A/N: I wrote this ages ago for a drabble contest. I can't even remember what the topic was supposed to be... I think it was Lusty Thoughts or something. I lost it for awhile, then found it again and decided to put it up.
She thinks as she walks. It's a slow walk, a measured pace, one that speaks a thousand words of echoing silence and broken glass, of everything but completion. It's stiff and she moves as if her joints are held together by string, and perhaps they are, she doesn't really know. She likes the sound her flat-heeled shoes make against the hard stone, or at least she would if she held such an emotional capacity.
To like. She understands it in basic terms – to like, to find pleasing – but she doesn't feel it, she has never felt it. Nothing but a shell surrounding the vast emptiness. And it would be sad, it she knew what sadness was, and she supposes it is this, more than anything, which makes her incomplete.
She is beauty, she is perfection. She knows this because she has been told. She is Daniella, flawless mask of human splendour, a delicately carved doll of marble. She is nothing. And it shows her what true anger is. What true craving is. To be complete, to be human, her very right which has been denied while the girl was to exist never knowing what it is to be without Azoth!
The girl, Fiona, with pale blonde hair and big frightened eyes, without a trace of Daniella's own coldness, tiny and frail and trembling, brimming with Azoth. A whole. It is what she craves, what she hungers for in a way that tears at her skin like nails. What she wants, what she needs. And to need Fiona is to know pain as a doll should never know it. It's consuming, maddening, and so she walks.
It was unthinkable. She was the more worthy and in a good world she would be the one complete. In a good world Fiona would be nothing. Fiona who was beautiful entirely in the way, her skirt bobbed up and down as she walked. Fiona and her Azoth, and a pretty little package for the Azoth at that. Fiona with her fair skin. A different sort of beauty. An entirely human beauty, yet beauty all the same.
She doesn't want to know Fiona. She just wants Fiona. It is completely foreign. She wants to hear the girl's voice pleading, wants to find out if human lips really taste sweet, wants to see what is under that skirt. Mostly it's the allure of the Azoth, but she wants to take the girl for herself.
She continues to walk. Slower, the shard of glass dragging behind her, cold to the touch. Like her. And if she is perfection, what does that make Fiona? Fiona who is so very much alive in a way she could only hope to be, if she was able to hope. Fiona who she was going to find, get her hands on the Azoth, get her hands on the little package as well. The girl who consumes her thoughts, swallowing them whole, leaving Daniella with nothing. Nothing. Not for long.
She wants Fiona.