Fandom: The Mirror Visitor/La Passe-Miroir
Word Count: 750
Notes: Many thanks to @oruals both for putting me onto this series in a time when I very much welcomed the escapism and for drawing this hilarious and on-point piece from which this ramble drew its inspiration
He apprehends the first transgressor while spreading out his bearskin cloak to dry it, holding it open before the volcanic heat of an ancient and curmudgeonly coal-gas stove. The autumn rainwater of Anima slips onto his shoes and puddles the floorboards that have, at last, ceased their hysterical quavering, now that the cavalcade of imbeciles who are shortly marked to become his in-laws have finally retired for the evening.
Thorn drapes the cloak heavily over his bended arm, smoothing it flat, and from within its polar-star white the stove’s fireshine strikes a glint off something dark.
His long account-keeping fingers seek it out to pull it free; it is a single curling brown hair, and it sways in the drafts like a rambling vine while he studies it.
Thorn pauses. He recalls her — Ophelia, like that girl from some fragmentary forgotten tale of the old world, Ophelia who fell from a willow tree that grew aslant a brook and drowned — being hurtled forward against him as a greeting. He supposes the morose, luckless child could not have otherwise been prevailed upon to introduce herself in a civilized manner, and he supposes as well that it was one of those aforementioned familial imbeciles who had sought this means of social remedy. Her wan little face had hardly come above his ribcage and the steel rims of her fogged glasses had gotten skewed atop her flat, dullard’s nose.
He doubts anyone would envy her position.
Thorn creaks the stove door open and flicks the hair onto the glowering red-gold coals. It vanishes in a flash. He closes the stove’s damper and lays down but does not sleep.
The hair, in retribution, returns with reinforcements.
titsay
janainaart
baratheonpilled
vaporwave
blakekathryn
turnnoffyourmind
ellievsbear
stormborns
