Closed Softly Shattered (Solo)

Fragmenta is Left Alone with Her Thoughts

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Considered one of the most mysterious cities in Mizahar, Alvadas is called The City of Illusions. It is the home of Ionu and the notorious Inverted. This city sits on one of the main crossroads through The Region of Kalea.

Softly Shattered (Solo)

Postby Fragmenta on December 28th, 2016, 10:13 am

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27th of Winter
The Cubacious Inn




Fragmenta sagged against the door of her room, the latch clicking as it shut beneath her weight. She stayed like that for nearly a minute, soaking up the silence of the room and making it her palace, her everything, for just a moment.

A hand traveled slowly to her mouth, the soft velvet of the glove brushing across her chin and lower lip as she clamped the tip of the index finger between her pearly front teeth. Slowly, arduously, she dragged the glove from her arm, wincing at the pain in her teeth as the material resisted, clinging to the slender contours of her wrist and elbow. Her arm freed from its soft prison, she let the glove fall to the floor at her feet, where it lay in a crumpled heap.

She moved listlessly to the modest vanity table across the room, little more than a plain desk with a mirror she had purchased leaning propped up against the wall. Her gloveless hand crept to the back of her head, fingers weaving through the fall of silken blonde hair to unfasten the tiny clasp that held the golden masque to her head, her other hand moving to grip the filigreed corner of a butterfly wing. The weight of the masque was lifted away from the bridge of her nose, and her eyes slid shut as she lowered it to the desk with a barely audible thunk. She sank blindly onto the stool before her, the weight of the day carried on her shoulders, refusing to leave her.

Her corset suddenly felt altogether too tight, a constrictor wound about her body, crushing the life out of her slender body with its relentless coils. She reached behind herself, deftly maneuvering the top two hooks apart. The burgundy material bowed slightly away from her torso, affording her the ability to draw a deep and unhindered breath, her pale breasts very nearly spilling from their confinement.

She willed her eyes to open, meeting her own neutral gaze in the mirror facing her, regarding her abruptly disheveled appearance without any apparent emotion. She didn't move, didn't blink, as she studied the soft planes and angles that composed a face she still didn't know--didn't trust--after all those years. A face whose lips were so often curled into a knowing smirk, a face with eyes that were never without that telling sparkle that hinted at hidden depths and buried secrets. Now, without an audience, it had nothing to offer her, no story to tell.

"Useless." she muttered in disgust, her painted lips framing the words in an all too familiar way for her liking. She drew the back of her fist across her mouth, smearing the scarlet pomade across her right cheek in a bright streak that faded as it tapered near her jaw. She glanced down at her knuckles, at the makeup that covered them, looking for all the world as if she had punched a wall until the fragile skin covering them had split open and begun to bleed.

She again looked herself in the eye, staring at a stranger. She leaned forward, the stool creaking and the corset pinching her waist, until the tip of her nose was almost touching its twin in the mirror. She studied the aquamarine irises in her reflection, searching them for something she had never been able to find. She stubbornly refused to blink, believing that if she did, she would miss some vital piece of information during the fraction of a second the world disappeared into darkness.

"Remember something, you fool." she said in a soft voice, saturating her words with the magic that had always come unbidden when she needed it. The mesmerizing energy they contained swam about her head, wrapping her in a muddling warmth. It would almost feel comforting, except that she was keenly aware of the process that was involved, the risks incurred. Not that she cared.

The silence permeated the room, filling every inch of the lonely space with its heavy presence. Gritting her teeth, she called upon more of the djed required to taint her words, soaking her tongue in it. "Remember something, you stupid bitch, anything at all." Her pupils dilated after a moment, seeming to swallow the pools of crystalline blue that were her window into the world, and she felt that she could almost

never find you!" The heel of a hand planted firmly in her abdomen, giving her a rough shove off the bank of the raging river. Watching the canopy of interwoven branches that spider webbed across the moonlit sky recede as she fell backwards into the surging waters below, the world as a whole disappearing as the current hit her full-force, spinning her about, powerless to resist. There was a large rock wedged in the bed of muck, its dark mass swiftly approaching, and she screamed as it smashed into her hip, nearly crushing

remember something. She blinked, frozen. A drop of blood dripped slowly from her nostril, collecting on the ridge of her lip before falling the short distance to the desk below. The anger was a few seconds arriving, but it turned up like it always did, her fists clenching, manicured nails digging into the polished wood beneath them.

"That's it?" she spoke slowly, quietly seething. "That's all you have to offer me? Some fleck of shit that doesn't even begin to stroke the fur on what I want to know?"

She stood abruptly, knocking the stool on its side with a clatter. "Is that it, then? It's all a good laugh, right?" She glared down at the mirror, fingertips dancing along the brocade of the loose corset. "You have everything to give when it's someone other than me. Something pleasant to look at." She roughly hiked her skirts, exposing lacy stocking that clung to her snow white thighs like sin itself, the elegant curve of her calves narrowing as they approached delicate ankles. "A silver tongue dripping with honey and wit. Yes, you're all jokes and clever lines, aren't you, darling?" She dragged the tip of her tongue sensually over her top lip before biting the lower, pressing her teeth into the sensitive flesh until it felt like the skin had broken.

She marched back to the vanity, throwing open the latch to the toilette kit to one side. She dug through the neatly assorted cosmetics within, plucking the tiny jar of pomade from its resting place and popping the lid off with her thumbnail. "But let's not forget the most important part of this little deal, sweet thing." She dipped a finger into the paint-like paste, sliding it across her lips with a precise movement, staining them a deeper red than ever. It was a rough job, off-kilter and unaligned in places, and with a flourish, she dragged a line of the stuff from her lower lip down her chin, down her dainty throat, and through the shallow well of her clavicle, stopping just short of the valley of her cleavage.

"You have to keep up appearances for the rest of the world, every second of every day. You have to be the object of desire they crave, the wellspring of pleasure readily available for them to pilfer as they see fit." She picked up the mirror, bringing it to her face, and kissed her reflection, pressing her warm lips against the cool, flawless surface. Oh, to be a mirror, so cold and unfeeling, showing only what the world showed it and never once caring how those who saw it were affected. She pulled away, looking at her handiwork: a heart shaped pucker on the steel. "Things are never that easy. And you've chosen to go against the grain darling, so it's going to be rougher still. When you choose to be the nail that stands out, the universe will thoroughly enjoy hammering you back into place. Every. Single. Time."

She dropped the mirror without a care, letting it clatter loudly on the desk. Turning away from the object of her hatred, she quickly disrobed, leaving her clothing where it was on the floor and fetching a cigarette from the nightstand and lighting a candle.

"Trash." she muttered, falling backwards onto the bed once the rolled paper was lit. Lying naked crosswise on the mattress and taking long drags from the cigarette, she stared up at the plain ceiling, seeing nothing and, for a change, seeking nothing. No questions. No answers. Just allowing herself the freedom to let her eyes wander.

She glanced down at the limited source of relief in her fingers, absently noting that the end had been stained red. The burning cherry on the end fell, burning her stomach fiercely where it landed. Sucking in a hissing breath between clenched teeth, her hand flew to brush the ember away, but she stopped herself at the last moment, a tiny noise escaping her parted lips in wonder at the intense burning sensation.

It was the strangest notion, but one that made all the sense in the world to her at that very moment: that unexpected pain had brought a sense of urgency with it, a need to spare herself the pain. The irony washed over heras she let out a long, throaty laugh that echoed off the walls of the room, the fingers of her free hand tangling in her hair. She brushed the now extinguished cherry from her stomach, its use expended, her touch lingering around the tiny burn.

Life was weird sometimes. Maybe that was why she loved it. Hated it. Would never forgive it. Could never be good enough for it. Would never let it control her. Would never be able to overcome it. Would never need to. Would never want to.

She blew a long stream of smoke towards the ceiling, the sweet taste of the pipeweed turning slowly in her mouth. She was spent. It was a good feeling. Once she rarely allowed herself to feel.

"Trash." she said, rolling the word off her tongue like it was a priceless gem. She laughed again, eyes sliding shut, letting the curtain fall.

It felt exquisite.
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
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Softly Shattered (Solo)

Postby Chameleon on April 3rd, 2017, 9:30 pm

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