prologue: i'm awake, i'm awake
There are no such things as demons in your head, Irina Clockworker had concluded. There are, of course, such things as making up imaginary things, and there are countless young women who claim that they have some sort of mental affliction that might earn them pity, popularity, or a man. They can make up stories of having so many conflicts in their heads, romanticizing themselves pathetically in the process as they imagine themselves carrying their own self-made crosses.
But to Irina, there's just the small bedside lamp that's on, and the taste of black coffee lingering in her mouth at 2 in the morning.
It's at the tip of her tongue, the bitter taste. It smelled better than it tasted. She remembered having her first taste of coffee when she was a few years younger and a few degrees nicer; it was a disappointment, but she gained the acquired taste soon enough.
Don't judge a book by its cover.
Of course, of all people, Irina would be the one to know that. She was older now, she was sharper now, and most importantly, she was smarter.
Ah, humans are such fragile beings. They feel too much, they are so, so fickle! Love, hate, happiness and peace, what on earth were all those? And the revolutionists! And the philosophers! And those who found grand discoveries! Oh, humans, ah, humans, look at them, laugh at their puny mediocrity as they carry on with life, thinking that they're so special, and they even decide whether they deserve to be under the shadow of a god or not! They're not special, they're unimportant, fleeting beings that live to die.
That.
That right there.
She had no time to think of condescending shit like that.
Alice, Alice, I dream that I'm Alice. I dream that I'm falling down a rabbit hole, see! Because I must chase that rabbit, for no apparent reason! If there is a reason, it's to escape my sister's boring reading, and my sister's so stupid that she didn't even notice me up and leave and fall down a hole in which I could possibly dirty my dress or die! Dinah, Dinah, wait for me, wait for me behind the looking-glass as I have tea with the Hatter and the March Hare, as I am made fun of by the flowers for not being one of them, as I am tried in court by the Queen of Hearts who wants my lovely blonde head to be separated from my body-!
That again. That right there. Delusional little piece of thinking.
Irina drank her coffee again; the cup was now warm, and so was the drink, and looked at herself in the mirror.
She is a beautiful girl, with her long, pink hair and her startling gold eyes. She is a beautiful girl, with her soft, fair skin. She is a beautiful girl; when she smiles, people love her, when she frowns, she looks less than a terror, but when she starts experimenting expressions on her lovely face, it all looks wrong. It all becomes wrong, horribly wrong, but funnily enough...
...She remains beautiful.
[ a beautiful mess? not so. there is no such thing. ]
Her bed was warm that night; she never left it. She blankly looked at the darkened pink walls of her room, at the cute bits of entertainment that she could never get bored of, and realized that there was absolutely nothing to worry about.
Nothing to worry.
Nothing to worry, when she would be cast aside one day, when her brother marries that wretched mess of a former priestess and gets some random spawn from her filthy, disgusting womb.
She'd just think on it.
Yes, think on it. Rationally.
But what is there to think about, if there's nothing?
Irina looked at her cup of coffee, half full, half empty, or just plain half of the cup (screw optimism and pessimism), and had half a mind to throw it on the floor, to see the cup smash into pieces as it bleeds black on her pink mat. The pieces would either be recognizable enough to be put back together, or if Irina stepped on them, they would scratch her fragile skin and make her draw blood, just like how it seeped out the drink it held.
That could also mean that if one person was broken, and if someone else touched a sensitive spot, they would not get out alive.
The cup was saved, saved, when a knock on the door resounded, and Irina begrudgingly got up, halted all her thoughts, and opened. If it was her elder brother, she would gather him up in her arms when he was down, she would hum songs to lull him asleep, and she would keep him in her arms and never ever let go because they both have the same blood, they both have the same mind, and she loved him.
Her hair was blonde, not brown. Perfect eyesight, not myopic. Strong, not feeble.
"A-Ah...I-Irina, I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you..."
[ you are disturbing me. if you're really sorry, impale yourself on a stake. ]
The younger of the two laughed. "Nah. I was working on something. What's up, Elly?"
"Couldn't sleep," Elluka said, fidgeting with her silk nightgown. Her golden tresses were perfect; they weren't messed up at all in sleep. "...C-Can I come in?"
"Well, sure. Misery loves company," Irina found herself laughing, letting her in.
And much to her disbelief, and utter horror, Irina gathered the blonde in her arms instead, humming songs to lull her asleep, and she kept her in her arms and never ever let go, despite not having the same blood, despite not having the same mind...
...and she hated her.
A/N: Another Evillious fic, featuring Irina Clockworker (Iroha Nekomura) as the main focus! It's mainly a characterization fic, and I'm hungry.
-Densetsu-no-Maguro.