The Disciple ♌ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
disciplewhomsignlessloves) wrote2014-07-13 05:26 pm
disciplewhomsignlessloves) wrote2014-07-13 05:26 pm
100 Word Drabbles | The Games
Sometimes, she thinks it's not going to last. She'll come back and he'll be gone.
Her happiness burns bright and quick, then extinguishes. Her friends flock together like birds and then disappear, one by one. Her life is balanced between extremes. Tilting one way and then the next. Nothing lasts, nothing solidifies into something permanent. She's simply meant for survival. She's meant to live for the sake of living. She is waiting for her borrowed time, her borrowed happiness, to end.
She is waiting for him to disappear forever.
She thinks, sometimes, that she was always meant to survive alone.
--
She never learned to braid. She knows knots by heart, executes them with easy confidence, but braids leave her hopeless.
Terezi braids with that confidence, one hand over the other. They grow more elaborated with each pile, each time the Disciple sits in front of her with trust and lets her so close to her neck. At first it's just loops, secured with clips and next it's beads. One day it's a feather, the next Terezi found a little dragon she wants to dangle.
She cuts her off at a little figure of Snow, looped in a noose of black.
Her happiness burns bright and quick, then extinguishes. Her friends flock together like birds and then disappear, one by one. Her life is balanced between extremes. Tilting one way and then the next. Nothing lasts, nothing solidifies into something permanent. She's simply meant for survival. She's meant to live for the sake of living. She is waiting for her borrowed time, her borrowed happiness, to end.
She is waiting for him to disappear forever.
She thinks, sometimes, that she was always meant to survive alone.
--
She never learned to braid. She knows knots by heart, executes them with easy confidence, but braids leave her hopeless.
Terezi braids with that confidence, one hand over the other. They grow more elaborated with each pile, each time the Disciple sits in front of her with trust and lets her so close to her neck. At first it's just loops, secured with clips and next it's beads. One day it's a feather, the next Terezi found a little dragon she wants to dangle.
She cuts her off at a little figure of Snow, looped in a noose of black.
no subject
In her pile, she tosses and turns and finally a splash of color on her arm catches her eyes.
Pink. Like the moon. Like life.
Marked.
She closes her eyes.