It's the end... Either do or die...
Rating:...T? Or M, because it's dark and ominous, but no sex.
I ought to write happier drabbles. And I ought to write more oneshots like I promised. I have two lined up right now... stay tuned?
Warning: Ambiguous ending... like... SUPER ambiguous... Angst to the max!
Murder Me with Lace and Silence
Silence.
Standing in front of the mirror, my are vacant, and I watch wearily as sun-kissed hands tug at the corset, making it impossible to breathe. My breath hitches for a moment, as I chase after that last breath that I can take until the ribbons are free again, but I don't speak. Blankly staring into the mirror, I vaguely register your motions as every single ruffle is laid into place, ever single wrinkle smoothed.
White doesn't look becoming on me. I look too pale, too sickly.
"Lady Fabray?"
"Yes, Santana? Just call me Quinn. You always call me Quinn."
You part your lips, but nothing comes out. It hurts.
For a moment, I let my gaze wander, only to find it locked onto dark brown eyes, reflected in the mirror.
You aren't smirking. I crave the smirk you always wear, now that I've lost it.
Instead, there is an unreadable look on you face, those usually fierce features betraying nothing. Only you eyes offer a glimmer of some life, the ghost of what you used to be. There's fear... worry... regret...
This isn't you... where are you, Santana? Why aren't you holding me, kissing me into the deep dark night, into ungodly hours just before the chapel bells clamour, and telling me it's finally time to run away like you promised we would?
Silence hangs thick in the air as you averts your eyes, looking straight into the mirror for the sixth time to ensure the collar heavy on my neck is exactly straight. And it is. Not even a fraction to the left or the right, and not a single unwelcome wrinkle. You're never less than perfect. Never were, and never will be.
As you turn to retrieve another piece of the ensemble, you catch me staring at you through the mirror again. You stop. I look away.
For the longest time, I can feel that stare burning deep into me. I can feel the way that it's passionate, angry even. You want me to say something, but we both know I can't.
At long last, you return to fixing my endless layers of cloth, and I return to watching you.
I can't exactly tell what you want to say, nor can I say what I want to say. Or perhaps it is simply that I do not dare guess, and do not dare speak. I fear the answer is what I believe it to be, and yet I fear it is not what I believe it to be...
Love is contradicting.
How did love even come to be? I can't even remember when we started holding hands, or when you kissed me for the first time. It feels like it's been forever, and yet it still feels as fresh as yesterday. When was the first night you held me in my sleep, shielded me from the evils of the night? And when was the first time you made love to me in the dark�
I see you holding a thin piece of lace. Probably some sort of decoration to complete the doll I now resemble.
Why am I being married off again? I can't remember. My father's words remain out of reach. Even the name of my husband-to-be escapes my mind. I'm not me, and will never be. I can't, not without you.
I swallow as you hold the lace against my neck, and suddenly I can sense murder in your eyes. I can tell you're struggling between killing me to stop your nightmare... our nightmare... or to let me live and let the nightmare continue. You hold it tighter against my neck, the soft curves of the cloth seemingly cutting deep into my skin. Perchance I am bleeding, but perchance, it is only what I wish for.
I close my eyes, but whether in fear or anticipation, I know not.
Your nightmare is my nightmare.
I feel it close, close, close, biting at my skin.
I don't scream, I'm not scared. Not with knowing that I'd be falling into your arms before I fall into an everlasting darkness.
Suddenly, I feel your lips pressing against mine. I don't open my eyes though, because I feel the lace tighten around my neck. I can't tell whether you're fastening the choker, or actually choking me.
I refuse to cry though, because I'd rather leave now, than walk through these wooden doors of my room, through the corridor, and into the hall downstairs, and leave you forever. I'm not scared when you're with me. And I don't want to imagine life without you.
Listen, Santana... Follow my last order... Murder me with lace and silence.
