A scent of chamomile.
She loved it so, didn't she? Always sitting down with a cup of tea, legs crossed and smile withdrawn. Her silky hair cascading down her back in ripples, dipped in rainbows and yellowed like old parchment. Her soft eyes, submissive and flickering from side to side, as if constantly in a state of uncertainty. She would curl her dainty fingers round the cup and lift it gingerly to her lips, eyes fluttering shut as it traveled down her throat. She was so delicate, like a doll. Propped up on a shelf and piled in pretty, frilly things, but only collecting dust. A doll with a pretty little face. A doll with no voice.
A doll that belonged to her only. Her own little bundle of lavender and chamomile.
"I'm so happy I've gotten to sing so much lately. I feel like a real Vocaloid now!" the porcelain bird chirped. A gentle laugh rang out of her lips, like a skipping, antiquated record. "I'm sure I'll be even busier after my release." Busy? No... That couldn't be. Because she was a doll, a doll that belonged to her only, and that she wouldn't give up for anything in the world. Eyes drinking in the others ethereal form, with its milky skin and limbs like chopsticks. All of it...was a plaything of hers, to do whatever she wished with.
A hand rose to lean against her own soft cheek, brushing past thick blonde hair. It curled and wisped and wound and twirled every which way. A great big cloud of dusty gold, and she hated it so. Despite her apprehensions, a small smile rose on her lips. "I'm happy for you. I know that's what you wanted most." Her words poured out like viscous honey, but beneath that, they were stiff and lifeless. Forced? No, perhaps not; that would be too mild of a word for it.
She hated the idea.
Her little bird began to laugh again, face pinkening and amber eyes screwing up and shutting in delight. Feeling like an old movie, repeating in an endless loop of nostalgia. It made her want to vomit, but she only widened her smile further, eyes lidding warmly. She was...the girl's 'prince', right? Wasn't that the word she had used? Such a helpless darling, always falling into such troubling situations. But she found it anything but that, falling more and more in love with the rust-smeared marionette every time. Each laugh more timid than the last, each limb just waiting to be snapped. She wanted to own all of her darling, and make sure that no one would ever take that from her.
It hurt. More than anything, it stung. She wanted to reach into her chest and rip her heart out, just so that the sensation would go away. And then she'd hold it in her hand and squeeze, watching the dark, pulpy blood spill down her pale fingers. And it would be funny! She'd begin to laugh, tears spilling out of her eyes and slopping down her cheeks. She'd take her heart and kiss it, and then crush it beneath her shoe.
She had wanted to help the girl, to care for her. Because no one had done that for her. Left alone to fend for herself and smile through the criticism that she could never seem to swallow. How could they? Surely the other Vocaloids got even more than her, but they always seemed to keep that composed smile. So she put one on, doing her best to please everyone, even if it drained her of all energy and purpose. Even if there was no end in sight, because, after all, Vocaloids never die. She became her darling's white knight, shielding her from all the bad and helping her up when she needed it. And in doing so, she realized just how fragile her dear really was.
Taking Mayu's precious little wrists in her fingers and crushing them, bones shattering into a million tiny little flower petals. Because Vocaloids don't die. Whatever she does, her darling will only be repaired. Stitched back together and given a weak smile, and forced back out onto the stage in her outdated, graying dresses. Kissing away the tears on her cool, soft cheeks while gently entwining her fingers about her princess's neck, she'd whisper quiet 'I love you's to the silence. Because, no matter what, she'd always be the prince. The 'knight', who never meant any harm.
Even as she drowned in lust and envy, she was dyed a pure white.
A broken form lay at her feet, hair pooling and twisted limbs sprawled out uselessly. The child lifted her head – that lovely little face... – and began to cry. How pathetic. Had she cried, when they had called her cheap, a copy, low quality? Her eyes stung with hatred, but her smile remained unassumingly kind. She knelt down to the other, brushing red stained hair out of her round, amber eyes. "Shhh, my dear... Don't cry, don't cry." Her tone was patronizing, but in such a state, she doubted the other would be able to tell. "They'll only love you more now, right?" She pressed her lips against the others smooth cheek, tasting salt mixed with a metallic flavor.
The bird hiccuped and began to choke, shuddering helplessly. How beautiful she looked, so broken and weak. Entranced, she hungrily devoured the others lips. They were plump, like the persimmons she loved to eat, but with a subtle flavor of tea and honeyed cakes. Unable to suppress it, her princess let out a soft moan. How delicious. She shifted and began to suck and kiss on Mayu's neck, attention traveling down as the other became louder. "I know...that I love you more, like this," she hummed into the reddening flesh, which was moist with her own saliva. "You're so cute."
Her broken little darling, shattered and bleeding, closed her eyes in defeat. Her breaths came in shallow, trembling gasps for a bit, before they ceased altogether. Left behind was a doll, her very own plaything. And until they realized their little star was out cold, she had all the time she liked to enjoy her. She sat up and wrapped her arms around the others head, holding it to her chest. It felt so gentle, and she couldn't help but let out a sigh. Her darling, her little porcelain princess, would only ever look at her. Even if her eyes were glassy, that didn't matter. Because no one would ever, could ever, take that away.
Even the sweet, lingering scent of chamomile...