Disclaimer: Own nothing
Summary: "Wick, please. Regret isn't your color." Was the frog's amused and callous reply. Wick wishes that the Frog hadn't learned her lessons as well as she had. Implied one-sided femslash.
Regret isn't your color:
Wick wished that the Frog hadn't learned her lessons as well as she had. Wick didn't think she was being dramatic when it came to the Frog. It was a typical wish of anyone who saw true beauty and innocence, cherished it and then witnessed it decompose, decay into a diseased mass of cruelty and cynicism.
Hobo Clown sang his song whenever he could. "A tale for a penny." Wick could safely say that she had heard all of his songs for centuries. Long enough to know each and every word of each and every song of his by her dead heart. But "A tale for a penny," remained seared in her twisted mind. If one was willing to give a story for a measly penny, then Wick was willing to give a whole roomful of gold to anyone who could return the trusting gaze back into her Frog's eyes. Sapphires and diamonds to whoever could restore the shining beautiful light that the Frog's eyes used to bear so innocently. Wick almost wished that Merrywood was in front of her. The vain woman would have done anything the Woe Maiden wished, even try to counsel another human being if that meant she would receive riches.
The worst part though was that she had been part of what made the Frog into the heartless woman she was now. She remembered that terrible day when she had been sent to punish Tamara for the poor young woman praying to God to save her. She remembered the feeling of the leather whip clenched in her hand, she remembered the horrible sound of the whip thrashing against Tamara's back, the sight of the blood seeping through the back of the young woman's dress. And worse, she remembered the look in Tamara's eyes when the young woman looked up at Wick and Wick had seen the innocence slowly fading. She now stared at the cold young woman in front of her, who was leaning over the prone corpses before them both.
Wick glanced down at the knife Tamara was holding. She recognized it. Scorpion juggled with it and threw it at cardboard cutouts all the time for laughter when he wasn't cutting up other carnies in sheer malice. It's sharp, slim blade was bathed in already drying dark blood.
"Tamara-" She started, not really sure where she planned to go with what she was about to do for the Frog, in hopes her Frog would return to the loving woman she had known before, but was interrupted with a wry and cool remark.
"Wick, please," Tamara drawled, picking the still burning cigarette out from between the prostrate Scorpion's pale lips, keeping it between her right index and middle finger, bringing it up to her own lips and puffing out a stream of dark grey smoke, "Regret isn't your color."
The black haired carnie watched as Tamara wandered off, waving with a smirk plastered over her beautiful face. The Woe Maiden then glanced down at Painted Doll and Scorpion's bodies that remained unmoving, though the cuts across the ebony haired punk's neck and around the Doll's ashen, cracked throat were beginning to heal.
"Well," Painted Doll cackled as her coagulated blood halted its movement and the wound in her throat disappeared, "It looks like our little Froggie doesn't need any more lessons. Now the Boss can graduate her to Purgatory." The Doll noticed Wick's distracted expression. "Oh, Wicky, Wicky!" Her peals of laughter shrilled through the carnival's air, "don't despair! This is for the best! We've done our jobs! The little Froggie's just learning how to swim with the scorpion's poison now. She doesn't need more to lead her on."
Wick nodded and chuckled, not allowing her "sister" carnie to see more of her pain and disappointment. She ignored the giggling of the Scorpion and Painted Doll as they nuzzled each other, licking at the blood that dried up on their skin. The Frog's independence wasn't what she was worried about. It was what little remained of the Frog's innocence that concerned her. She remembered too well when she had lost her own innocence and it dragged her right down to the bowels of this lowly place. Even a vile beast like her couldn't imagine a once gentle and naive woman like Tamara suffering like that.
But then…..innocence.….since when did God care about that?