P O R C E L A I N
normal disclaimer applies
naminé x riku
for ; jaded – raindrop
-x-
The air smelled of old, moldy brown lace, of ancient books with yellowed pages because of the time. The room seemed to remind you of the days where ladies wore colorful pink and blue dresses, holding parasols with their derriere in the air because of the dresses they were wearing. It was attractive to have a big derriere back then.
On the shelves sat dolls with faces as white as moonlight, and eyes the colors of the rainbow, amethyst, emerald, sapphire, apricot, hazel, chocolate.
Their hair was put in elaborate styles, with silk flowers here and there, a jade and gold cicada sat there on the head of a doll with black hair and warm brown eyes, wearing a dusty red kimono.
And sitting there on the ancient rocking chair was a girl, petite, almost like the dolls that surrounded her. She could have been mistaken for a life-size porcelain doll, pale skin, like white china, hair like the gold silk threads on the doll's outfit, and a pair of blue, glass eyes, lifeless.
The dolls stared down at her, as if she were an intruder, pale fingers tracing the edge of a music box. She brushed the age old dust off the top, and lifted the old lid.
Tinkling music came out of the small box, filling the old room with sound, in an almost eerie way. Gossamer floated in the air, cobwebs in the corner as she inhaled, taking in the smell of a musty old wedding gown.
In one corner of the room was a pretty dress, covered in lace and frills, vintage, but beautiful at the same time. She slipped it on over her petite body, it fit so perfectly. She felt like a princess in that dress.
It smelled old, as the girl grabbed old silk flowers that sat in a corner, looking into a bronze mirror, admiring her reflection. She decided she looked just like one of the dolls.
And so she sung and played in the ancient room, dwelling in the past, not noticing what was happening in the present.
Naminé was breaking, like the dolls locked away in glass cases, cracks started appearing in her face, she started talking about how the dolls were talking to her.
Her parents would stare at her as if she were insane, but say, "That's good, dear." She continued to play in the ancient room, dressing up in those old lace dresses, letting her gold locks grow past her waist and put it up in a bun, placing delicate ornaments in it.
Junior high, everyone started to avoid Naminé, they knew to avoid her, for she only talked nonsense. She was weird.
High school, she became an outcast, still living in her own fantasy world, because in the end, she didn't belong in reality.
He came in her senior year, the only one to reach out to her. She would let him brush her hair, telling him, "When a lady lets someone touch her hair, it means she's given her heart to that person."
She was different from the others. Riku thought to himself, and that was what he liked about her. She was different, and he treated her like the fragile doll she was. He was afraid, afraid she would break one day.
But for now, she happily believed in her fantasy world, and if she were ever to break, he will be there to catch her falling pieces.
Naminé was made of porcelain, fragile, delicate, and Riku was the glass case around her, making sure she wasn't crushed by the outside world.
"Even if the world abandons me, you can't turn your back on me, okay?"
He won't turn his back on her, because, even if she was cracked, he loved her, and she loved him back.
The air smelled of old, moldy brown lace, of ancient books with yellowed pages, and of the love between two people.
memos ; this sucked, i know, i know. for the totally awesome jaded – raindrop's challenge, because i said so. my prompt was 'porcelain'.