| A Girl ( @ 2011-09-01 22:13:00 |
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They're all alike these men with cold sweats and limp dicks who wrap their arms around her afterward and pretend this moment mattered. Topaz had a soft spot for them but not her, never her, she sees them for the delusional creatures they are and she cannot feel anything but bile when she looks at them.
The one she's got now had been sobbing quietly into her shoulder. That would be fine for all the things that would need to be re-cleaned but he pushes his luck. "What's your name?"
Candy mentally rolls her eyes but her face only freezes into a motherly look of amusement as she tells him the answer for the third time.
"No, I mean your real name," he insists with a kiss to her collar bone. He paid for her time so she does not explain to him exactly where he can put his assumptions. Candy is her name. There was no one left who knew her any other way. So she teases the moment back into her control and distracts him with the threat of magic taken away too soon before returning into his embrace with a giggle her people would recognize as fake. He's disappointed but he doesn't really care, he only thinks he does, and the articles of clothing removed push him to forget.
He sees but he doesn't comprehend.
To describe Em in words would be pointless- as far as Ophelia can tell through her rose-tinted glasses words are too limiting. She can never pick the perfect ones when there are not Mozart veins and Chausson fingers moving faster and faster to the beat of something she can't follow to figure. Nina gets to the heart of things (That one will be chewed up before she's spat out) but Ophelia can only, wait, watch, and dance when music presents itself- stepping lightly so her noise does not upset the song. There is a pulse to Haven and while she follows Gryffs moods she follows Ems beat. Ophelia closes her eyes and follows that which she can twirl to. When Em plays she can imagine they are all better this way.
Ophelia is. Nina was. Nina will be.
Ophelia is Nina but Nina is not Ophelia.
Sometimes they talk openly at night; their voices never speak at once but they dance in and out of her throat. Ophelia hopes no one notices. Nina smiles and chatters louder.
They watch the Watchmen and Nina practically screams at the screen in glee.
A man with no face (Ophelia felt bad for him, very bad, but more so for the little girl who made him that way) states facts she's taken for granted. "None of you understand. I'm not locked up in here with you. You're locked up in here with me."
Nina purrs and oozes her satisfaction out into every section of mind she can wrap her claws around. Ophelia's nose is bleeding. She doesn't quite know when it started but her face is covered in blood.
Sometimes she simply stares at herself in the mirror. She looks exactly the same as she she always does. Then Ophelia sees a lava red glint in her eyes and she turns away, but away is just deeper inside.
It's the same thing once every year.
He consulted the others and most can't possibly imagine what he means. There are a few who look as if perhaps they'd turn pale if they could but those disappear the second he brings up the topic of conversation.
Once a year however, if he acknowledges it or not, a woman appears to him at midnight. She could not be older that Clyde but she is older than time itself. She is every nightmare he's ever had and every waking moment he's ever lived. The dichotomy annoys him.
She holds out her hand.
The second year it happened he put a list into her hand of all the peoples of interest she'd have better luck with. She took the list with a shadowy sort of smile but did not pursue it further.
The third year he attempted conversation. She was unmoved.
The fourth year he took her hand and spun her around his office. She laughed as they waltzed and left a spider web kiss on his cheek.
There was a bruise where her lips touched.
Nothing to be concerned about.