With Ribbon for Penny
Title: With Ribbon for Penny, originally written for themusecafe challenge [045] Hero
Word Count: 644
Notes: Same universe as all the Autumn stories, just an unknown character ♥
She moves through her preparations like a ritual. First comes the make-up and with every stroke of the brush she shuts her heart away.
The better to deal with hurt, my dear.
Next comes the elaborate hairstyle, which she has long ago learned to do by herself. She twists great hanks of hair against itself, forming pretty knots for her to slide pretty ornaments through. She tries not to think about brushing it out later, the snarls and tangles, and briefly contemplates taking a knife to the whole mess.
The better to relive your past, my dear.
On go the slips and then the robe and then the sash, all part of an ancient dance and she was never one to think she'd be doing this for centuries. She ties tiny bells to the sticks through her hair, to her trailing sleeves and to the knot around her waist.
The better to trick you, my dear.
With one last deep breath she winds her weapon of choice from elbow to wrist, lets the loose end dangle inside her sleeve and steps through from Between into Reality.
The better to end you, my dear.
The hospital room is a strange conglomeration of sterile machines and bright stuffed animals; if she looks closely she can just make out the little girl on the bed, thin and waiflike with eyes too wide and skin stretched too tightly over bone.
"My name is Penny," the little girl whispers, "are you an angel?"
She smiles, sits carefully on the edge of the bed, "I am just a visitor, here to see the brave little children, you can call me Huā."
"You're very pretty," Penny whispers, clutching a little stuffed penguin.
It makes Huā laugh, sending the bells in her hair into a private symphony. "So are you, dear Penny." She can't resist, reaches out a hand to trace the line of Penny's brow, the sharp protrusion of her cheek, taps gently at the shy dimple appearing on the child's face.
"No," says Penny, "I used to be. there are pictures of when I was pretty. Now I'm just sick."
"Ah, but you are strong and unafraid and look at all the gifts people have brought you. You must be very loved, Penny. That makes you very beautiful."
Penny smiles, and it's a truly wondrous sight, lights up her whole face and for a moment Huā thinks about leaving the room, letting the girl live and grow up.
The better to betray yourself, my dear.
The expression fades as quickly as it came, a shooting star blinking out of existence. Penny leans back, still holding that little penguin, and her eyes carry a deep pain. "I'm very tired," she confides, "will you tell me a bedtime story?"
Huā can smell the roses now, knows the time is almost here. "Of course, but first I want to give you something." She unwinds a length of ribbon from her arm, "a pretty bracelet, for pretty Penny." She ties it into a neat bow around Penny's tiny wrist and begins her story, "one upon a time there was a little girl..."
The better to save you, my dear.
Penny's body has been gone for hours, the bed is cold and the stuffed toys have been removed. The room has gone back to being just a sterile, cold hospital room and yet Huā finds herself still sitting there, right on the edge of the bed.
She's found great interest in staring out the window, the sound of children playing in a nearby school is carried to her on the wind. They'll die, she winds the ribbons back around her arm, they'll die and I'll be the witness, the last one they remember as mortality flees.
She can smell the roses, rises from her solitary perch, and moves on to the next room where another brave little soldier waits for the end.
Word Count: 644
Notes: Same universe as all the Autumn stories, just an unknown character ♥
She moves through her preparations like a ritual. First comes the make-up and with every stroke of the brush she shuts her heart away.
The better to deal with hurt, my dear.
Next comes the elaborate hairstyle, which she has long ago learned to do by herself. She twists great hanks of hair against itself, forming pretty knots for her to slide pretty ornaments through. She tries not to think about brushing it out later, the snarls and tangles, and briefly contemplates taking a knife to the whole mess.
The better to relive your past, my dear.
On go the slips and then the robe and then the sash, all part of an ancient dance and she was never one to think she'd be doing this for centuries. She ties tiny bells to the sticks through her hair, to her trailing sleeves and to the knot around her waist.
The better to trick you, my dear.
With one last deep breath she winds her weapon of choice from elbow to wrist, lets the loose end dangle inside her sleeve and steps through from Between into Reality.
The better to end you, my dear.
The hospital room is a strange conglomeration of sterile machines and bright stuffed animals; if she looks closely she can just make out the little girl on the bed, thin and waiflike with eyes too wide and skin stretched too tightly over bone.
"My name is Penny," the little girl whispers, "are you an angel?"
She smiles, sits carefully on the edge of the bed, "I am just a visitor, here to see the brave little children, you can call me Huā."
"You're very pretty," Penny whispers, clutching a little stuffed penguin.
It makes Huā laugh, sending the bells in her hair into a private symphony. "So are you, dear Penny." She can't resist, reaches out a hand to trace the line of Penny's brow, the sharp protrusion of her cheek, taps gently at the shy dimple appearing on the child's face.
"No," says Penny, "I used to be. there are pictures of when I was pretty. Now I'm just sick."
"Ah, but you are strong and unafraid and look at all the gifts people have brought you. You must be very loved, Penny. That makes you very beautiful."
Penny smiles, and it's a truly wondrous sight, lights up her whole face and for a moment Huā thinks about leaving the room, letting the girl live and grow up.
The better to betray yourself, my dear.
The expression fades as quickly as it came, a shooting star blinking out of existence. Penny leans back, still holding that little penguin, and her eyes carry a deep pain. "I'm very tired," she confides, "will you tell me a bedtime story?"
Huā can smell the roses now, knows the time is almost here. "Of course, but first I want to give you something." She unwinds a length of ribbon from her arm, "a pretty bracelet, for pretty Penny." She ties it into a neat bow around Penny's tiny wrist and begins her story, "one upon a time there was a little girl..."
The better to save you, my dear.
Penny's body has been gone for hours, the bed is cold and the stuffed toys have been removed. The room has gone back to being just a sterile, cold hospital room and yet Huā finds herself still sitting there, right on the edge of the bed.
She's found great interest in staring out the window, the sound of children playing in a nearby school is carried to her on the wind. They'll die, she winds the ribbons back around her arm, they'll die and I'll be the witness, the last one they remember as mortality flees.
She can smell the roses, rises from her solitary perch, and moves on to the next room where another brave little soldier waits for the end.