respuate
Forgive and forget. He wants to laugh because that’s fucking out of the question.
He finds her in a room, barren and mainly empty for the most part. It’s strange though, because something about it is distorted. He begins to lean towards the idea that the whole house sits on the notion of a paradoxical arrangement, but then he takes a couple of steps towards the corner she sits in. And then he finds that the house, the room, whatever the fuck it was -- was actually just a play on the eye. Something to do with the angles that made her seem further to him than she actually was by the wall, when the only distance that separated them were a few meters.
It had been somewhat of a struggle to reach back out to her, finding her dreams was one thing but to crack into them without the device and her actual body not with him had been difficult. A few months or so, he had needed to take to truly perfect the task and a few months later, he stood here, in front of her.
The daisies by her lone cabinet were noted, and his curiosity immediately fell on just what contents that block of wood held. And also what the flowers meant (because they certainly held meaning past that fake alias of hers, especially when they appeared in a dreamspace such as this one), but he never had been much of a floral person anyway, unless to get flowers for Aria. He ignored this thought and quickly pushed it away somewhere further. He noted the way there was some sort of heat that lingered in the air, as if someone else besides the girl had just left. And he also noted the way she seemed to cling her limbs on empty air, as if someone had just left her arms. And certainly, he noted the way her eyes dipped downward, face in distress, clear in the feelings of missing someone, as if someone had just disappeared from her grasp.
None of this phased him though, because her face was too familiar. In her skin she held complexions of a murder he knew too well. A man he dreamt of, whose neck was often found surrounded by his fingers, with that mocking grin of his. He dreamt of his man, this fucking murderer more than anything, although he often lied to Aria (as much as she knew of the truth but just simply nodded along with the play) that his dreams were only filled of good memories, locked up in a series of unfortunate events.
Lying in her eyes was the way he remembered the man stared at him. Cold, lifeless highlighted with nothing but satisfaction in the way his mission had successfully been completed. The way her lips reminded him of that god-awful, satanic grin he had left him with along with the words that still repeated in his head.
“It’s almost like it’s your own blood on your hands, isn’t it?” “It’s almost like it’s your own blood on your hands, isn’t it?” “It’s almost like it’s your own blood on your hands, isn’t it?” “It’s almost like it’s your own blood on your hands, isn’t it?” “It’s almost like it’s your own blood on your hands, isn’t it?” “It’s almost like it’s your own blood on your hands, isn’t it?” “It’s almost like it’s your own blood on your hands, isn’t it?”
Forgive and forget? Fucking remember and fucking resent.
"Finally.” He let the words out into the air to catch her attention, avoiding her eyes because god, they were too fucking familiar and he didn’t need any extraneous feelings coming forth. At least not now, not here. “I’ve found Alice in her little Wonderland. Although, this isn’t much of Wonderland... besides the illusion you’ve set up.” And for once, he grins at her instead, his hand recoiling in reverse to have his hand out towards her. “It’s been a while, Lee Jieun.”
