@shadoll, what are we...?
[ PHOTO IN MOTION ] - Sara has never been compared to a flower by anyone that knew her well. Nanna knows it is as rare to see her shrink as it is for her to turn towards the sun. She deflects the light Nanna reflects and the mirror fractures, revealing two girls uprooted from a young age, neither fitting in the structure of Grannvale's garden.
Their differences make them alike even when their steps fall out of sync and paths diverge only to bring them to the same fateful crossroad in the end time and again.
"Do you miss the sea? A shame the Viscount did not offer to host again this year."
The remastered Photo-Artifex whirs, internal mechanisms thrumming while Sara plays with the settings, turning its additional knobs and peering through the small window at her friend awash by grey tides.
"It's too late now however," she tries to at least sound sympathetic. "That reminds me, I lost the pictures we took," Though the people in them may as well have been statues removed from reality. "Have you seen these new models yet? Come here, I think you'd like them."
But Nanna has always been better with flowers. It should suffice like a half-breath does when you break from the surface of water, or a half-step does when you accidentally toe your partner's shoe. Describing Sara like one feels like a crutch—or the truth, or a balm, or an excuse—and Nanna's warm laughter pretends to forget—or forgive, or forgo. Usually, Sara is described by scraping the light off the rim of the moon, like one could spoon enough light to give it a taste. But Nanna has always been better with flowers...
Didn’t Sara think she resembled irises at all? Or the red bough of lillies that had been tastefully displaced for the moment? Wouldn't she let someone take care of her?
"Hahaha, do I...?" The Viscount's manor had a warm mist resting over their heads like a veil, disguising the Ethereal Moon's usual chill with an illusion of sun. Sara had always deflected whole bars of light to play a sufficient shadow. And yet, to Nanna, she still had that effervescent sheen more befitting of the underbelly of a purple shell or bubbles that erupted from the sea. "Yes, maybe I do...!" She clasped her hands to her chest, dipping her chin down, with an endeared glimmer dancing over her irises. "I made it too obvious this year, didn't I..."
Nanna blinked for a second, head tilted curiously. Subtly, her shell earrings clattered as she attempted to collect herself. "You thought to keep them?" It's lighter than air, the shock, but it does still play on her features before shifting into intoxication—the kind of mischief that bridged her closer to Sara than kindness itself. "So you mean to replace them for a new set, hmm? You see~ perhaps I kept mine from last year and would be willing to share..."
Nanna swung up closer, freer than poetry and the polished etiquette that aligned her with the crown. Careful not to clip her winged pin against Sara's curls, she leaned in closely to observe the model for herself. "...Hmmm."
A gray coastline overlayed in the small square display, and Nanna's heart swelled for a home that laid in limbo. "Do you hear my heart?" She whispered—low, into her ear— the proximity enough for Sara to listen to something deeper than her physical voice.
A shoreline scattered and roared a distance away, but the ache of it was not a sorrowful one. The hiss and fizzle of it was not a lonely one. The breeze of it sounded almost like a bells, and a circle of friends ribbing each other with elbows that were only so long. Nanna exhaled slowly, and wondered if Sara heard how her heart had learned to continue the story. With a splash from a small hand (smaller than Sara would like to admit), and a click from a photo-artiflex from yesteryear.
Nanna reached out to take the device into her own hands, and turned it over gracefully. "Here."
Nanna held onto Sara. Nanna always holds onto Sara.
