The girl stares back at me, unblinking. Her red eyes and vague figure are smeared like discarded lipstick, but her face is skull-like enough to appear human. /You don’t look like me,/ I want to say, but I raise my hand and so does she, I hit the glass and so does she. It's like we’re both trying to get out of this dreaded place, the one we both desperately want to leave, the one I've been stuck in for too d*mn long. But of course it doesn’t crack. I’ve never been strong enough to break it fully—only my own knuckles, or what you could say are /mine/ now. So I watch as the red falls down the mirror, I watch as she watches it, the color fading to aged wine that stains her glassy teeth. I scowl harder and grab the towel by the sink, wiping down the glass. The world is a film of red once I’m done and she’s still glaring back at me with those eyes that I’ve never gotten used to. /You did this. You did this to us./ “Shut up,” I tell her, turning away as I pull on my gloves with shaking hands. The dark fabric can hide it from them, from her and myself. “Astoria?” a voice says from the door. My skull tilts upwards, diplomatically shifting to the false face I wear on days like these—to face him. “Come in,” I say airily. The door opens as Lord Evan Fairfax walks in, the man who I've been arranged to marry, as I’ve learned from the constant gestures that are far past diplomatic. His ashy hair is combed back into neat ringlets which frame his passive expression, and he fusses with his silver cufflinks before those dark eyes flicker to my dress. “You look…wow.” I clasp my hands in brief acknowledgement, though the pounding in my head makes me feel more like I’m wearing a bag of flesh over misaligned bones. This thought brings other thoughts with it, and I manage to catch myself before it consumes me. Lately, I’ve been wondering when they’ll come back to me. They’d told me I’d have no memories, no words, no sensations from that short life. The specifics of why I begged for redemption, to forget that life even past death, I’m not sure of yet. But as long as she doesn’t look me in the eye, I can bear it. As long as I don’t fantasize her speaking in my mind, trying to regain control of this body, she can let me go, let me forget her parasitic control inside the fragility of my borrowed skull. "Shall we?" my love says, holding out his hand, and I smile. // song is white room by cream ! so !!! this ones just a *little* crazy ... i've had this idea for a while so ff to ask any questions <3 also this is my first story on here , expect some more soon :0
