, green and blue and white and violet waves of it. Alone, only alone would Severus do this, little symphonies of mist and light in the air before him. Playful, illusory; it was one of his favourite uses of magic, striking himself dumb with the silent beauty he could create. He let it flow and shine, cascading down like a cloak behind him, swirling like a cauldron, a maelstrom before him. Palms of cold flame, a blue impossible for the eyes to focus on properly, numinous and angelic. Severus teased the tendrils into intricate shapes with his fingertips, caressing it like skin, making fragile smudges with his thumbs. A secret indulgence, a foolish pursuit, increasing no skill nor yielding any knowledge, only twisting his heart with delicious longing. No would know, could ever know; he hid it, clothed it in shadows, shrouded it in darkness like everything else.
Title: (untitled)
Characters: Severus Snape
Genre: plotless random imagery (I decree a genre in the name of me *stabs a flag in it*)
Rating: G
Words: 149
Light shimmered, green and blue and white and violet waves of it. Alone, only alone would Severus do this, little symphonies of mist and light in the air before him. Playful, illusory; it was one of his favourite uses of magic, striking himself dumb with the silent beauty he could create. He let it flow and shine, cascading down like a cloak behind him, swirling like a cauldron, a maelstrom before him. Palms of cold flame, a blue impossible for the eyes to focus on properly, numinous and angelic. Severus teased the tendrils into intricate shapes with his fingertips, caressing it like skin, making fragile smudges with his thumbs. A secret indulgence, a foolish pursuit, increasing no skill nor yielding any knowledge, only twisting his heart with delicious longing. No would know, could ever know; he hid it, clothed it in shadows, shrouded it in darkness like everything else.
