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Title: Silver Bells And Cockle Shells
Fandom: Earl Cain/Godchild
Pairing: implied Cain/Riff
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 580 words
Notes: Written for Yuletide '07.
The ground was hard and ridged with frost, making digging all but impossible. The shovel sunk bare centimeters into the dirt before stopping with an echoing clang. Riff winced as the impact reverberated up his arm and paused in his efforts to wipe a bit of sweat from his brow.
"Do not worry," Cain murmured at his side, one gloved hand coming to rest at Riff's elbow. The faint glow of the lantern he carried cast deep shadows on the visible portions of his face, smoothing his features into something otherworldly and all too suited to the dubious business of digging up graves in the middle of the night. If indeed the ground below them contained a grave-- at the moment, it seemed nothing but a particularly well-landscaped garden, belonging, of course, to a particularly prominent country widow, who would no doubt be less than pleased if she learned what her overnight guests were up to.
Cain dropped his hand from Riff's arm and held the lantern over the patch of dirt in question. "We needn't dig very far," he continued. "I daresay our aim should be quite close to the surface."
With a nod of assent, Riff brought the shovel down once again. The frost was recent and had not yet had time to penetrate deep into the earth, and as such the frozen bits were beginning to break up. It was not long before each scoop of the shovel began bringing up clumps of rich, black dirt, the kind used in the cultivation of gardens. The roots of the nearby rosebush were exposed next.
At first, Riff assumed the swollen, whitish tubes edged with green to be a part of the root system. On second glance, he amended his guess to some sort of grub. It was only on Cain's triumphant hiss that he recognized them for what they truly were-- human fingers.
Kneeling at the edge of the impromptu grave, Cain held the lantern close to examine his rotting prize. From the looks of things, the fingers were still attached to a hand, which was still covered in soil. "A fairly recent burial," Cain announced, partly to himself. "Though I would guess less recently than the state of decomposition would hint. The coldness of the ground has likely slowed the process."
Taking Riff's proffered hand and allowing the man to pull him to his feet, Cain gave an amused chuckle. "I think we have discovered the fate of our hostess's unfortunate daughters." He pulled the cloth from his face, revealing sharp-edged smile. "As well as the reason her garden is so well-spoken of. She has excellent fertilizer."
Riff politely cleared his throat at his master's dark joke. "She seemed truly brokenhearted at the disappearances of her daughters, my lord. Why would she do such a thing?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Cain asked with the quirk of a brow. "They were about to leave her. Hence why she murdered each of the three before their wedding nights. By keeping them in the garden where they provide for the flowers, she alone can enjoy their beauty forever."
"A possessive love."
Cain's hand closed around his wrist, his fingers digging into Riff's skin. "While I may not entirely approve of her methods," he said quietly, pushing back the cuff of Riff's sleeve, "I find myself sympathetic to her emotions."
When his lips brushed over the old scar on Riff's wrist, the man's resulting shudder was not even remotely one of horror.
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