Post by Lissianna Delacruz on Oct 25, 2011 11:53:17 GMT -8
This is my attempt at overcoming writer's block. And it turned out angsty.
October 9th, 4:35 pm
It was weird. Liss had never felt like this before, a contradictory mix of betrayal and being void of emotion. She just sat in her room, curtains drawn shut, eyes empty. Whisper came in several times a day to check on her mistress, sometimes to feed her soup or tea, which the girl would take mechanically.
Was everything they had felt or done the last few weeks been a lie? Denver - no, his name was Alexander - said it wasn't, that while he had lied about his identity and a few choice details, his actions were genuine. Alexander. That was the only word Lissianna spoke the whole week after being shown the truth. She spoke it often, wrapping her lips around the name of the man she fancied herself in love with. If she was in gayer spirits, Liss might have commented that, finally, his name matched his face. That should have been her first clue that something was suspect, but, that day, in her infatuated state, she brushed if off.
A tear ran down her cheek, traveling the same path that dozens had before that one. No sound left her lips as she cried, parted as they were. She just sat there, slumped, defeated. Outside, the rain mirrored her pain.
Whisper stood outside her mistress's door, nervously wringing her hands in her apron. The house elf remembered the day Misses Lisses had returned home the second time. No matter what the caretaker did, her mistress would not speak, save one name. It had taken almost two full days to coax her to drink anything. Whenever Whisper checked on her Misses Lisses, she was always sitting in the same spot, always staring blankly into the fireplace, which Whisper kept going, lest her mistress caught a cold.
This would not do. Whisper covered her eyes, distraught. If this kept up, her mistress would take ill, no matter what measures the house elf was taking. The caretaker did not know who this "Alexander" was, but she did remember Denver, the dishwasher from the Three Broomsticks. she remembered how alive her mistress looked. He would help her feel better. Whisper nodded once to herself, took a wary look at the closed door, and with a crack, set off for help.
Inside the room, Liss sat, eyes blank, staring at the fire, hands limp in her lap. She didn't trust herself, her judgement. Now not, anyway. So she'll stay here, where she was safe, where no one would hurt her, where she could wonder why and where she went wrong. And where she could still love Alexander, even if he didn't love her.
[Note: Drabble inspired by "Bluebird" and "Jar of Hearts" sung by Christina Perri, and "If I Die Young" sung by The Band Perry.]
October 9th, 4:35 pm
It was weird. Liss had never felt like this before, a contradictory mix of betrayal and being void of emotion. She just sat in her room, curtains drawn shut, eyes empty. Whisper came in several times a day to check on her mistress, sometimes to feed her soup or tea, which the girl would take mechanically.
Was everything they had felt or done the last few weeks been a lie? Denver - no, his name was Alexander - said it wasn't, that while he had lied about his identity and a few choice details, his actions were genuine. Alexander. That was the only word Lissianna spoke the whole week after being shown the truth. She spoke it often, wrapping her lips around the name of the man she fancied herself in love with. If she was in gayer spirits, Liss might have commented that, finally, his name matched his face. That should have been her first clue that something was suspect, but, that day, in her infatuated state, she brushed if off.
A tear ran down her cheek, traveling the same path that dozens had before that one. No sound left her lips as she cried, parted as they were. She just sat there, slumped, defeated. Outside, the rain mirrored her pain.
Whisper stood outside her mistress's door, nervously wringing her hands in her apron. The house elf remembered the day Misses Lisses had returned home the second time. No matter what the caretaker did, her mistress would not speak, save one name. It had taken almost two full days to coax her to drink anything. Whenever Whisper checked on her Misses Lisses, she was always sitting in the same spot, always staring blankly into the fireplace, which Whisper kept going, lest her mistress caught a cold.
This would not do. Whisper covered her eyes, distraught. If this kept up, her mistress would take ill, no matter what measures the house elf was taking. The caretaker did not know who this "Alexander" was, but she did remember Denver, the dishwasher from the Three Broomsticks. she remembered how alive her mistress looked. He would help her feel better. Whisper nodded once to herself, took a wary look at the closed door, and with a crack, set off for help.
Inside the room, Liss sat, eyes blank, staring at the fire, hands limp in her lap. She didn't trust herself, her judgement. Now not, anyway. So she'll stay here, where she was safe, where no one would hurt her, where she could wonder why and where she went wrong. And where she could still love Alexander, even if he didn't love her.
[Note: Drabble inspired by "Bluebird" and "Jar of Hearts" sung by Christina Perri, and "If I Die Young" sung by The Band Perry.]