✍ ;; for what my muse has written about yours in their diary.
I’m not sure how to feel about this place so far, and I debate between staying or leaving at least once a day. I can’t get too comfortable around all of these people just yet, and as often as I told Oliver that I would leave his place at a moment’s notice if he got tired of me, I really liked staying there. I hate to compare the two because they aren’t much alike, but I miss being there, because I got a little bit more sleep there. I do really like my roommate and coworker, Arabella. We can’t really spend much time together out of work because of my close relationship with Paige, who hates her, but I don’t think either of us minds. She’s really great, and beautiful! The customers love her, and spending our lunches and breaks together has made me grow fond of her as well. She’s sad, though. I can tell. I see something in her eyes and her general mannerisms that I’ve seen in the mirror far too many times, and it makes me want to ask what’s wrong with her. Of course, it’s none of my business, but I can’t help but wonder.
☯ ;; here, have a hug from my muse.
Mallory had already gotten off of her shift, but she liked to wait for Arabella to finish hers so they could head home together. Home, the beach house, they were the same thing at that point. She’d come to enjoy her time there, and she appreciated Oliver as well as Rhett for inviting her and letting her stay, because it was easily the best summer she would have for a long time. It was even better with her friend as her roommate, and she stood from the chair once she spotted the aforementioned girl approaching, a grin spread across her lips as she wrapped her arms around Arabella once she was close enough. “I’m so ready to leave, even though I love it here,” she admitted as she pulled back many moments later. “Kinda feeling like coffee, though, you want to stop by somewhere?”
☠ ;; your muse has died, this is how mine reacts.
Twelve. Seventeen. Nineteen. Three numbers that may mean nothing or everything to any one of the seven billion people on the world, and Mallory just so happened to be one of however many in the latter group. A ternion of numbers symbolizing ages that she would forever associate with loss, the loss of her brother and father, her mother, and now, last but not least, her Bella. The first time she dealt with death, her twelve year old self wept and mourned her older brother and father, wishing for them back so her mother would return to how she’d been before the men of their house were so cruelly taken from them. The second time, she spent weeks on end with headlights reflecting in her dark eyes as she traveled through cities and towns that hadn’t a single clue of the wreckage that was her head and heart.
Perhaps she should’ve been more prepared by the third with her experience on the matter, but she wasn’t so lucky. The moment that the news sunk in brought Mallory to the floor with a sob caught in her throat, limbs unable to withstand the grief of losing one of the most important people in her life spreading through them. She could suddenly feel the weight of the universe pushing at her shoulders, as if it felt her pain, and she had the notion that it did; one of its brightest stars had gone out. Mallory knew that Arabella once said how she wanted the people she left behind to be happy, but she couldn’t see how that was a possibility. The path of life for everyone Arabella knew had undoubtedly lost a source of light without her there, and Mallory herself could barely tell left from right in result of it, but maybe that was because her vision was blurred with tears.
