Broken Butterfly
Summary: Susan feels like one of the butterflies Eustace used to pin down. Drabble
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, etc.
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In a sweeping motion, Susan passes the wide brush over her face. She smiles an empty smile at her reflection in the mirror, her complexion now pale and perfect. Her eyes are dark and sorrowful, and they stay that way.
She is alone, and she knows it. Her make-up, her perfection is no longer for anyone. She will not go out today, or tomorrow, or the next day either. Her memories are her only friends, and she retreats deep into them every night to keep from crying into her pillow.
She feels like the butterflies her rotten cousin, Eustace, used to pin down and then wave in her face. She always felt a pang of sorrow for them and horror at Eustace, but within minutes she had forgotten about them again.
Now she knows how they felt, struggling for the little life they had left, flapping their wings only to be met with resistance every time. They were such beautiful creatures, full of life and joy, all of which was wasted for Eustace's amusement.
Susan knows she is worse- she is a butterfly that impaled herself on a pin. She sits, looking at the rain out the window, and knows this is all her fault. Unlike the butterflies, she brought this upon herself. And unlike the butterflies, her struggle is not just a few agonizing minutes but long, excruciating years.
She wipes a tear away from her faces as she realizes her wings no longer flutter.