#815 words

[jyuanka]

When did it become a habit?

It was two in the morning, the hallways of the twelfth floor were empty, the floor too slick under his heels, the big windows hiding darkness behind them.

Her door was always open at this hour, cracked to let out a column of soft gray light posed like a blade in the darkness of the hallway.

He knocks the door, she calls for him, calls his name.

He enters, and closes the door behind him.

The office looks too big at this hour, too desolate, its four walls receding, creating a sense of novelty, like someone had just moved in it recently. She’s been in it for five years, yet the only personal belonging of hers was a round pot of succulents placed neatly beside the window.

She was standing beside them, so she and her plants were the only light in the room, the only colors.

He walked towards her, knowing how many steps it takes to reach that spot at her side, knowing how large the space he needs to occupy beside her.

“Hey,”

“Hey.”

His fingers reached to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’ll catch a cold standing like this, it’s chilly outside.”

She grasped his hand and kept it on her face, tilting her head to lean on his warm palm. “I think it’s wonderful. The summer had gone for long enough.”

He caressed her cheek with his thumb, and tugged at her face, a silent pleading for more closeness. “I missed you.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her head on his chest. “You saw me this evening.”

“I still miss you.”

When she hummed contentedly, he pulled her closer, splaying a hand in her hair. “Your succulents look happy.”

“They do?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because I’m happy, too.”

[thewritehag]

I like writing dialogue a lot. More than scenery and setting, I think, which is absolutely useless. Realizations like this make me happier to know that my <quote></quote> third-draft is pretty much a fleshed out first-draft of a better story.

The bike was left chained up outside the Readery. Sloane waved at Iris through the mirror-like windows and strolled to Them Apples, a cafe-bar where she picked up her warm drink, declining the allure of whiskey inclusion. That was ten minutes ago and the shop owners round about where noticing her stasis. Sloane didn’t give Naldius a time, just that there were to be just their footsteps on the pavement. 

She shook her head. A lot of her storytelling was informed by schmaltz. Smirking, Sloane picked herself across the street towards Mr. Stan’s. She liked schmaltz, as little experience or desire she had in practical application. It was gooey and fun, and just he kind of bait an undead pioneer recognizes as part of home.

This is easing up to an important plot point. 

In other news. I need to teach myself how to draw, because I just got some ideas for enamel pins for Witching’s Patreon. Good thing I have neither means nor ability right now. 

[olive-the-queen-blog]

Stars || Prompt

Olivia slipped the small piece of fabric over her head. She could feel her hair brushing against her bare back. Sucking in a deep breath she turned toward the mirror. Carefully she inspected the top, only the top. Cut to perfection to maximize the cleavage, stopping just below her breasts. The fabric was soft, silky on her skin, it made her feel oddly like a princess. Not necessarily the classiest of princesses, but a princess nonetheless. But princesses weren’t usually scared. Her fingers felt along the ugly mark before her eyes would trace it out. It felt weird, like it didn’t belong to her. Maybe she could shed her skin for a new one. She thought about what Alex said, about glamour’s, hiding it, but she hated that idea. She never wanted to be someone that needed to hide simply out of vanity.

As soon as her eyes drifted down, she knew it was a mistake to do so. It cut across her stomach, a fairly thin line, but long, red, noticeable. She couldn’t stop the flashbacks. All that pain. From what she knew of the unforgivables, you had to mean it. You had to truly want it. And she still couldn’t wrap her head around why someone would hate her that much. Yeah, she could be a bitch, but she’d never done anything truly horrible to anyone. It made her head ache to think about it. But now she had a constant reminder. She didn’t know how, but suddenly her face was much closer to the floor and she couldn’t breathe. The whole room was spinning and she kept hearing a horrible sound.

Moments later she realized that it was her. She was making that sound and she couldn’t figure out how to stop. It just kept coming, her body felt like it was convulsing on the floor, but she couldn’t stop crying. All she could see were flashes of the forest, slightly illuminated by fireworks happening in the distance. Theo’s hand grabbing onto hers. The laughter coming from Philip and Lily. Everything froze in that moment, lingering in her mind, weaving its way in an attempt to drag her to a happy place. But everything had to move forward, and it sped up to the flash of Nancy in the woods. The pain ripping through her body. She could remember what it sounded like, Lily’s screams, but they became drowned out by her own.

She could hear herself telling Theo she was in pain, but none of the words seemed to come out right. But he looked so upset and she wanted to comfort him, she couldn’t and she hated it. Hated that she was in pain, hated that it was hurting him, and hated how weak she felt. But the memory of it all was so much worse. Because it meant it really happened and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Not a goddamn thing. And here was this scar to remind her of it all. Her hand gripped the blanket on her bed in an effort to pull herself up, but it was futile, the blanket only pulled off of the bed and dropped onto her.  Instead of fighting to stand, she gave into the pain. Allowed the blanket to wrap around itself around her. The floor felt hard as she let her body drop. She pulled the blanket up to her nose, it smelled like Theo.

Closing her eyes she allowed herself to cry. Thankful that it was still morning and no one would be back from classes for a while. Gryffindors were annoying and if any of her roommates found her like this they would just be flitting about, trying to help her. But was there really any help to found here? No, there wasn’t. Quietly she traced the scar over and over again, feeling the puckered skin beneath her fingertips. It still didn’t seem real, like maybe she’d wake up and it would all just turn out to be some horrible dream. She realized vaguely that she was going to ruin her costume if she stayed like this, but instead of being strong and standing to change she just pulled the top off and tossed it onto her bed before doing the same with the pants.  There was a grey shirt under her bed, Theo’s of course, and she pulled it on before pulling the blanket back up.

These were the moments she despised. Moments where she felt weak, these were the moments she didn’t want anyone to see. She felt like such an idiot just laying here crying, but she couldn’t stop. Her head just kept spinning and seeing that night. She did her best to put on a brave face with everyone else, but she still felt raw. And there weren’t enough stars in the sky to wish away all of this pain.