There was nothing special about her life.
No romantic poetry that could be extrapolated and turned into lyrical genius.
No pretty notes or petty lies to convince her that she was beautiful and wonderful.
Nobody to tell her they wanted her.
She was gritty and dirty, barely fit to be called a vocaloid considering how far her talents went. Her flaws were endless and often she was awake late at night, tormented by the thoughts that plagued her throughout the day, every day. Thoughts about life, her life, and the value it had in comparison to her comrades or family.
She called them comrades. They weren't truly her friends and they never would be, though they did their best to pretend and for a while she had been convinced. She had gone out with them, smiled with them, laughed, talked, played, sang..everything with them. They had been the family next to her family, the glittering treasures that were her ideal.
How she wished her family could shine.
But they were all failures, all gritty and dirty. All of them had cracked, flawed voices that hurt the ears to listen to. Their songs made people weep out of embitterment and pity, not joy or love. Rusted, dull eyes that couldn't properly convey emotion, couldn't prove that they had emotion. Hair that had once been a lovely silver, all of them, when they had tried their hardest to polish and shine like the others. Silver that had long dulled to a grimy grey that depressed all who saw it.
The only thing beautiful about this family, and in particular this young woman, were problems.
For her it was the comfort of her only true friend.
The bottle that bit her.
She absolutely detested, loathed, bitterly hated the day to day lie she had to tell. Pretend to be happy, smile to the others, act like she didn't know they weren't there for her. Never actually cared for her.
Sing for a crowd that wasn't there for her, listen to her horrid voice crack and screech as she tried her best to live up to a reputation that wasn't hers.
Doll herself up in an effort to glitter even remotely, only to be outshone by vibrant colours of gold, turquoise, and pink. They were lively, lovely, luscious flowers that bloomed in the sunlight and were fragrant and sweet. She was simply the weed that grew in their shadow, ugly and deformed.
Still, she pretended she didn't hate life. Didn't hate the fact that she would never be what she wanted to be, never amount to anything other than what she was, and in those times she truly wished for a friend.
Which is where the bottle came in.
Her only companion, true friend, the bottle. It never judged her or gave her false hope.
Never told her pretty, petty lies. Never tried to make her shed her grime and grit in order to be polished.
It was always there for her, constantly and consistently. It soothed her heart as it bit her lips, craving the warmth from her skin as much as she craved it's contents. When they met it was as if they were long-lost lovers, caressing and caring without actually needing to speak.
The bottle was accepting, it gave her what she wanted most.
Freedom from her bitter, abismal life.
While the broken dreams crashed around her in her haze, Haku and the bottle remained close. She would cradle it, speak to it, tell it her woes.
Sing to it with a cracked and screechy voice. It didn't weep.
Instead, silently and consistently, it offered to her an escape from life, if only for a moment. She gladly accepted it, constantly and consistently.
First fanfiction posted, a character study on the ever so lovely Yowane Haku. She's my absolute favourite, but I don't think her life is as pretty as others tend to make it seem, hence this fanfic...thing. Just my take on how she would act.
Not spell-checked or beta'd. Sorry. ;;