Disclaimer: I don't own 'Lena.
Sakura-Angel: Tried something different this time around. I've never written anything focused on Elena, so I thought I might as well try. Also darker than my usual. Implied insanity? Fits somewhere into the FFVII timeline, I suppose.
Colour
When Elena was a child, she owned a beautiful doll. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips were rouged, and she wore the prettiest dress, the colour of blood on roses.
When Elena was a child, she saw the world in colour. Every colour was given a name, categorized, and called up again should she ever need it. Scab Brown. Church White (which looked particularly good against a sky of Cookie Tin Blue). Dumpster Green. She never did feel terribly imaginative.
When Elena was a child, she thought nothing of scrapes, cuts or tumbles. Because blood was nothing, right? And you could always heal.
Elena wishes she were a child again.
Her eyes betray her now and show her nothing but red. It flows from her hand in endless supply, blood not her own. It drips to the floor in fat, thick gobules, splatsplatsplat. It covers her face in the mirror, leaks from her clothes, and she is terrified of her reflection. She cannot smile because she will see blackyellowred filling the spaces between her teeth. She cannot swallow because all that travels down is slick iron and copper.
All she can do is stand in the rain and go mad, hoping it will wash her clean. She begs for it to cleanse her, hopes for it to take away the drip and the splat.
When it starts to rain red, she screams, lifts her bloodied hands to shield her bloodied head, and runs inside. It takes all she has to turn the tap.
The water gushes colourless in pity. She yelps, and thrusts her hands beneath its torrent. She rubs each finger with care, picks under every nail.
When Elena was a child, she owned a beautiful doll. Her skin was white, her eyes were coal, and she wore the prettiest dress.
The colour of blood on roses.