July 09, 2006


Hey gang!I'm going to be absent from the blogworld for a while. This goes for all my sites {sorry Trek fans} I just need some time away. If you want to know what I'm up to, email me. {shrug}

June 09, 2006

Resistance Is Futile - Pt. 4

Admiral Virginia Hamilton paused before answering the Empath's question of why she had been chosen for assimilation, knowing that it was going to be hard for both the woman and her captain to swallow. "The Council is asking you to do this because you're the most powerful Empath currently serving in StarFleet."

"That way, if she refuses, The Council can order her to do it?" asked Picard, his stomach feeling sick.

"Honestly?" Virginia took a deep breath, and answered. "Yes."

"And if it doesn't work?" he demanded. "What happens to Counselor Troi then?"

Virginia looked at the Betazoid briefly. "If it fails, and the Borg do not destroy themselves, I am then authorized to rescue Deanna and restore her just as if nothing happened. In the event that is succeeds, I am authorized to pull her from the ship and restore her."

"I don't see why they don't just let you destroy the Borg," Deanna said angrily. "You're more than capable."

"I don't know," answered the Admiral. "I've asked and they've said no."

"If they were to say yes, when would it stop?" commented Picard, wondering why the women hadn't realized the answer themselves. Granted, Troi was understandably upset. "If it's all right to destroy the Borg by using the Admiral's powers, would it be permissible later for her to be authorized to use them to eliminate the Federations other threats? To intimidate the Romulans, the Breen..."

"The Romulans and the Breen do not compare to the Borg, but I see your point Captain." Deanna shook her head, still upset.

"Logic's never been one of my strong points," conceded the Admiral. "I used to drive Spock quite mad."

"Admiral?" Deanna straightened in her seat and Picard could see her beginning to recover from her shock. "Do you need an answer right now?"

"No. You have up to 48 hours before I have to report to the Council. Feel free to discuss this over with your Captain, your fiance, closest confidante. I can forward files to you and will answer any questions you're bound to have. For now, I wish to retire to quarters for a bit; it will give you and Picard a chance to talk." The Admiral rose to her feet gracefully, the need to be alone written on her face.

Picard rose to his feet as well. "If you like, I can show you to the quarters we've prepared for you."

Virginia gave him a shaky smile. "I think I can find my own way, some other time perhaps." She held his gaze a moment longer, then turned and left the Ready Room.

He watched her go, before returning to his seat. He looked at his ship's counselor and was surprised to find her smiling. "I'm surprised you can smile right now."

Deanna just smiled more widely before answering, "You like her."

There was no doubting how Deanna meant that.

June 04, 2006

Resistance Is Futile - Pt. 3

Chapter Three

As Deanna entered the captain’s ready room, her casual attire caught his notice. She was dressed in a sleeveless blue sheath-style dress that clung to her curves quite attractively; it was then that the captain recalled her plans for the evening.

“Deanna,” Picard said apologetically. “I apologize for interrupting your evening with Worf.”

“That’s alright Captain, we were having a disagreement anyway, so you called at an opportune time…oh, Admiral Hamilton! Hello.”

“Counselor,” Admiral Hamilton nodded in greeting, her eyes focused safely on top of the captain’s desk. She was here to ask this woman to sacrifice herself…she didn’t want to know the counselor anymore than she had to…

Deanna sat quietly in the chair next to the Admiral. She was an Empath by nature and a counselor by training, and it was easy for her to pick up on the undercurrent of tension in the room. This concerned her since Gandraleayians were famous for their Vulcan-like control of their emotions and not all the anxiety in the room was coming from Captain Picard.

“What’s wrong?” Deanna asked into the silence.

“Counselor Troi, are you aware that I serve on the War Council?” Virginia asked.

“I am,” Deanna answered. In fact, I often admire some of your arguments.”

The admiral looked up, clearly surprised. “You do?”

“Yes.” A small smile played around the corners of Deanna’s mouth. “I don’t always agree with you, but you believe in what you argue for or against and remain unwavering in the face of opposition. Your faith is real. You don’t brag when circumstances proves you were right, and on occasion, you’ve even been brave enough to admit you were wrong.”

“On occasion,” the admiral agreed, exchanging a wry smile with the captain.

Picard was immensely glad to see Virginia begin to relax to some degree. He was also curious to see if that two women would make eye contact … to see if any emotion would play across the admiral’s face and to see if the counselor as an Empath would have any reaction.

Virginia drew a deep breath and began again. “Counselor Troi…”

“Please admiral, call me Deanna. And if it would make you more comfortable with me, you may look me in the eye. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Virginia’s face went cold. She most certainly did not want to do any such thing! She didn’t want to know this woman any deeper than what she had read in the Starfleet file. But to refuse to do so now would be impolite. Damn.

Picard watched Deanna sit calmly as the Admiral swung her gaze to meet the other woman’s eyes, and watched in horror as Virginia’s face crumpled. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry, profusely.

“I…can’t…do…this…” the woman sobbed.

Picard rose to his feet, but Counselor Troi’s outstretched hand stopped him in his tracks.

“It’s alright, Captain,” Deanna said, her other hands already resting on the other woman’s arm as she slipped into her counselor tone of voice. “Half-breeds of her kind are prone to emotional instability, sometimes turbulent. Admiral…Virginia…it’s all right. Focus. Breathe. Talk to your God…yes, that’s it…calm…focus…”

Virginia slowly calmed, uncovering her face and indecorously wiped her face with the sleeve of her command uniform. “I’m sorry. I’ve not…I’m generally more controlled these days.”

“No apology needed,” Picard said softly as he seated himself.

“Stress can undo our control,” said Deanna.

“I’m not supposed to let that happen,” the admiral quipped, regaining some of her composure. “Isn’t that right, Captain? We officers are supposed to be the perfect picture of cool and calm.”

The captain smiled, but didn’t comment.

“To business.” Virginia leaned back in her seat, still concentrating on her breathing. "Research has been done and it is believed that when the Borg assimilate a culture, or a race, or an individual, that not all of the traits are absorbed. A kind of picking and choosing takes place. 'Yes, we want this races' distinctive stubbornness to survive but we'll think we'll pass on their weakness for chocolate as it would not be beneficial to our survival.' That's a bad example, I guess, as I myself love a good chocolate fix. A better example would be how the Borg did not absorb Captain Picard's morality. Anyhow. Our scientists believe that they have found a chemical agent that, when taken before assimilation, will render the Borg incapable of refusing a trait...almost a way to force them to accept every trait."

Ever inquisitive, Picard opened his mouth to ask "How?" but the Admiral shook her head.

"Don't ask Picard...you really don't want to know how some of this research was done. I'm still not convinced it was completely legal...or ethical, but the old saying goes that all's fair in love and war." Virginia sighed. "The scientists have convinced the War Council that if the Borg were to assimilate an Empath, then it would open the Borg to the pain and agony they're causing. Maybe even awaken them to their own pain...we hope."

There was a moment of awkward silence.
Seeing the next logical step of the conversation, Deanna asked, "Why me?"

April 01, 2006

Resistance Is Futile - Pt. 2

Chapter Two

“You want me to do what?” Deanna Troi asked in alarm.

“It is Klingon tradition,” Lt. Worf insisted in his gruff Klingon way. “If you wish to marry me, Deanna, then the matriarch of my family must approve of you.”

“Helena adores me, and your birth mother is dead. Besides, it’s…” Deanna trailed off, realizing that to call Worf’s tradition ‘nonsense’ wouldn’t be the best way to start off a marriage. She set her mug of hot chocolate down on the top of their holographic table and chose her next words very carefully. “It’s not practical Worf, not with our schedules. Besides, my mother didn’t put you through a series of tests to see if you were worthy to be my husband.”

“No, she merely gave me a three hour lecture on what would happen to me if I were ever to hurt you.” Worf’s upper lip curled at the memory, indicating that it was not a happy memory. “While making me watch paint dry.”

“She did what?” the Betazoid choked on a smothered laugh.

“She was comparing your growing older to the drying of the paint.” Worf sighed, not going to admit how long of an ordeal the interview with her mother had been. “Deanna, I am pleased that my mother Helena adores you. However…I am a Klingon…and I am now a member of General Martok’s family. His wife Sirella is already on her way to rendezvous with the ENTERPRISE and if she does not approve of you…I must decided between you and my honor.”

Before Deanna could reply to that, Captain Picard’s voice over the Comm interrupted them. “Counselor Troi”

“Troi here,” she answered, her voice not betraying the ire her fiancĂ© had sparked.

“Report to my ready room immediately.”

Deanna frowned at the tone of her captain’s tone of voice. “On my way,” she replied seriously. Standing to her feet, the petite Betazoid woman looked warmly at Worf. “I look forward to meeting this Sirella. I’ll do my best to make you proud.” Planting a kiss on his ridged forehead, she turned and left the room.

The Klingon’s eyes followed after her, admiring how she walked as a woman ready to do battle.

* * * * *

“I fought the Council,” Admiral Hamilton said softly after the captain had finished his conversation with Counselor Troi.

“You have no need to justify yourself to me,” Picard said gently. There it was again. Compassion for the woman sitting across from him, coupled with protectiveness despite her age. He wondered if it was a side effect of her high level of telepathy that caused the involuntary mind access.

“Don’t I?” she asked, only vaguely aware of the man’s thoughts. Her anxiety began to show as Virginia rose to her feet and began to pave the floor in front of his desk. “Sometimes, Picard, I hate the regulations that bind me, both Starfleet and Gandraleayian. I especially hate being a half-breed because the regs are stricter for us.”

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Picard said honestly. He had known of her mixed heritage, but not the stricter regulations that went with it.

“No, it’s not widely known. If it was, people would want to know why and Gandraleayian pride is so stiff that they’d never want to admit that Human/Gandraleayian hybrids are more powerful than purebloods. It’s bad enough that the Rogue Q faction wreaks havoc and gives us a bad name.” Virginia sat back down. “You know – I was the reason the Gandraleayian Non-Interference Regulations were created. They should have been in place long before I was born, but if they had…well, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t have been born,”

“As I recall, you were the second half-breed to be recognized as having inherited the powers of your people.” Why they were talking about something so off subject of the Borg, Picard didn’t quite know, but followed the Admiral’s lead.

“Second official recognition, yes. But I was the first one to ever be conceived by blatant misuse of Gandraleayian powers…that we willingly admit anyway. There’s no telling what some of the early Q did. But then, it is hard to keep your misdeeds quite when you’re the heir to the throne as my father was.” The alien hybrid sighed. “Picard, I could destroy the Borg with a thought…all of them, everywhere…and I so desperately want to.”

“But if you were to do so,” Picard interjected, “you would become no better than the Q.”

Virginia nodded reluctantly. “Rebellious.”

“To put it mildly. I’m sure you’re aware of my own experiences with a member of that faction.”

Again the admiral nodded. “I remember him before he was a Q, when he was still called Ian. He always was a mischievous one….and after his exile…he became Q in every sense of the word. At the time, he didn’t deserve exile, but I didn’t have a say back then. Hell, I still don’t! The Oryon Council listens to me as often as the War Council does. They remind me so much of my kids when they were teenagers. “ At Picard’s chuckle, she realized what she was doing. She smiled in chagrin. “I’m sorry, Picard. You tease me about stretching the boundaries of proper protocol and here I go smashing it completely by dumping my burdens on you – a complete stranger.”

Picard considered the comment. “Not quite a complete stranger. Surely my desire to know you better was revealed to you during the moment I was made known to you.”

Virginia looked at him, startled. Then her head tilted to one side, a movement that reminded the captain of the android Data when he accessed a memory file. “You’re…I didn’t even notice! I was so taken aback by you experience with the Borg.”


Conversation had come full circle.

“Did I mention that I hate regulations sometimes?” Virginia asked.

“Once or twice,” conceded Picard. “The counselor should be here shortly.”

“Do you know…I could have ascended to the throne 10 years ago? Grandma Rixa wanted to retire and relax in her mountain home. I mean, it’s only fair since she extended her reign because of my father being taken out of the ascendancy. And did I answer the call when it came? Nooo…” she drew the word out with sarcasm. “Of course not! I begged and pleaded for more time because I enjoy it here. This has been my home for years. Not to mention that I my reign shouldn’t have be coming up for another 500 years yet…and I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” answered Picard in genuine amusement. At that moment the door chime trilled. “Come.”

And the doors slid apart to admit Deanna Troi.

March 17, 2006

Resistance Is Futile - Pt. 1

Star Trek: The Next Generation
Resistance is Futile
An AU story
Rated: R
Set shortly after Generations. The ship was not destroyed, though there was a great loss of lives, including Commander William Riker. In this universe, there is a split race of super powerful beings, of which the Q Continuum is exiled from. And the Federation is at war with the Borg, as you will soon find out.

Captain’s Log; supplemental

I have just received word from Starfleet Command informing me of an impending visit from Admiral Virginia Hamilton. She is to arrive in a week’s time and it shall be a long week of waiting, as she is no doubt bringing orders concerning the recent development with the Borg. The War is at a stand still at present, and the next move is ours. Regardless of the circumstances, I look forward to meeting the admiral. I’d like to see if she is a formidable as reputation has her.

Chapter One
One week later

Captain Jean-Luc Picard waited patiently in the transporter room. Admiral Hamilton’s ship would be within transporter range in less than five minutes and after a week of waiting for this woman, those five minutes promised to go by slowly.

Behind the transporter console stood young transporter technician Abigail O’Reilly. She was a petite woman of mixed descent, given that her skin had an olive green tint to it. As she waited the confirmation signal from the USS ALBRIGHT she fidgeted with her controls and occasionally let out an unprofessional mutter.

Picard had let it go long enough, and felt the need to address the woman. “Is something wrong, ensign?” he asked evenly.

O’Reilly’s jaw firmed. “I just don’t understand some people, sir.”

“That’s hardly a cause to vent your frustrations while working. Explain yourself,” the captain ordered, fervently hoping it wasn’t a romantic issue.

“It’s just…Sir, Admiral Hamilton has the ability to transport herself from one location to another just by thinking it. Literally across the galaxy in the blink of an eye! But here she is, traveling by starship and using the transporter. Think of how much time and energy she would save Starfleet if she were to just blink herself right onto the bridge.”

“I do see your point, ensign. However, I am certain you are aware of the regulations regarding Gandraleayians, especially half-breeds, and the use of their powers.”

“Still sir, I’d much prefer she’d not have to go through my transporter room.”

“Oh?” asked Picard innocently enough, wondering whether he’d have to put the young woman on report.
O’Reilly hesitated before answering, “They say she can read minds, that she can see your entire past just like that!”

“And without meaning to,” confirmed Picard. “Even with races that prove to be unreadable to other telepaths. However, it is my understanding that it requires eye contact with the admiral.”

“I’ll make sure…” O’Reilly was interrupted by a beep from her console. “Here she is now, Captain.” With smooth motions, the young ensign transported the admiral onto the ENTERPRISE.

Although her pictures were well publicized and her agelessness well known, it still took Picard’s breath away to see the admiral in person.

Admiral Virginia Hamilton stood with straight posture and elegant poise before the two, looking little older than the 25-year-old ensign, though in fact the admiral was several hundred years old. The blue eyes that gazed at the wall over the ensign’s shoulder had seen both the Eugenics War, and WW3, as well as the formation of the Federation and the deployment of Starfleet. What treasures must lay in her memories.

“Welcome aboard, Admiral,” Picard said in greeting, a small pleased smile in place.

“Thank you, Captain,” the woman replied. Virginia stepped down from the transporter pad gracefully. She glanced quickly at the ensign, not once meeting the other woman’s eyes, saying, “It was a smooth transport, ensign. Thank you.”

“Y-you’re welcome,” O’Reilly stammered.

The Admiral looked back at Captain Picard, her eyes not quite meeting his. “Shall we go to your Ready Room, Captain?”

“Of course. This way.” Picard led her out of the transporter room and down the hall to the turbolift. Once ensconced in the privacy of the lift, and the directions to the computer to take them to the bridge given, the captain discretely studied the young looking admiral. To his eyes, she looked nervous, tense and insecure…traits that went against her bold and confident reputation. “Admiral, permission to speak freely?”

“Only if you call me Virginia,” she answered firmly. “I get so tired of being called by ranks and titles.”

“It’s not exactly proper protocol,” began Picard before remembering whom he was speaking to. “But then, you’ve always been one to stretch proper protocol to it’s limits, haven’t you…Virginia?”

“Whenever I can. Bend it, stretch it, break it.” She smiled widely. “Half the problem with Starfleet is that they have too much starch in their blood. What’s your question?”

“I am merely curious as to why you’re avoiding eye contact? It doesn’t fit with your reputation.”
Virginia’s smile took on a wry slant, but she refrained from answering as lift doors opened onto the bridge just then. The admiral did not answer until they had entered the captain’s ready room and the door had slid quietly shut behind them. “Picard…one doesn’t have to be a telepath to know that many people don’t want to have their entire history, hopes fears, and dreams known to me at a single look. Some act as though it happens every time our eyes meet…like I’m constantly trying to access them.”

He motioned for her to sit as he himself sat in his own chair. “People fear what they do not understand.”

“And sometimes we fear more what we do understand.”

“Quite,” Picard agreed. “However, I do not fear you, Virginia, or your gifts.” He smiled as the woman visibly relaxed in the chair across from him. In this room at least, she was free to be herself. “You may look me in the eye at anytime.”

She did so, and Picard watched in fascination the array of emotions that played across her beautiful face in the instant he was known to her.

“Does it hurt?” the ENTERPRISE captain asked, having felt nothing from the experience.

“Hurt? No, not…it’s just…when someone has had a traumatic experience in their recent past, and the memories are fresh…it’s sometimes hard emotionally.” Compassion and tears glittered in her blue eyes. “And ‘I’m sorry’ is often woefully inadequate to express sympathy.”

Picard didn’t answer right away. The admiral was undoubtedly referring to the time he had been assimilated by the Borg. It was not what he himself would consider ‘recent’, but when compared to a life span such as Admiral Hamilton’s, why – his very birth could be considered ‘recent’. Smiling once more, oddly trying to comfort the older woman, he said resolutely, “It is in the past.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Virginia wiped her eyes quickly with her fingertips. Within a moment, she was again composed and this time her gaze had no trouble meeting his. “However…it makes my mission here all that much more difficult. I hate the War Council’s decision even more than I already did.”


Virginia raised her right hand, effectively cutting him off. Her voice was now tinged with anger, though clearly not directed at Picard. “I wish the entire Council could experience your assimilation as I just have. Then they would never even dream of asking someone to be assimilated. They shouldn’t anyway, but…this…is ridiculous!”

Cold horror filled Captain Jean-Luc Picard, his smile slipping away as his face became granite. “Ask someone…Who? And why?” Logically it had to be someone from his ship…one of his people.

Once again, Virginia’s blue eyes pooled with tears. “The Council has sent me to ask Deanna Troi to be assimilated in an attempt to destroy the Borg once and for all.”

February 18, 2006


Precious was the perfect picture of despair. She sat at the foot of the mountain, to tired to even cry. What, she wondered, was she going to do now? She was hungry, and thristy, and tired...and the air reeked of defeat.

Like vultures attracted to dead body, the air was suddenly full of those blighted being Precious knew as the Enemy. And she had a sinking feeling, no - a knowing, that they were coming for her.

Though she had no stength, and no where to run for cover, Precious drew herself to her feet and started to run. It was a slow lurking gate as she stumbled over dried roots and through dry potholes.

What she wouldn't give for even a drop of water right now...even the tiniest raindrop.Would her prince want her back? How would she ever find her way back to the path? It was hopeless. Still...

The vultures were almost on her, and with gasping breath she cried out - "Yeshua!"

Before the Word was even out of her mouth, He was coming for her. She could see Him in the distance on His white stallion. As the vultures begon to pull at her hair, Yeshua - in gleeming silver armor - pulled her to the stallion with a smooth motion even as Hiw sword was brandished in His other hand. The vultures screamed and fled.

A gentle rain began to fall as the sound of hoofbeats faded into the distance...

February 11, 2006

The Mission Continued

Part 2 - Wanderer

For several heartbeats, Precious just sat in a heap sobbing. What was she going to do know? She looked at herself and saw her torn garments. She was dirty, too. This made her so angry.

She wiped her face on her armsleeves and pulled herself to her feet. She took one look up, and saw a steep hill. Precious wondered if she should try to climb back up it and find the path again. But the hill was so steep. She'd never make it. She looked around and saw deeper desolation. There was nothing alive here, there couldn't be.

Had she been abandoned?

Guilt cut through her. No, she was the one that had left the path. She'd given up. He'd never want to see her again...she was certain of it.

Precious turned around and again saw the shiny object in the distance. Maybe she'd try to find it. Even though it looked far away.

Not bothering to fix her helmet, though she did straighten her dress, Precious set off...walking away from the path, and her shield. She still had her sword, didn't she?

The walk was far longer than what little time she'd spent on the path. She survived by drinking tiny swallows of the rancid water she found in puddles and eating the meager plant life. She didn't sleep much, and often had to hide from others...

Others...Some of the people she encountered where dressed in black, like she used to be...and some were dressed in white. The ones in white went about helping those in black, giving them water. She hid from everyone, and watched from a distance.


They could give her water. Fresh, clean, pure water. If she wanted it. Did she want to talk to those who were supposed to be her brothers and sisters? Surely they would know of her disgrace by now. They would be able to tell by her missing shield for starters.

She was so alone.

Days turned into weeks before Precious found the shiny object. It was a mirror embedded into the side of a mountain. And it had shone because it had been reflecting her armor. How pathetic was that? Pulled away from the path, from HIM...all because of her own reflection.

February 04, 2006

The Mission - Pt 1

Pt 4 of the Woman in White

Precious sat down by the side of the path in frustration. She had been walking for what seemed like days, but was in reality it had only been a few hours. Her feet hurt, she was hot and thirsty. She propped her shield next to her and sighed.

So far she had seen no one. There had been a few dead bodies alongside the path, but they were beyond her help. True, she hadn't touched them to see if they still had a pulse, because she didn't want to get dirty after all, but you could tell when a person was dead.

Where was her Knight, she wondered. Hadn't He promised to be with her always? She took a deep breath and could faintly smell that peculiarly sweet smell...but it was so faint, was it even real?

Precious looked around her and began to cry at the desolation she saw. Where is He? Why does He making this so hard?

Wait...what was that? Just over the hill in the field...a flash of something shiney...could it be? She stood for a better look, her shield falling flat on the ground. She'd have to leave the path to find out...but it curved up ahead, so who was to say that it didn't eventually curve all the way around? Even if it wasn't Him, it was a sign of life in this desolate place.

Precious crossed over the path and stepped off of it...instead of finding level ground, she found herself falling...falling fast and hard...head over heals...head bouncing off rocks, her knees and elbows losing their skin...

At the bottom of the hill, Precious lay in a heap. Her white robes were dirty, her helmet was askew, and she was bruised, her sword was poking her in the ribs........

She sat up groggily and looked around. Tears carved streaks through the dirt on her face.

"Where are You?!" she cried out to the cloudless sky.

But there was no answer. Heaven was silent.

January 28, 2006

Fields of Grace

Pt 3 of the Woman in White

The Woman in White, Precious, found herself in a massive field. As far as the eye could see, there was green grass and wildflowers. The sky overhead had only a few white fluffy clouds floating through.

The Knight stood next to her, taking joy in her delight at her surroundings.

"I could stay here forever," Precious said contentedly. "I didn't know such a place existed."

The Knight smiled. "Where ever you go, no matter what it looks like, you're always walking in my fields of grace."

"Always?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes, for I Am with you always."

"Even when you've pulled away and I can't see you?"

"Especially then," He answered.

Precious took this in, or tried to. It would explain the scent she could smell while chasing after Him. It was a sweet scent, like nothing she'd ever smelled before. Sometimes she thought it smelled like roses, other times like lilacs, but not quite. In a weird kind of way, it made sense.

"Precious...Dance with Me?"He always asked...never just assumed. Precious smiled at Him, and nodded.

Sometimes the dance was wild with exuberance...other times, like now, it was intimate and close. Her head rested against His chest and His arms sheltered her.

When the dance came to an end, the Knight led her to the edge of the green...which hadn't been there before.

"I have a mission for you, Precious," He said to her. "Throughout this land there are people who were like you...alone, lost, dying for want of Me."


"Go...Show them who I AM."

"Show them? Can't you just go to them? Like you did me?"

The Knight chuckled. "I came to you because you saw me in others."

"Oh." That was how it had happened. She looked at the barren land in front of her. "You want me to go into that?"

"Though the land around you seems barren, you still walk in fields of grace. You carry me with you wherever you go, remember?"

She nodded, already feeling vulnerable.

The Knight placed something on her head. "Precious, you do not go unarmed. I am your armor."

The woman looked down, feeling other weights. She had experienced this before, but hadn't understood. Her boots were light, even though a shiny metal covered the toes. A simple leather belt encircled her waist and held the silvery breastplait in place as well as her sword. At her feet rested a large shield. It look heavy, but as she picked it up, found it to be light. Her head, she knew was covered with a helmet. She looked up at her Knight and felt her heart pounding at the thought of not being able to see Him.

"Remember...Follow after Me..."

The Knight took off, and for the first time, Precious noticed that there was a path beneath her feet. Her hand resting on her sword, and her shield hugged close...she took the first step foward.......

January 21, 2006

The Naming

Pt 2 of the Woman in White

The woman in white looked up at her Savior, her Knight, with eyes that shined with tears. To think that this One loved her, even when she had been unlovable and filthy! He deserved her complete allegiance and undying love in return, this One so pure and holy!

The Knight smiled down at her. "Up until this day, you have had no name. You have been called many things, but none have reflected who you are. This day I name you, Precious."

Her heart thundered in her chest. "Precious?"

"Yes, because you are Precious to me."In a moment of pure joy, Precious threw her arms around His neck.

The Knight laughed and returned her embrace. With smooth motions, he spun her around. Though gentle, there was enough momentum that her feet lifted off the ground. Her laughter echoed his.

What joy this was! Safe in the arms of her Knight.

He set her down, then began to pull back.

He's leaving me!!! she thought in panic. But He was still smiling.

"Follow after Me," He said.

She ran after Him. Sometimes He caught her in His arms and spun her around. Sometimes He let her catch Him. No matter the case, the chase was on.

January 14, 2006

The Woman in White, PT 1

Picture if you will a desolate land. It is barren and dry. The rains have not fallen for years. trees are skeletal and leafless. What water can be found is hoarded and fought for. Very few share their water, even at the cost of others lives.

In the midst of this land there is a woman. She is as dry and barren as the land in which she lives. Garments of heaviness weigh her down, making her movements slow as she searchs for her next drink. They are dirty and black.

She is a lonely wanderer with no destination. Her only goal is to survive, and there are some days when her only wish is to give up that goal.

Enter into this barren land a Knight. He is not an ordinary man and everyone around him knows it. There is something more to this man, something different. He freely shares his water, with any who ask. It matters not whether it is a child, a man or a woman. He gives freely, sometimes not waiting for them to ask him, sometimes offering it to them. Some refuse, not trusting him. Others drink as though they are dying, which they are, and are bold enough to ask for more. His water flask never runs dry.

The woman clothes in black watches the people around her being transformed as they drink. Many of her friends were likewise clothed as she, but when they drink from the Knight's water supply, something happens to them. They disappear from sight, for a heartbeat, and when they are seen again...they are changed. Their garments are no longer dark, but brilliant white...sometimes with gold thread woven in, sometimes silver. And robes look so light, as thought they are no longer a burden to wear.

The woman sees people being transformed, and in her heart she wants the same. She wants to stand before this Knight, and drink from his flask. She wants to look into his eyes and see the unconditional love he has for the people. She so longs to touch him, to be sure that he is real...and longs for him to touch her, to feel the warmth of his embrace. But she is afraid.

Afraid that when she gets to him, the water will be gone. Afraid that when she looks into his eyes, that the love he shows others won't be there for her. Afraid that he will turn her away. So she decides to save him the trouble, and turns to leave......

Only to find him standing there in front of her.

"Are you thirsty?" he asks, in a gentle voice.

Her filthy hands pulls her robes closer, her heart beats wildly...and she nods her head once.

With gentle hands, and eyes full of love, the Knight pushes the cowl of her robe away from her face. He places one hand behind her head, and the other holds the flask to her broken and cracked lips.

Cool, clear water floods her sense. The sensation is not just inward, but on the outside as well. She opens here eyes, and sees only his face as water cascades down on her. It washes her black garments away, and for a heartbeat she stands before him naked and ashamed.
"I am the giver of life," he whispers. "I am the living water. I cloth you in robes of righteousness."

And then the moment is over. The woman looks down at herself and sees the most beautiful white garment she's ever seen. Brilliant white, glistening in a supernatural light. In it is woven gold threads, not so much as to be gaudy and overbearing. And it is so light. She can breathe.

Tears start sliding down her face, and the Knight wipes them away with gentle hands.

She, like the others who had been found by the strange Man, now belonged to Him in a way that could not be undone. She belongs, she has been accepted, she is loved. She is no longer alone and the land is no longer barren.

And she can breathe.

She is no longer the woman in black...she is now The Woman in White...and her story is just beginning....

January 10, 2006

Things up ahead

My first allegorical piece will start this Saturday and for those who have been with me since the beginning of my blogging days, this will be familiar. I am going to revisit and rework some of the Woman in White posts from the old Amazing Grace site when I first started {in April 2005!} After that, I shall either post a Star Trek Fan Fic, or finish the Princess posts I started at My Secret Place. I'll probably flip a coin to decide! LOL!