Um...
This is what happened when I listened to my Orli!muse last night.
Pretty
by Ghani Blue
warning: possibly disturbing
Has there always been a crack in the mirror? I don't remember, but it's pretty, isn't it? Strange how I'm drawn to flaws.
The edge is sharp under my finger; sharpsharp cutting into skin. I don't flinch though, it doesn't hurt, it's just cold.
Whitewhite tiles in a whitewhite bathroom. Too bright light stings my eyes 'til they hurt and water. Plink goes a tear, plonk goes another. I don't hear them, I just like to imagine things.
I do hear my blood, though. It sizzles on the floor. Zzzh it goes on white-hot tiles. I'm making a mess out of Harry's bathroom.
I like flaws, like the red streak my finger leaves on the mirror. Brightbright echo of shattering glass. I reach out and it's getting redder still.
No time, need to hide the pretty. Can't let Harry see; he likes clear, clean whitewhite brightness. I have to hurry before he finds me.
Streamlets, ruby red and dazzling bright run over white deserts of marble. Slowly, like time has been suspended, another drop falls to the floor. It breaks into smithereens on the tiles, drawing bizarre patterns. Flowers and magic creatures.
"Oh," I whisper to myself; and smiling, "how pretty."
Amidth this wonderland I stand, marveling at the beauty I can create. I rise my hand and a light beam is refracted on the shard I hold. Sparkling, luminous it draws reflexes on the wall.
Galanty shows.
It's not cold like the first time, but almost gentle how the glass caresses my skin. Like a lover's touch. Tender, smooth, deep.
Slitherslide on red-wet tiles. I look up at him, beaming.
"I'm pretty, ain't I?"
Silence.
"Harry?" I ask, tilting my head.
"Yes, yes you are." Plink goes a tear, plonk goes another.
I touch a finger to his cheek, a smudged streak on flawless skin. "Hush, it's all good." I smile up at him. Because, yes, it is all good.
Now.
Bloody great timing to freak out your muses, stupid
Pretty
by Ghani Blue
warning: possibly disturbing
Has there always been a crack in the mirror? I don't remember, but it's pretty, isn't it? Strange how I'm drawn to flaws.
The edge is sharp under my finger; sharpsharp cutting into skin. I don't flinch though, it doesn't hurt, it's just cold.
Whitewhite tiles in a whitewhite bathroom. Too bright light stings my eyes 'til they hurt and water. Plink goes a tear, plonk goes another. I don't hear them, I just like to imagine things.
I do hear my blood, though. It sizzles on the floor. Zzzh it goes on white-hot tiles. I'm making a mess out of Harry's bathroom.
I like flaws, like the red streak my finger leaves on the mirror. Brightbright echo of shattering glass. I reach out and it's getting redder still.
No time, need to hide the pretty. Can't let Harry see; he likes clear, clean whitewhite brightness. I have to hurry before he finds me.
Streamlets, ruby red and dazzling bright run over white deserts of marble. Slowly, like time has been suspended, another drop falls to the floor. It breaks into smithereens on the tiles, drawing bizarre patterns. Flowers and magic creatures.
"Oh," I whisper to myself; and smiling, "how pretty."
Amidth this wonderland I stand, marveling at the beauty I can create. I rise my hand and a light beam is refracted on the shard I hold. Sparkling, luminous it draws reflexes on the wall.
Galanty shows.
It's not cold like the first time, but almost gentle how the glass caresses my skin. Like a lover's touch. Tender, smooth, deep.
Slitherslide on red-wet tiles. I look up at him, beaming.
"I'm pretty, ain't I?"
Silence.
"Harry?" I ask, tilting my head.
"Yes, yes you are." Plink goes a tear, plonk goes another.
I touch a finger to his cheek, a smudged streak on flawless skin. "Hush, it's all good." I smile up at him. Because, yes, it is all good.
Now.
Bloody great timing to freak out your muses, stupid