[Fic] the mirror has two faces
Title: the mirror has two faces
Fandom: Crossroads
Characters: Hayasaka Kisa, Hayasaka Aoi
Word Count: 320+
Rating: K
Warning/s: experimental stream of thought writing
Summary: In memoriam.
Disclaimer: Kisa and Aoi are the characters of Telle. Crossroads is the event of the mods at I:U.
Notes: Experimenting, experimenting. No particular backstory, just that it is tragic. Taking a bit of a writing break from current projects.
(Your name is Aoi.)
You look into the gilded mirror with its ornate curlicues and silver design, the pale smoothclear surface hanging on the wall like burnished starlight on crystallized water. You reach out as your doppelganger does, and touch the tips of your fingers to theirs, as cool as water starting to freeze, the chill scorching the pads of your fingers and creeping up your palm.
In the depths of the mirror is a slash of red, the deep crimson shade of your hair falling past your temples, sliding down your ears, tickling your cheeks - framing the pale face that grimaces through a smile. You straighten your shoulders until they appear broad, and adjust your collar until it is artfully messy. You are good at this; you’ve done this countless of times, snipsnipsnip, until you are just the right shade of carefully crafted and undone. You tug on your ear and slip the earrings on, silver crosses that would have glinted if the moonlight shone through your window.
It is dark.
(Your name is Aoi.)
You pick up your violin case and take one last look at your other half.
You stand in front of the mirror and see everything that is misplaced - the mud-slicked shoes, the unpressed pants, the untucked shirt, the pale hollow at the base of your throat. The smooth column of your neck. Wrong dip of chin, wrong curve of nose, wrong shape of eyes.
You are incomplete, incompatible, one half missing and unfulfilled, with a gaping emptiness that yawns inside you, the darkness left by the bright blue light of your sky turning to pale ashes to eternal night.
And you fill the space left in the wake of his departure -- the other half to your charred edges and uneven lines -- so he speaks through your mouth and breathes through your nose and sees through your eyes and lives through you.
Your name is Aoi.
This entry was originally posted at http://quadrantal.dreamwidth.org/8259.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Crossroads
Characters: Hayasaka Kisa, Hayasaka Aoi
Word Count: 320+
Rating: K
Warning/s: experimental stream of thought writing
Summary: In memoriam.
Disclaimer: Kisa and Aoi are the characters of Telle. Crossroads is the event of the mods at I:U.
Notes: Experimenting, experimenting. No particular backstory, just that it is tragic. Taking a bit of a writing break from current projects.
(Your name is Aoi.)
You look into the gilded mirror with its ornate curlicues and silver design, the pale smoothclear surface hanging on the wall like burnished starlight on crystallized water. You reach out as your doppelganger does, and touch the tips of your fingers to theirs, as cool as water starting to freeze, the chill scorching the pads of your fingers and creeping up your palm.
In the depths of the mirror is a slash of red, the deep crimson shade of your hair falling past your temples, sliding down your ears, tickling your cheeks - framing the pale face that grimaces through a smile. You straighten your shoulders until they appear broad, and adjust your collar until it is artfully messy. You are good at this; you’ve done this countless of times, snipsnipsnip, until you are just the right shade of carefully crafted and undone. You tug on your ear and slip the earrings on, silver crosses that would have glinted if the moonlight shone through your window.
It is dark.
(Your name is Aoi.)
You pick up your violin case and take one last look at your other half.
You stand in front of the mirror and see everything that is misplaced - the mud-slicked shoes, the unpressed pants, the untucked shirt, the pale hollow at the base of your throat. The smooth column of your neck. Wrong dip of chin, wrong curve of nose, wrong shape of eyes.
You are incomplete, incompatible, one half missing and unfulfilled, with a gaping emptiness that yawns inside you, the darkness left by the bright blue light of your sky turning to pale ashes to eternal night.
And you fill the space left in the wake of his departure -- the other half to your charred edges and uneven lines -- so he speaks through your mouth and breathes through your nose and sees through your eyes and lives through you.
Your name is Aoi.
This entry was originally posted at http://quadrantal.dreamwidth.org/8259.html. Please comment there using OpenID.