[INCOMPLETE] This century is caused by reckless handling
Who: Heine Rammsteiner, Lily
When: Shortly after Heine promised to come to her.
Where: Empty house near the fountain, lower level.
Rating: PG-13; mention of violence by and against youth, self-harm, blood.
Warnings: Spoilers for DOGS.
Summary: Heine comes in the direction of Lily.
He was coming.
Heine was coming.
He was coming. He spoke to her, he promised, this time, this time, he would really be here, she would see him, see how he'd grown, touch him smell him feel him know him have him.
Lily tried to sit still on the floor of the tiny house she'd scampered to to think, but really, thinking was beyond her now, so she tried to breath.; at her feet was spread a makeshift sort of sketchbook -- really, a leaflet of stuck-together bits, receipts, whatever she could find. She had been trying to draw, but her mind kept going back to Heine, Heine, her liberator, her Brother, but she couldn't draw him, couldn't get his face down just right from the way it was branded into the flesh of her memories.
Frustrated, she let go of the dull-pointed pencil she held loosely in her hand and stood again, the dog within her crying out, lonely. He would really come, wouldn't he...? No. Of course he would come. She pushed the door open, letting the stale air wash over her. It was raining, just a little, a splattery drizzle. She slid down in the doorway, gripping the spidery drawing of not-much-like-Heine. She tucked her head in, let out a depressed sort of whimper.
Soon, right...?
When: Shortly after Heine promised to come to her.
Where: Empty house near the fountain, lower level.
Rating: PG-13; mention of violence by and against youth, self-harm, blood.
Warnings: Spoilers for DOGS.
Summary: Heine comes in the direction of Lily.
He was coming.
Heine was coming.
He was coming. He spoke to her, he promised, this time, this time, he would really be here, she would see him, see how he'd grown, touch him smell him feel him know him have him.
Lily tried to sit still on the floor of the tiny house she'd scampered to to think, but really, thinking was beyond her now, so she tried to breath.; at her feet was spread a makeshift sort of sketchbook -- really, a leaflet of stuck-together bits, receipts, whatever she could find. She had been trying to draw, but her mind kept going back to Heine, Heine, her liberator, her Brother, but she couldn't draw him, couldn't get his face down just right from the way it was branded into the flesh of her memories.
Frustrated, she let go of the dull-pointed pencil she held loosely in her hand and stood again, the dog within her crying out, lonely. He would really come, wouldn't he...? No. Of course he would come. She pushed the door open, letting the stale air wash over her. It was raining, just a little, a splattery drizzle. She slid down in the doorway, gripping the spidery drawing of not-much-like-Heine. She tucked her head in, let out a depressed sort of whimper.
Soon, right...?