scraps: sabrina
Title: --
Fandom: pokemon
Characters: sabrina
Word Count: --
Rating: --
Summary: believe it or not this has romance; there'll probably be a part two.
Warnings: ---
Disclaimer: don't own pokemon, characters included.
she sees herself in a mirror every night, vain as it may be. but she never sees her entire self. there is a murkiness in the mirror she finds difficult to describe, to reach, to understand. every attempt to grasp the stain marring her features in the mirror fails.
because it is only seen in the mirror.
she ponders whether it is the mirror that is broken. there could be some chip in the back she over looked. however, that stain is always in the same spot - and now it has grown further encasing her arm in its color.
moving around only makes the mark more and more real and she doesn't understand why it grows.
as time goes, she realizes that the mark is a part of her, a somewhat physical manifestation of the end. eventually, she grows attached to the mark, the shadow trailing her every move within the shadows. they do not harm her - even after she starts hearing it speak.
he - she decided the voice sounded masculine - reminds her of times when she was younger, hopelessly happy and naive.
she finds each and every idiotic to remember. she was foolish, not happy. he proves her wrong, bringing up a memory that caused even her shadow difficult to explain without sounding rather embarrassed. unlike what the shadow might have expected, she kept her stance insisting that she was foolish, that it was disgustingly human, and they both know she is lying. after all, she is still distrustful of the shadow. showing weakness would only admit defeat.
in due time, she reluctantly allows herself to believe in the shadow's lies. the memories, she knew, they made up. it was humoring her, after all. shadow's don't speak. they simply exist.
one day, she wakes. the shadow is gone and a distinctly familiar figure was a sleep, resting their head on her bed. arms and legs are tied to the bed. marks marring her uncovered arms. she stares at the ceiling remembering, the feeling of emptiness engulfs her.
it had fled in self-preservation.