(x) // @jadedcuts
and what were she to title the power bestowed upon porcelain shoulders? a blessing? a curse? as atlas once did upon the condemnation of zeus she bears the weight of the world but they do not know that she is compressing, pushed and shoved to fill every crevice of what society deems normal: stop showing your symptoms and perhaps you can integrate smoothly. instead she is poked and prodded by needles, swallowing toxic pills and locked into a room for days on end. she is an animal, unnatural and feral. she used to think they treat her like this because she is nothing but a menace. now she knows they do this because they fear her.
this girl of 158 centimeters renders even the mightiest down on their knees, pleading for mercy. this is when she knows this is a curse. what she wants is to utilize it to her -- their -- advantage. a bright eyed vigilante here to replace the cantations of deprecation into sweet nothings. what she wants to be is the ray of truth people spend their whole lives searching for. instead she is the blood in their nails and the beacon of all their lies broadcasted to the world: i am human and i sin.
dehumanized to the degree of being reduced to a stupid little girl with stupid thoughts. nothing that spills of chapped, split lips are worth listening to. especially one trapped behind bars of the mentally unstable. they have lost her and now she is losing herself.
there is an extent to their likeness -- where sentimental value once grew now festers remorse, contempt, and the hunger for justice. where they differ is blatant.
minnie is fucking crazy and jade is broken.
perhaps it could be seen as synonymous, which minnie’s assumed in their brief period of stasis between acquaintances and casual friendship, but it is obvious now that such attributes contrast in all aspects.
jade’s smile is met with a stoic look -- nothing short of something between analytical and deep in thought. perhaps it could be mistaken for seriousness, which the girl hardly associates herself with. but the lilt of her voice is a stake to the heart, one that spoke volumes more than her words. she doesn’t need pills to know something is awry.
small, dry hands reach to the other: soft and pliable in comparison. minnie’s touch ghosts the discoloration, as if they’d disappear when she pulls away. obviously, she’s left with disappointment and the mild curiosity on how they were earned. instead of asking, minnie kisses the wound, wishes the same could be done to the heart -- if jade had one. the mechanics of the technical undead were unbeknownst to her -- and pulls the other into a hug no matter how reluctant they might be.
“i don’t like it.” pain, lies, being treated as if the perception of something beyond primary emotions were beyond her scope of expertise. the presence of a fanged shadow with a bloodthirsty stare. she doesn’t like it, not one bit. “you need...a bandaid. breakfast can wait. and you know i could have gotten out on my own just fine, thank you very much.”
