What am I doing.

I really don't know what I'm doing now. It looks like I'm going off the topic that the first drabble was based on, which was pretty much Mary being a sad little girl. I'm throwing whatever I like up here, and that's not necessarily a good thing (even if I'm writing more than I used to be, and even if it's just horrible-quality drabbles too).


In an instant, whenever she wishes but more like whenever she is angered, she remembers.

Blue as mystery can portray, powerful as God. She describes her creator, her sort-of father, as that kind of person with that kind of heart. A pale human with a strange ideology and an even stranger behavior, but innocent all the same. And that innocence tried to reach out to the world, but it was blocked by the masks of society - and so, Guertena spread it out elsewhere. To a world that only loved him and nothing more...

Scowling, Mary makes circles under her feet.

An artist who loved his works eternally-

The blonde looks out the mural of Fabricated World. The frame does not vanish as she watches the movement of the real world, slightly jealous and yet always fascinated as scribbled faces and fragmented actions occur on the canvas. It doesn't help her dreams too much - what do humans really look like, she wonders. She knows they all look different. Brown hair, black hair, blue eyes, green eyes, red hair, and the list can go on forever.

She reaches a hand up against the painting - it's like touching glass as the figures continue to move under her fingertips, and her blue eyes slowly scan the other world. It's a habit, she must guiltily admit. When there's nothing to do, she walks through the pitch-black mirror of any art gallery that Fabricated World is currently displayed in, and lets go of her thoughts and frustrations for sharply observing and maybe a hint of annoyance.

Otherwise, she'll start thinking of things she never wants to. And that, she hates as much as rejection - if not more.

Mary blinks - she removes her hand as a crayon-painting drawing awkwardly walks past. A face, a messily-drawn jacket, and a scribbled mop of absurdly colored hair with a few black lines that seemed to mimic seaweed just a bit. She's surprised. Humans don't have such hair, as far as she understood their world. But she knows they could dye it to such shades. She remembers Guertena doing so once, turning his brown locks into a vivid lilac hue.

Just like the scribbled man who promptly vanishes the moment she blinks again.

And the scowl returns.


Well. Maybe the next one will be the last? Argh, I don't knooooooow.

Reviews are loved and flames are not.

~Shiroi