A grin of shadows press my face. I am a forger or a fake.

[lithiumlaughter]

The lovely Mercedes introduced this meme, and I've decided to help it 'make the rounds' as it were.

Give me the name of one of my ships. I’ll put my MP3 player on shuffle and make a graphic based on the song. (Optional: I'll also write drabbles for each ship/song combo.)The usual fandoms are open for business

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Souvenirs

[lithiumlaughter]

James was never sure if he was supposed to hate or love Venice. He passed through the city on occasion, and never quite got to an answer outside of always leaving with a jaw that ached from being clenched.
It was on his first couple visits back to Venice after the fact that he realized just how many people in Venice wore red. Every flash around every corner drew his attention, rubbing his naturally heightened senses raw with hope.
He would eventually grow adept at blocking out the colour, of course. He wouldn’t have survived otherwise. Other women and other cities formed serviceable distractions, making it easier and easier to pretend that the colour didn’t exist at all.
And yet, whenever he would return to Venice, each brief glimpse of red in his peripheral vision stood out with a vicious clarity. Red, red, red. Always red.
It was one visit in particular, a few years later, that he was walking along a canal behind Saint Mark’s square that he saw it.
The was the dress. It was the exact dress, right down to the folds and the fit.
He moved quickly, desperate to get to her. He had to. She walked
She turned down a side canal, and he called out. She turned.
It wasn’t her, of course. It never was and never would be.
“Posso aiutarla?” the woman asked, her eyes narrowed in mild suspicion. Can I help you?
He looked at her, crestfallen and frustrated with himself for feeling so.
“Non ne ho idea,” he said. I have no idea.
James hardened quickly out of habit. Vulnerability was dangerous. He knew this, and it had just been shown to him yet again.
Armour. Always armour.
“Mi scusi,” James murmured, and turned on his heel to head back to his hotel.
In the end, he never did know if he hated or loved Venice. What he did know was that he had to stop coming back.