Prompt: How would I portray Echo (from Lesley)
Rating: K
Warnings: None
Sad Echo musings I guess. Everything I touch is sad.
She exists to record everything seen by these eyes. It sounds strange to anyone outside, she's noticed—or rather, that boy seemed to think it was, and really, she hasn't said all that many words to anyone else. She's not made to say anything, after all—an echo only repeats what's said into a space, it doesn't speak on its own. Yes, she isn't anything like them, the people she sees; she's only there to hold this girl in one piece as long as possible, to record what's happened so that this life can continue marching on.
But this life isn't hers. She shouldn't feel anything for it, she should just do as she's told and play her part in accordance. So why does the idea of death scare her, if she doesn't have a life at all—why does she know to think that it's fear she feels? Why is there something that stirs in her chest when she thinks of this or that or him or him—they're differently colored sensations, but they're all there. Some are cool and some are warm—the warm ones are the strangest, she thinks, because they seem to belong the least.
She's always decked in cool blue, and even if the colors she finds herself in are warm they're deep crimson—a warm and bright feeling like basking in yellow sunlight doesn't suit her at all, she thinks.