Hey Merik shippers! I don't remember when I wrote this story. Years ago, I think. I tried to find this in my current laptop and couldn't. I think it was in my old one, but I rummaged through my things and wow, I actually have a printed copy of it. I edited it and here you go. One sad story for a sad little me (Sorry, been really depressed because of school stuff).
P.S: I don't own POTO nor the photo I used in this. Credits to Jenny Johnstone!
x BespectacledScribbler
The door creaked as she opened the door, swiftly and quietly, Meg went inside. She cautiously walked as she was engulfed in darkness and finally walked to the gigantic mirror, somehow scared that she might see something she wouldn't like to catch a glimpse of. A ghost? Maybe. A ghost of true nature or a ghost of rumors? She laughed, what would be the difference? She would end up dead either way. She laughed and laughed, pounding the mirror with her little fists. She couldn't breathe, her tears were threatening to fall, as her legs gave in to weakness and she slumped on the ground. Once again, her silent pleas were never heard, she never shouted, but whispered oh so heartbreakingly the words she would always say in that dark room. She felt someone listened, she knew someone listened to her.
"Save me, angel."
Her quiet pleading echoed in an ever faint whisper throughout the room. Even though she had spoken those words, she did not know who it was addressed to. Was she speaking to an angel of music like Christine's? A guardian angel? Angel of dance? Her tears betrayed her and fell softly one by one, she need not fool around and pretend not to know who she was talking to. Of course she knew.
She laid her palm against the mirror and shed more tears. A hand on the other side of the mirror stretched and yearned to touch the woman in agony but as the hand almost reached hers, the cold material of the mirror hindered it. Nevertheless, he laid his palm on the surface and immediately noticed the contrast between his hand to hers. Small and fragile as his protégé's, Christine.
He heard her. He always have. But then, he knew he shouldn't. He should never have heard it. Ignorance was far better than the constant suffering of not being able to help such an angel as her. It killed him, knowing she would come back every single day. To make him listen. What killed him more was he could never utter anything. He heard it, but she would never hear him. He wants her to, but could not bring himself to do so.
He heard it, but he was not an angel. Only a murderous thief that stole the identity of such.
It was enough to betray one, it would both destroy him and the victim if he would deceive another. He helplessly looked at her, turned around and walked away.
Taking that fallen angel's wings with him.