Broadcast Video-dream
Click. Click.
A watch, dirty, but well made, out of gold, is in her grimly hand. The ticking of the watch can be heard in the video; there is little else. Then she presses a button on the side. And with that...there is a sweet, tinkling tune. It's a lullaby. It changes; from the tune from a watch, it turns into a woman's voice, soft and sweet. Miata...shudders. Wounds start to appear on her body. Noticably, they are the kind that only an awakened could make. Slowly, as if made out of wax, her forearms weaken, waver-and fall off. But Miata doesn't move. Her eyes are fixed on the watch, still ticking away. Still singing. Blood on her person does not seem to be gushing like normal-it is as if the sweat of a candle. And Miata is melting away.
Suddenly, she's not alone. Not anymore. It's a little girl. She looks similar to Miata. But she seems younger, cleaner. Her hair is short, and her dress is well made-even if the fabric is left to be desired. Even though her hair is golden, her eyes are noticeably bright, intellgent, and hazel in color. For a few moments, the girl says nothing, does nothing. Then she leans forward, and starts to stroke Miata's head, and recites, as if she heard it a thousand times before:
"I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree...."
Her voice trailed off, and Miata finally moved, to look up at the younger version of herself. The little girl smiled, and laughed, still petting the cripplied Miata like a child would a dog.
"You know, they all think you're dumb. Stupid. You're a stupid girl on borrowed time. You keep on surpressing yourself. You can't run forever. Clarice isn't helping, she's enabling you. You might be better as an awakened."
Miata emitted a growl. The little girl had to laugh, if only because the warrior could not fight back. An ant under the glass.
"You felt it too, I know. I am you stupid. People won't like you as you are. They want me." She leaned forward, smirking. "Or better: they want me grown up. So grow that apple. And bite it. And I'll see you underneth that tree."
A watch, dirty, but well made, out of gold, is in her grimly hand. The ticking of the watch can be heard in the video; there is little else. Then she presses a button on the side. And with that...there is a sweet, tinkling tune. It's a lullaby. It changes; from the tune from a watch, it turns into a woman's voice, soft and sweet. Miata...shudders. Wounds start to appear on her body. Noticably, they are the kind that only an awakened could make. Slowly, as if made out of wax, her forearms weaken, waver-and fall off. But Miata doesn't move. Her eyes are fixed on the watch, still ticking away. Still singing. Blood on her person does not seem to be gushing like normal-it is as if the sweat of a candle. And Miata is melting away.
Suddenly, she's not alone. Not anymore. It's a little girl. She looks similar to Miata. But she seems younger, cleaner. Her hair is short, and her dress is well made-even if the fabric is left to be desired. Even though her hair is golden, her eyes are noticeably bright, intellgent, and hazel in color. For a few moments, the girl says nothing, does nothing. Then she leans forward, and starts to stroke Miata's head, and recites, as if she heard it a thousand times before:
"I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree...."
Her voice trailed off, and Miata finally moved, to look up at the younger version of herself. The little girl smiled, and laughed, still petting the cripplied Miata like a child would a dog.
"You know, they all think you're dumb. Stupid. You're a stupid girl on borrowed time. You keep on surpressing yourself. You can't run forever. Clarice isn't helping, she's enabling you. You might be better as an awakened."
Miata emitted a growl. The little girl had to laugh, if only because the warrior could not fight back. An ant under the glass.
"You felt it too, I know. I am you stupid. People won't like you as you are. They want me." She leaned forward, smirking. "Or better: they want me grown up. So grow that apple. And bite it. And I'll see you underneth that tree."