this is SO half assed i just wanted to get back at u .. heres a little gift since you are my dearest friend! <3
Chioriya’s boutique has been silent of late.
The bustling streets of Fontaine do nothing to help with the eeriness of the now temporarily closed shop. Mannequins in the displays haunt passersby with outfits of what could’ve been theirs, instead, the quality of the shop's work has depleted. The only reasoning had to do with its owner.
She never found relationships to be as important to her once you had come along. You showed her the truth behind love—how sweet it was, knowing you had someone by your side until the end of time, or as you said.
You, who had introduced these unknown colors in her world, were also the one who ripped it from the seams of her heart—thread spilling on the floor, fabric torn and worn, you may as well have destroyed the only thing she held dear the most.
If you had made her choose between you and the boutique, you would be waiting hours on end just for a response, if she could even give you one.
And now—the shop is closed. You’d normally not be able to hear anything when you simply walk past, but if you put your ear between the gaps of the door and the wall, you can hear the faint thud as items fall on the floor.
Chiori would stay locked inside, frustrated. The fabric doesn’t seem to be coming along nicely, it doesn’t hug the figure the way she wanted it to. The thread where she had connected two pieces together is sloppily made, imperfections seen to the naked eye—one she can’t bear to stare at any second longer. The colors don’t look right in the darkness of her office, it all looks dull. Empty. She was unable to come up with a design for her recent client, and it is evidently eating her alive.
This was unlike her. Ever since you had disappeared—she hasn’t been able to create anything of worth, in her eyes. If you were still here, you’d be quick to silence these kinds of thoughts from her. You’d say it looked perfect before she had even thought about scrapping the entire thing, you—you gave meaning to her art.
Now? She’d simply throw away the fabric in some corner of the store, let the dust take home in the red satin as she moved on to another project. This cycle would continue on and on. It irritates her hands to touch the fabric, it heals a part of her to destroy it. These outfits no longer held any meaning in her heart now that you weren’t here. It felt wrong to put them up on the white lifeless plastic mannequins knowing it should’ve been you to wear the clothing before she sent them out. It should’ve been you, laughing at the way her gloved fingers lightly glided across your skin—now the simple sound of your happiness haunts her.
How long would it be until you return? Until that time comes, she waits patiently behind the doors of her boutique. After all, there is no real story behind her pieces if you weren’t there with her.
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