Title: Lolita's Not-Quite Life
Author: Ink
Date Written: December 14, 2004
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me and I do not claim them. No © infringement intended or inferred.
Spoilers: None.
Canonical References: I don't think there are any.
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Dawn moved the dagger, feather light, over pale flesh. She watched as strawberry gashes welled into crimson paintings, the lines leaving trails of liquid fire. She listened as the little girl whimpered around the suffocation as the woman watched in pure child-like fascination, not daring to utter a word in fear of the moment ending.
She remembered when she'd started making trails of cherry hate over unmarred fields of powder snow, and now it made no sense. A million thoughts ran through her mind in a split second that lasted an eternity, senseless thoughts as the strawberry gashes transform, making themselves into crimson paintings before dying into rivers of licking flames. The woman watched as tepid red flowed down hot pink cheeks, landing on pepper ash. The little girl cried over blood-stained powder.
Faith watched Dawn, too. She watched as Dawns hot pink cheeks were marred by rivers of apathy painted red. She watched as Dawn's ghost-white flesh marked with pale remembrances and fresh paintings of beauty and death. She watched as the woman and the child faded away as the ennui, painted cherry, slid from the being leaving a shell painted in shades of black and red.
Faith watched as the woman and the child slipped away from Lolita's not-quite life and crystal clear aqua dispersed never-fading lines of remembrance and the less forgiving stains of cherry hate in drops of sodium memoriam.