31_days; July 20
Title: sea dance down
Day/Theme: July 20; to give birth to a dancing star
Fandom: The Gemma Doyle Trilogy by Libba Bray
Characters/Pairing: Gemma, Circe; sorta-kinda-if-you-squint Gemma/Circe
Rating: PG
Word Count: 219
Gemma is not afraid of Circe. Rather, she’s afraid of what she knows-the truth.
It’s like there’s a pull in her former teacher’s words, something that makes it impossible to doubt what she is saying. She whispers advice and warnings, facts, but all she can hear is see Gemma, you knew this all along, you just don’t know how to admit it.
And she hates it, hates the fact that this monster that killed her mother is what she so desperately needs. If it were up to her, she would let Circe rot and sink to the bottom of the well, trapped.
But she knows this as well, just like she knows everything else that resides in her pretty little head. She raises her hands to surface of the water, palms facing up, and waits for Gemma to do the same. There’s this exchange of body warmth, a passing back of hot and cold and ice and life.
“I shouldn’t trust you, you know. I’d be insane to trust you like this.”
Her voice is thin when she speaks, weak, but Gemma feels as if it is dragging her down into the water with her.
But Gemma, she says, and she smiles like she’s so proud of her almost-mirror image, it’s always the most damaged that are beautiful.
Day/Theme: July 20; to give birth to a dancing star
Fandom: The Gemma Doyle Trilogy by Libba Bray
Characters/Pairing: Gemma, Circe; sorta-kinda-if-you-squint Gemma/Circe
Rating: PG
Word Count: 219
Gemma is not afraid of Circe. Rather, she’s afraid of what she knows-the truth.
It’s like there’s a pull in her former teacher’s words, something that makes it impossible to doubt what she is saying. She whispers advice and warnings, facts, but all she can hear is see Gemma, you knew this all along, you just don’t know how to admit it.
And she hates it, hates the fact that this monster that killed her mother is what she so desperately needs. If it were up to her, she would let Circe rot and sink to the bottom of the well, trapped.
But she knows this as well, just like she knows everything else that resides in her pretty little head. She raises her hands to surface of the water, palms facing up, and waits for Gemma to do the same. There’s this exchange of body warmth, a passing back of hot and cold and ice and life.
“I shouldn’t trust you, you know. I’d be insane to trust you like this.”
Her voice is thin when she speaks, weak, but Gemma feels as if it is dragging her down into the water with her.
But Gemma, she says, and she smiles like she’s so proud of her almost-mirror image, it’s always the most damaged that are beautiful.