A pair of dull scissors

China Rose Lykoi · 10-25-2011, 12:00 PM

[html]

ooc: :3

Wordcount: +3

She had been hiding in the forgotten crevasses of the world.

Maybe the world had forgotten about her. It was difficult to tell. Change happened - Gabriel relinquished his crown to the golden heir, Ezekiel. Packs began to spring up in the West, the North. Face came and went, and some became familiar, and some became forgotten.

The world continued to turn, but China stayed very, very still.

She had fallen into a routine. It was all easier to deal with when there was a plan in place for the day - A set amount of events as specific times that took place, to blandly and precisely ensure that her life continued, exactly as it had for many months now. She rose just before the sun, and would then watch it rise - Splendid reds that filled her with a dull but familiar ache. A pleasant ache. Then she would secret away to the forests, to the places where she could be alone with the emptiness inside her mind, inside her heart.

Sometimes a restlessness stole over her, and she would go to the tree at the border of the bloodland and stare out over the stretching emptiness beyond. Out there was the one she craved more than anything, the one she sometimes quietly wept for. But, out there was the demon who had stolen her voice.

Her flute collected dust and spiderwebs. It had not known music since the day before China had been broken.

It had taken her many months, but a moon prior to this one, she had ventured again up the mountain to the place where the cabin had been. It was empty, but she'd known it would be. He had left long, long ago - There was no longer even the scent of him there. There was nothing to show that he or she had ever been there at all. After that day, the cabin lost all purpose to her, and she did not think of it again.

This morning, China woke, and rather than follow the precise pattern she had set for herself over the long months of loneliness, the girl merely sat in her cave and held her flute. For a long, long time she held the instrument, turning it over and over in her palms, polishing the small carving on its side with blushing fingers. And when she rose, it was with a peculiar lightness, like she had just remembered how to suck air into her lungs and become weightless.

She pulled the tattered denim skirt over now-bony hips, gathered her meager belongings in the soft green satchel and carefully slung it over her shoulder. Taking the flute in one hand, she inhaled deeply, and headed out into the crisp morning light.

Wandering feet found the mansion of their own accord, and although her chest constricted till it was painful to breath, China did not allow herself to stop walking until she stood before it. It smelt strongly of packmembers. It smelt of Halo. Fear skittered through her blood like a spooked hare, and her mind reeled with frightening and ghastly nightmares. For a moment, the girl genuinely considered turning and running. But the reed flute was a reassuring smoothness in her clenched hand, and the little blueblood dove grit her teeth and lingered in the doorway, waiting.

Login




Remember me Lost Password?