200 random dialouge prompts, accepting! ˎˊ˗
it could’ve been weeks since the gallery, and allie wouldn’t have noticed. gosh, she’s trying to keep up with it all, she is. the world flies by her, a blur of sharp colors that grab her attention long enough to flag danger, panic, but never enough to tell her what’s going on. at the same time, she’s locked in a box, frozen in time. from the faded cuts on the bottom of her feet- having come from the very sad, heel-less walk home from the broken, then put back together, empty apartment that she wasn’t even supposed to be in -it couldn’t have been more than a few days since … the images flashing at the forefront of her mind are things she already knows. the horror drags the breath from her lungs every time, but it doesn’t mean she has to settle too deeply into the dark, pulling waters of them. allie fights to keep her eyes open, instead, staring at nothing at all.
the sounds from an open window surround her, swallow her whole. the city sounds, quiet flushes of people, they blend with a rhythmic thumping that fades in and out of reality. her eyes follow the sound to the door of the apartment. oh, it’s knocking. someone’s knocking. the witch girl blinks, rising to greet the visitor with a glimmer of a face. the door opens- she opens it to reveal daniella. doe eyes trace the details of her features that had been so warm, tender to look at, wandering around the gallery. how allie had tucked away in her arms, only for them to hurt someone else the very same night. but she’s wavering now, too, uncertainty rippling through her so much so that the echoes find allie. her dear friend asks her to forgive her, and allie doesn’t know what to say.
and very, very quietly, she tells daniella that she can come in. that was never the real question, of course she was going to. it’s just … she has no idea what to do. she, all over, has no idea what to do and it’s tearing her apart. couldn’t she see that she could never want that? for her to hurt anyone else, because of allie. the guilt pinned her in place, wings to a board that forced them to stop fluttering.
despite the noise whirling around her head, she never actually answers daniella. the words dance on her tongue, fluff, featherlight, constantly skirting just out of her grip. yes, of course i can forgive you. i forgive you. i’m sorry i worried you. i’m sorry i made you do it. but madi’s pain mattered too. it mattered more, in fact, than anything else that allie could’ve said or felt or thought. so she pulls back from where she instead wanted to reach out. “ but- but i’m not the one you need to apologize to. ”
