Perfection meets Perfectionist

Archive #20 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: does it sound familiar?

A stargazer's lover

-----------------------------

Everyone loves differently,

from my way of devotion to your potential declaration of adoration.

In a way, we are all lovers, but just from different lengths and brightness.

Our constellations of mistakes and greatness form scars in our skin; you may find it repulsive,

but a stargazer out there would exchange their skin— a blank canvas that has not touched a single stroke of our paintbrushes, to trace their fingertips against our lines of stars.

We are lovers,

an ocean of sea pebbles that appear all the same at first glance, but compliment each other so well in our strack contrasts.

The lines on our skin,

the clearness of thought,

the dark that surrounds our huddled position in the universe.

It is lovers like us that shine in the darkness. We see light and colour, like a canvas of the brightest of skies.

Archive #29 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: can you believe I wrote this one on instagram? lmao being a writer is weird. enjoy!

Mágoa

------------------------------------

Our love was like home to me. It felt like a physical place for my mentality to lie.

On days where the world seemed colder, I seek warmth near the fireplace— cuddling up with blankets and hot cocoa. On days where it was spring, I would be dancing on the deck over seeing our garden— you always believed dancing is best in silence, the only sound was careless whispering to each other. Such sweet nothings filled our house with warmth and my heart with comfort.

Of course, it was never easy— the belongings in our home were the memories and bonds we have made and shared together. If it wasn't for me, the house would be bare to the bone— only left with the original wallpaper that you put up after breaking down my walls.

I know you tried, and you would visit the house as much as you could— but we both knew deep down it wasn't enough. Soon, it wasn't only the world that seemed colder; my breath is shaky as I puffed out frost from my lungs. The fireplace was no longer used, even when I tried multiple times with the damn lighter you gave me. Our garden started to wilt, and home felt more like a distant memory.

But the belongings were still here— and so I kept them near me at all times. Hugging them to my chest like it provided me with the warmth and care I needed, ignoring the distinct coolness that came off it every passing day.

'When will you return home?' was the question I used to always ponder. 'Am I bad at maintaining our home?' I scrunched up my face in frustration. It started raining a lot during that time, it was salty— and made the skin of my cheeks feel dry afterwards.

One day, it stopped raining. Warmth came back— tenfold— but the fireplace wasn't the source. The draping wallpaper had caught on fire, I guess I have sparked the lighter a little too close to the dangling pieces of wallpaper above the fireplace.

How did I not notice the fire? I don't know. I think I have always seen a spark, but mistook it for hope instead.

The fire consumed everything in the house, even climbing out onto the wilted garden.

I managed to get out… But barely. I was harmed, yes. But people came to my rescue— I was safe. I was hurt. I felt sick, our home was getting destroyed and I could only helplessly stand back and watch it burn.

The only two choices I had left were to either stand there and watch it burn, becoming homeless without shelter— or walk away, and build my own house. I reluctantly pulled away at my spot outside the burning house, turning my back and glancing behind me a couple of times.

And then that's where I saw you.

You stood at the entrance of the house. Your foot edging past the door and threatening to enter the burning building. You looked back at me, beckoning me to follow you.

I felt a million emotions. You probably didn't understand what I was feeling— the fear of false hope, the desperation for that second chance, the dread of seeing your face again. I thought back to our memories, and how a lot of them were destroyed by the fire— you didn't remember them at all.

You were giving me mixed emotions, you didn't look certain to be where you are, but you didn't move.

Was this the second chance I was so desperate for?

Do I follow you in?

You seem to be completely different and just the same as I once knew you all at the same time. You must have lost your way, your visible scars prove so. Maybe… I could help. I could help somehow, what can I salvage? Is that why you're wanting to enter the house? Are you wanting to retrieve the remaining belongings?

I rushed towards you, following you in. If I just save the things we both loved in that house, maybe we can restart as something new— maybe just a small vegetable garden, or an ash tree.

The smoke blinded me, I have lost you in the smoke. But I knew what to do, I didn't lose my way. I reached and grasped at what I could, wincing at the heat. When I neared a window, I saw your left hand holding one of our more newer possessions— while your right hand held our oldest possession. I was confused, you were outside— don't you want the others?

I guess you got cold feet, too scared of the flames to salvage the rest. You left, after I hesitantly stared back at you— your eyes begging me to follow you once more.

I was burning up, I was lost. What have I done? I have caused more pain for myself. I gave you a second chance and ran into a burning building to save the things I loved. But you didn't save me.

I escaped the collapsing house, leaving the belongings behind in the fire.

Archive #28 | copyright to saturnsfairycat

Author's note: this one literally just came to me while I was in the middle of a conversation with @raccoonboy321 on instagram lmao what - anyway enjoy!

Dead Muse

---------------------

I wrote so much about you, my poetry on the walls, and scattered across my room.

I know so much about you, words can only be used as personifications because simplicity is absentminded in your presence.

I read into it too deep, I forget to drop the pen sometimes and my hand cramps up in the same position for the longest of times.

Too sore to stretch out my worn fingers, too hesitant to stop.

What if I forget you? How else am I supposed to remember you?

The feeling of pain is exhilarating as I scratch bloody ink onto paper, dizzy from all the emotions, it spills out in splotches instead of brainstorms.

I get overwhelmed by all the ways to describe you, my imagination runs wild at the thought of moments we can share together.

Can? Or did?

Wait,

Did that even happen?

I forcefully pause as I stare at my writing,

They are just words, nothing more.

I glance down at my bloody fingers in confusion,

What were you like? I don't remember.

But I wrote it down—

Fuck,

I don't remember if that was how you are as a person, or if that's how I wanted you to be.

I thought I knew you, but we barely even held eye contact long enough for you to see my inky tears.

I thought I wrote a lot about you, but all these words— these words are merely personifications of how absentminded you are.

The emotions are so strong, because the blood that draws from where my pen scratches into my own skin are the words.

I don't even remember the last time you smiled at me.

"He smiles at me every time he sees me."

I don't even remember the last time I saw him.

Words, on my pieces of paper.

Useless.

And still on my walls,

And scattered across my floors;

Haunting my simplicity

As my hand stays in the same position,

Archive #27 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: poem!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but I really focused on the structure for this one, as it is one of the many ways of conveying feeling. lemme know what you think! enjoy >:D

Alexithymia

-----------------------------

back then I couldn't remember the last time I was happy without trying to link it back to you.

every shining moment of mine was your stage and moment.

made me think that my life was taken over by someone who never truly tried to talk to me about me and how I impact their life.

empty words, empty promises, god and I was desperate falling for it all.

to imagine someone who was great with flaws was just broken, nothing more.

the inner thoughts I had when it came to your actions makes me curl up into a ball in disgust and shame.

how does one really mess up so badly it causes that much pain?

do you even get how that even works?

that reaction alone is scary enough as it is. you seem to know everything about trauma and bad bad things,

so tell me, if you're just a collector to all of them feelings,

and I am just your keeper of your unwanted feelings.

my present and future is looking at my past in such pity it's levelled to how I feel about you.

you ruined someone who tried to help you out,

gave all their patience, love and laughs,

for something that wasn't even recycled-

just waste.

like a floating useless oxygenated suit in space.

you know, one oxygen tank isn't enough to keep going just to get the same result every time.

the kindness, and emotions, I had before the consequences of being naive,

were wasted on such premature things.

I can't look at anything the same anymore.

no more butterflies, and no more pain.

I wished I had saved that bit of extra kindness, and patience, I had for myself.

that extra bit was like the best biscuit you left just for yourself.

that was the last time I was ever selfish,

and I regret it

so

so

much.

I can't even- set boundaries without seeming like the bad guy,

who wanted space

and to be loved just the very same.

if I had treated me like how I treated you, I would've been so much better,

as a person whose been through hell and probably more even later on.

I can't even get exposure from you because you wouldn't listen,

you can't even let me get closure for me because you couldn't get the same from those who you blamed.

Archive #26 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: this one is structured differently again! Hope you enjoy <3

Widdiful God

----------------------

Careless, I produced a creation of immorality that will suffer.

The kind that could be bodied by water, fluid but firm as it forms from the bits of the deep. Reverence is not necessary when accidents linger at the callouses like finger tips brushing by. The balance between satisfaction and impotent frustration is like someone glued to pick at their skin. The protective barrier against the world from their insides, how essence would destroy something meant to rot like a short-lived flower.

Imperfection does little to ease, nevertheless I'm not bothered by such.

What a pitiful romancer, lies like liquid gold that cannot be kept inside hearts. If bodies were a vessel, would we attempt to pour such dignitary metals down our throat? Cauterized to boiled red and brittle ash would not provoke an unheeding egocentric demiurge. Alas, the hope I seek to be content with mere attainment is inevitably a fiasco. Meagre creation? Don't make me laugh. An imposter with comparable flesh and bone could withdraw your assiduous remarks.

Amaranthine that I have arise is neither human nor being-- but a perception of my own feelings galvanized by lamentable evocation.

Impetuous upon the beginning, resolute by the void of time. Shall I hold my sentiments as my child self for eternity is certainly the supposed plan. To betray myself for the heavens of promises will encourage me to imperil.

Perfection meets Perfectionist #5 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: this one is definitely heavy. and VERY taken out of context, it is a continuation of the current storyplot, but just very well ahead into the story. enjoy!

Snow Cones

----------------------

It was 2 am, when I heard you scream.

I could tell that it was from the top of your lungs. As if all the rage and frustration finally let itself free from years of resentment.

My body shook to the core, the feeling of my hairs standing up at the back of my neck made my blood turn cold. I was beyond afraid, but the thought of you in danger wasn't the only thing that came across my mind. There was a hint of insanity in your shriek, the echo afterwards screamed "revenge". Legs shaking, weak to the bone-- it took a lot to get me to move.

Will I be able to save you? Was the question. Will I be able to stop you? Was the answer.

If you continuously smash against a mirror, cracking it to pieces… at what point, do you stop? At what point, do you apologise and mend your wounds? If all the reflections were painted red, what's the difference in living now than being in hell? Your hatred can be smelt miles away. The crunching noise of your shoes under sharded glass as you kick and fling your arms to the ground with rage. The odd placements of hair was soaking under the blood that poured from your scraped skin. The skin on your arms was like a cracked mirror, in sections of shards threatening to break off completely. You yelled as you flung yourself on your knees, your eyes squinted as you winced at the cuts and impalement-- but still determined and blinded as you throw your hands up to the heavens. You looked down before you, at the frame of which held a quarter worth of what was left from destruction, hands clenching to one big, tight fist.

If a prayer wasn't suppose to be passive, this was the best demonstration I have ever seen. I could barely move. You were in a completely different world, and it felt as if I was just watching through a window, like some sort of sick movie. Do I have to smash through windows to reach you, too? I try to take a step forward, fighting with my voice as I briefly let out a peep of sound. Nothing was heard from you, I bet not even the sound of your heart banging on your rib cage could be acknowledged by you. Will I be able to stop you? The answer was also a question.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, as you let your fist ride the heavens down to earth, gaining purposeful speed as you opened your eyes. The crashing sound of flesh and bone against glass was sickening, like listening to a bone saw cutting through someone's skull. There was a moment of silence. Where you stayed still. It appeared that you were enjoying the quiet, or perhaps, the sound of more blood gushing out of yourself.

It was the perfect time for me to move.

But how can I? When I have been watching this whole time? How could I find the audacity to save you now, when I couldn't even stop you?

Then there was a sound. Not a very loud one, but it grew in intensity as you threw your head back to the starry night. You laughed as bloody tears poured down your face, as a pool of your own blood surrounded you like a ritual circle. You laughed even when your voice cracked, you laughed even when you saw me. What was the look you gave me as you laughed at my face?

"Pathetic."

You eventually stop laughing. Your face turns cold as you continue to stare at me.

"Leave, February." I step a step back on instinct, the shock of your seemingly normal voice made my finger tips feel like ice. "I said go." I look with desperation in your eyes, they appear… normal. Have you realised I was here the whole time? Just… watching? Words finally escape my throat. "Etta, please-".

"I said leave, February. You saved me once, and I am thankful. But you can't save me for the second time, so just let me go."

I love you. And for the longest time I did not know whether it was platonic… or, something more. The conflict of the choices-- legally, I can't just let you be. But in terms of bonds, this is probably aligned for us at the get-go. The feeling I felt when I was around you, like I was able to help-- like I made a difference in your life and you felt the difference. If the effort and time I spent was really worth it, then how come it all came down to this? Haven't I given enough? All this time, when I thought I was being selfless-- have I truly been selfish?

"Etta, look… I. I don't know how to convince you to let me stay by your side. H-however, I do know that we're in our twenties. We're p-proper adults! We can make heart shaped pizzas around this time of night when we have watched too many movies, or eat snow cones earlier than we usually do-- or buy all the available awful muffins you like at the cafe. We can go climb snowy mountains or attempt to find Atlantis. We're not 17 anymore, we can do anything we want by our comfort levels…. a-and, I can't do all of this if you bleed out slowly, in the front of the abandoned building behind our apartment complex. I cannot fix you. But I can convince you to do it yourself."

I have managed to walk slowly towards you while I blurted out sentences from the back of my mind. My eyes hovering above yours as tears drop down to meet yours on your bloody cheeks.

"Just let me in that big broken mind of yours, and I promise it will get better." I cup their cheek slightly, determined and shaking. You close your eyes for a moment, eyelashes fluttering from my breath blowing onto your face. My heart pounds in my chest as I nervously survived through the long silence. The longer, the better. I swore I heard sirens in the distance approaching, though it is too soon for that just yet. I called as soon as you left my apartment, because the deranged look in your eyes made me think of death himself. I just need to stall as long as possible. I may not be able to stop you, but I can still answer a question whose answer is also a question.

"Alright." Your eyes met mine once more. The look behind your eyes was good enough for me to stand back and sigh with relief. I turn around for a second, avoiding to grit my teeth in front of you as I fought back tears. I may be selfish, but it is love's doing. I heard scraping noises behind me, in which made me smile because it sounds like you were slowly standing up. One baby step at a time, darl.

"You know how we always have snow cones on your birthday?"

I turn around as I hummed my answer, in which I forcefully stop as I gasp in horror. You have scraped all the small broken glass from the concrete, and cupped it in your sore hands levelled to your mouth.

Archive #25 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: this one is slightly different, more abstract and structured. let me know what you think - enjoy!

God is dead, long live mortality

-----------------------------------------

I believe it has come to my attention that I have to re-introduce myself. For it seems, even you cannot recognise me.

A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my name is the same-- but my heart beats in a different rhythm.

Freedom is a broad topic that even god may not be familiar with. Being stuck with mortals for the rest of their existence sounds anything but like freedom, from my own record. Who cares about greed and lust, anyway?

Alas, I've been impaled by the sin of pride-- I can drown all who have wronged me with my complexity. Some mortals believe in me, while others dare to look the other way. But when the world starts to burn, when the envy takes over your precious innocent blood, I am the one who slips off your sly tongue.

Admit it, you can't stand me, can you? Or is it, that you've fallen for a god? My my, call me the devil if you will-- but that is quite the ironic name to give to your lord and savior, isn't it?

Archive #24 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: coincidentally, this piece reminds me of this song:

Maybe I am their secret ghost writer (I am kidding). Enjoy!

Bedroom Creature

-------------------------

I am one with my room.

I pace back and forth Below my dream catcher and sketches, Picturing a life where I am never bored. Bored? Bored, the thought echoes. I'm tired of wasting Time and embracing My thoughts when I have things to do.

The red string from my Christmas Hangs above my yarn and needles. Humming and refracting; Spending too much time thinking. I contemplate the world's actions Whilst it ignores my pleas.

I can sing and dance but If it takes one person to drag me back down, I would rather it being my future self Than someone who would drain My pouring faucet heart.

An endless supply of care and need, Drank and left empty; A desert in my awakening. I am gullible, For I am in need.

Stuff my insides with stuffing, Zip my mouth shut under my trophies. My glass eyes amongst my soft toys, Left pickering over nothing.

Papers and memories scattered on my floor, If I dwell too long lying face down then I shall be One with dead strands of hair on carpet.

Does art scare you? Abstract or realism? I am left to ponder whether whose who hate different Are different and just don't know how to Paint themselves black and white.

A person is a person until they can't be; Art can be anything even when it can't be. Hence the squiggly lines on maths papers. How innocent yet invasive, Squiggly lines did nothing wrong. We draw squiggly lines all the time- I imagine for the chaos in my brain to be drawn this way.

Black, White, Blue, Green, Purple.

My inner thoughts and rants are not just static, But I wish for it to be splashes of crashing colours. I don't intend to sort and organise My papers into folders Because my room is already one.

Archive #23 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: yep... this one is definitely more intense than the rest. So it definitely deserves a debrief. Debrief: NSFW !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I don't wanna be cancelled thank u). Warnings: gore, mentions of cannibalism, torture, strong imaginary. Probably 16+ MINIMUM. Anyway happy meal lmao

Being Vegan

-----------------------------------

I'm thirsty,

drowning in the sea of blood.

None of that quenches me, none of it satisfies me.

Fuck,

I'm so thirsty.

I need a beating heart,

a live one.

I'm hungry,

A pile of organs at my disposal, cursing me with famine.

Your heart on my platter,

I devour it whole like a cowardly beast whose starved beyond saving.

Starved?

I'm so starved.

Hold me,

for all the love in the world, hold me.

You are my last meal on death row, my last moments in heaven.

My bones ache at the emptiness I feel,

My marrow sucked dry from the greedy.

I wear your bite marks in my flesh like a jewel, a crown to behold.

The hunger never subsides, your skin never healed.

If I bore my eyes out for you,

Would you see your starved reflection as you stare?

Forget all olives that reside in your gardens,

Use them,

My eyeballs,

Pickled for your drinks.

I do not wish to waste,

For I will grow sick if I consume rotten meat.

But it is hard not to admire such beauty that your anatomy frames.

And I cannot refrigerate you, it will ruin the taste.

…

…

…

Am I going crazy?

This is beyond lust, beyond hunger.

For I cannot see a world without your eyes sewn shut.

Is this lifetime not for me?

I do not wish to be another guinea-pig, a test subject for-

A play,

An orchestra,

A script,

A role.

You are my crime, my will to live.

My bones ache because my sensitive teeth make me wince,

Sinking into your flesh,

Chipping my canines from biting into your hip bone.

I want to saw my skull in half,

Detach half of my brain,

and place one of your halves to fill the void.

I want to clench a fistful of your hair,

staring into your hollow eye sockets.

Does bruised skin taste different from fair skin?

I'm finished, I cannot move on.

Your nails dig into my intestines, twisting them to make me gag.

For gods sake, stop tormenting me.

I would devour you in a heartbeat,

But you would rather savour me;

My rotting flesh,

Cursing your tongue.

Are you not afraid of hunger, you starved animal?

Bite me, rip me, end me.

For I will love you, a thousand times over,

Archive #22 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: short one this one, but hope you enjoy!

Pinewood

---

We are nothing at all.

...

...

But,

I would still answer your call, Even if it was in the middle of the night, 10 past five in the morning, And you're in trouble.

I would drop the world that I cup in my hands to save you from the dark. But when I'm alone and it gets cold, And I asked you for matches, You don't even lend me one.

You say that my cheeks are red so I must be warm, But I'm sick of bleeding to stain their appearance.

If I was the last tree standing in a snowy embrace of forever winter, Would you still chop me down even if I provided you with shelter?

You're cold, you complain; I'm tired, I don't say.

Even as a strong tree, I will never get to see the day where my leaves welt, and my trunk's spirals are too many to count. For my roots will stay clinging to the soil,

While my branches' ashes are coughed out

From your lungs into the cold,

Archive #21 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: Hi guys! Back to poems, hope you enjoy this one :)

Your Boathouse

I feel so close, and yet so far; I fear that my voice is caught behind the door. Latched to the door knob, panic strikes in me again; I struggle too hard, not finding my balance. Everything around me shakes except for the hard slam of the door.

I feel your warmth in my arms, But I feel so empty in the imaginary embrace. Through the door's window, I can see you on the other side. But can I, really? I hear the sound of waves crashing against the door; I wish I could just merely whisper to you: "Open the door," But I'm met with echoes of a key clicking, locking the question away. Silence as an answer serves as the final act of deliverance.

But why not?

Do you fear that the currents will send me away? Exertion is my strategy when it comes to connection; I long for you in my curious nature, the odd attraction draws me closer.

We know that we swim in different boats, But I'm willing to swim against the currents To sit in your boat for a little while. Leaving my ship unattended moments at a time, Back and forth each day from my boat to yours. My legs willingly carrying the burden of shame, My desperation in attempts of calming my inner child As you feed it glimpses of affection.

Somedays I fear that I may not have a boat to return to. How did I stray so far that I return back to the beginning? Looking through a glass window; a pigeon at heart. How many times do I slam against the glass Before I tell apart reality and my delusions? Would it be my heart or the window to shatter first? Piercing into my soul, breaking down your walls; I fear I only see segments of your cracked window. How long before you let me in through the door?

You let me onto your boat, But I only feel welcomed for so long Before you nudge me to swim with the flow. I'm young, through and through, But I still feel older than everyone I am surrounded by.

Am I a mere fish to your personification? An easy catch before throwing me back into the water? My lungs don't expand in your environment, But I saw the sun through your life. Returning to the water, it is darker down here. Sunlight is seen as a disadvantage when trying to hide in the big blue, But light is seen as an advantage in pure darkness.

Down in the depths, Are you just another anglerfish? At least consume my entire being, rather than just getting a taster. I can hold you, but for only a few forbidden moments.

One day, I will return to my boat, But only driftwood would be left for me. I dug this grave in this wooden pile, Splitters and all, As a reminder of my priorities. I raise my strained hand in longed hesitance.

Knock knock

The deathly silence leaves me slow dancing with my thoughts in the dark. The voices, they mock at my repetition. I fall beyond tired, Exhaustion is my excuse as the final act of deliverance. My legs cannot handle the weight of shame any longer.

Archive #20 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: this is sequel to the post from yesterday! hope you enjoy like @v-for-venus did :)

Knight in sheep's clothing

--------------------------------------------------------

Night of the ball, the one day that has been long awaited for by me as a child. The warm lights showering down upon those who are dancing and laughing. Groups of smartly dressed couples and nobles laughing and talking while holding glasses of champagne. Gowns of all colour-- velvet material that feels like silk when touched. Curls and pearls, bow ties and shoulder pads.

So why, in Lord’s name, am I dreading this evening?

Perhaps, it’s because I have been shooting down the idea of meeting princes there. Princes- not prince. The meeting obviously didn’t go well, I managed to convince that the lowly, egotistical, greedy man wasn’t good enough for the daughter of the Northern kingdom. Of course, in the back of my throbbing mind-- a perfect man came up as a suggestion instead. They are absolutely no man, though.

They are my prince, my perfect angel. My knight in shining armour.

But alas, who am I kidding? I could never inform my parents that I’ve fallen in love with someone that wasn’t even a nobleman. Which is why, the ball’s date was moved forward with more urgency. I must admit, I was excited to have been able to pick out my gown. Pink with diamond stars climbing their way up to the waistline, puffy with lace and silk-- ribbons tightening the package, to be sent off as a pretty present to a prince that I will never love. This present doesn’t belong to anyone’s hand, but I am willing to be unwrapped by a certain curly-haired swordsperson.

I should probably get dressed. If it was up to my maids, they would have been fussing over me-- but I’ve sent them on a wild goose chase. “But alas, I cannot even begin to change! How could I, if I can’t be in the very presence of my family’s heirloom? It’s plated with emeralds and sapphire, gold and white gold that can shine through any evil-- my mother said I should wear it to the ball! But it’s not here! You must fetch it, otherwise I will not even look at my gown or shoes.”

The panic on their face is still lingering in the back of my mind, making me smile away the frown. Demanding orders in such a commanding manner, queen material-- am I wrong? But if I have to marry in order to rule my own kingdom, then the royal blood is not for me. Even if my future spouse may be in the crowd at the ball, face covered with a mask, hidden from my judgmental eyes. I will not tolerate anyone that isn’t my true love.

Where would they be now, right this moment? Would they be on patrol? Would they be on their steed, ready to gallop into the night if I had asked?

…It seems that I have made up my mind. Ignoring my gown, I rip myself out of the “princess” dress I was currently in. Knocking over the tower of useless gifts, I swing open my closet door to ponder on what dress is best fit. I ought to impress her, they would be in shock if I were to ask them to leave with me with no such plan. Perhaps…

I’m taking too long.

I grab at the dress that has been calling out to me, while it might not be the best in terms of decency. It would be enough to distract my knight over the more obvious of things. Perhaps, it might be best to change undergarments as well, to further match the motive I am trying to get across. Annoyed by the fact that only the princes got the dress code of wearing a mask, the literal princess did not get such a dress code that matched the theme. Who planned this ball, anyway?

I need to cover my identity… My eyes tinkle at the moonlight, shining down at the rough fabric of a cloak. The cloak-- ivy green with the visual of the dark forestry from my window, had lace stitched onto the hooded area. The handwork, of course-- by my very own lover. This is perfect.

Well, I did not know what I expected.

If they were on patrol, of course other knights would be, too. You idiot! I’m cornered, I managed to circle back to the one place I did not want to go. The ball was being held in the glass houses, mainly the largest glass house. Its purpose is solely for dancing and parties, so the glass house was designed for much so. Everyone would be able to see me if I were to approach too close, but here I am-- being surrounded by knights as my back is pressed against the entrance of the ball.

“Halt! Now that you are cornered, reveal yourself!”

I swallowed hard, gritting my teeth as I was unable to see the faces of my knights as the hood did well in hiding my dignity.

“My my, I don’t think that’s how you ask a lady to show her skin now, is it?”

Smirking, I only wish to see their stunned faces. But what now, your royal majesty? You don’t need to see far to know that their footsteps are coming closer, probably pointing their spears and swords at you with much caution. What now?!

“What is the meaning of this?”

A different voice? Much mellow, yet strong in tone? I find my balance in my legs once more just before the doors open to the gates of my hell. I am greeted by someone standing next to me, though who? I can only imagine.

“My Sire, this foreign woman was seen on the grounds of her majesty the princess! We were only concerned for her safety as she might pose a threat.”

I take a step away from the stranger, only afraid of what they might do or say. He must be a prince or noble, with his confrontation, he just took a massive step forward in the game of winning the princess. I must leave before this falls deeper into chaos.

“Is that so? Well, then I must escort this lady off the grounds. I’m sure someone such as her would be too fragile to do any harm to the princess.”

Angered by his words, I didn’t stop myself in time and shot back.

“Instead of being all high and mighty, my good ol’ gentleman, how about worrying your own game? Don’t you have her highness to win over?”

He takes a step towards me, breaking the distance that I tried to create. He leans down and holds out his gloved hand.

“Oh don’t worry. I’ve already won over the princess.”

Wait a tick, this voice-

“Please step away from the threat, my good sire. Let us handle this.”

“Enough!” I saw the opening as soon as the stranger entered the situation, and as soon as the knights let their guard down I ran for my life. Heels clicking at the stoned pathway, I hear the racket of metal behind me as I looked up to the starry sky. I laughed as I was catching out of breath, I am so close to the gate, so close to freedom. They would know where to find me, there is only really one place I can go-- the big oak tree, where we had our first kiss.

They will find me there.

But what I did not expect was one of the knights going as far as aiming an arrow. It struck the end of my dress, causing me to fall and brace for impact. I close my eyes in defeat. This is it, I’ve failed. How could I be so foolish, is it so foolish to want to love and rule freely?

I reopen my eyes in shock. The feeling of silk on my hands, the feeling of warmth cupped my face, the feeling of a sword next to my shoulder. Someone had caught me when I fell. And I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“So it was you, you sly knight.”

You chuckled, heart beating like wildfire crackling on dry log against my ear.

“I wanted to impress you by playing as a noble, but apparently you rather played the rebel role.”

I clutched my fist into your sleeve, the smell of your cologne filled my head with love clouds and milkweed.

“Save me, oh knight~ oh my noble, they out to catch me for I am a rebel.”

You lift your sword slightly, while still embracing me.

“Right away, my princess.”

Archive #19 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: holy shit?? It's been a while since we have seen an archive. This one is a small short that I wrote for @v-for-venus, so hope y'all enjoy!

....why must it be a prince?

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"My princess!"

A second set of foot steps echoed through the empty corridor. I stop in my tracks, glass heels clicking against each other. I close my eyes for a second, forcing myself to not turn around. Taking in a breath, I click my tongue as I shot back.

"You address me as 'Your Highness', Knight."

The footsteps halted, the slight creaking of iron was the only thing heard for a couple of seconds. I tried my best to not fidget with my hands, as it was "very unlady-like" according to other kingdoms. I couldn't deal with this right now. Why aren't they saying anything? I need to go to the meeting roo--

"So, is that what you want me to call you in bed, Your Hig-" "Enough!"

I turned around, glaring at the smirking knight. Their soft curly hair, their soft lips, their smooth skin, their beautiful eyes-- stop with the distractions. It was getting hard to ignore the rapid heartbeats I was experiencing, the blood rushing into my head making me slightly dizzy as I force myself to not give in.

"I don't have time for this, I am your Queen now, which means you're not my personal knight anymore. I don't need to associate with you all the time." "But you want to, no?"

Irritated, jealous of their boldness in such a situation-- why must they make this difficult? I walk up to them, heels swift and arm reaching out to grab at the scarf I had made them not so long ago. Thumb pressing against their cute chin while I look down at their kneeling state. Why am I so ticked off, anyway? I have always been told from ever since I could remember that I will get the prince of my dreams, and yet… I don't want to go to the meeting. The meeting is suppose to be the most important cue in my current royal life, I will be introduced to the 'love of my life', and yet…

"Listen to your heart, Princess."

I sigh, my face softens as I realise what my destiny has truly lead me to. I cannot fight it forever.

I look into their eyes, the ones I love waking up to in secrecy. My lips open in a strained relief.

Perfection meets Perfectionist #4 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: continuing the chapter lessgooooooooo!! You know what is a funny fact about this? The reference to the queen dying was actually written before she passed away... #riplizzy Enjoy!

Chapter One, continued

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"And here I thought that wretched alarm clock was my worst enemy…" Etta thought as they fiddled with the clutch, peeking up the hill. Every man and their dog was up and about, Etta felt like an ant in the heavy packed line of traffic.

"Well, if you got up half an hour ago, you wouldn't be in this situation."

Etta rolled their eyes. "I can hear you smirk from here, February."

They heard her giggle, which softened their annoyed expression a bit. "They had your favourite muffin at the bakery today."

Etta almost slammed their foot onto the wrong pedal in shock, mouth agape and stared down at their phone. "What? "

The other end of the phone went silent for a second, Etta found it strange-- but then they realised she was trying her best to hold in laughter. "I was lonely, you know~ sitting by myself in the corner of the bakery. What is a girl to do in a store that sells rhubarb and thyme custard muffins?"

Etta's heart raced, they moved their jaw from side to side. "A nerdy girl like you would be trying to read every single book available in that store, you know, since it's a bakery AND a book store."

February tutted with pity from Etta's sulky tone. "You obviously don't know this nerdy girl then, because I practically have done that. So I got bored, the two remaining muffins on the top shelf did sound fantastic at that moment~"

The betrayal was too much, Etta groaned into the steering wheel.

"Revenge, darling, it's called revenge."

Etta mockingly worded February as the traffic started to ease up at their mercy. "The boss isn't going to like my excuse this time, maybe I should try and find my resume," Etta joked as they traced their skirt's pattern.

February paused for a moment, this time Etta knew it was serious. "You know… the boss and I are worried about you."

Etta furrowed their brows as they pulled into the right carpark. "Why, because I've been late twice?" It came off as snappy, which Etta didn't attend.

"Well… it's not just that, darling. You haven't been talking to anyone for weeks now. We didn't know you were behind on your project until last Tuesday."

Etta slammed their car door, instantly regretting the decision when the sound echoed through the empty carpark. 'I don't need the airbags to go off so my car can get written off, right now-- thanks me.'

"It wasn't intentional, I just don't like people-- you out of all people would understand that pet peeve of mine, February. And besides, this is a large project that I'm not even in charge of-"

February sighed while Etta pushed the elevator button with their carpet burned elbow. "But I- we just don't understand, you were excited for this project. You wanted to be involved with this project, then one day you turned up to work looking as if the queen died!"

Etta kicked at the wall, silent and weak as a drowning fish. February took the silence as a hint. "I'm sorry Mx Sallow, I am just concerned for your wellbeing at this time."

Etta heard a delayed echo, it's not coming from the phone-- they immediately straightened their back and tightened their tie. "Good morning, Sallow." Etta heard this twice, and reluctantly scrunched up their nose to prepare themself.

"Or should I say, good afternoon?" The elevator chanted its arrival as the shiny silver doors creaked open.

Etta softened their face into their customer service smile. "Good afternoon, Señor Gabriel."

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Perfection meets Perfectionist #3 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: well, well, well. isn't it the purpose of this whole account. This is the beginning plot of the story in mind. Very dramatic. Little storyline events. Enjoy!

Chapter One

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The alarm clock tuned in for another long, painful try of annoyance. The dead weight hidden under the blanket and crinkled sheets groaned, hanging onto the dream they had as long as possible. It seemed that the alarm clock huffed a little at the sorry state of the bed. The bed, single sized, laid someone who should be getting up right about now. They have been late once already, which is something out of the ordinary for their auto-pilot life. And here they were, blocking out their alarm clock in a fetal position. Cradling their arms around their chest, protective walls bracing for impact of the cruel world. If the alarm clock had a mind of its own, it would be disappointed; but since it doesn't, their last attempt of waking the sleeping mess was changing the radio channel. There wasn't any particular reason why Etta liked the radio channel that the alarm clock was set in, 'it is better than having the chance of catching that one song playing'. Hallow and empty emotions echoed at the back of their mind, it was distant. Good. But obviously, they have forgotten that they have programmed the alarm clock into flipping through radio channels to annoy Etta into getting up.

Their song played.

"The way you text I rather dig my grave…" Etta, white as a ghost, sat upright in protest of their throbbing head. "..Because I never knew what was so cliche…" The sorrowful tune mockingly danced around their head as Etta tried to picture out their surroundings. "..About you blaming me for all the things I've done…" Eyes drawn immediately to the sudden bright light-- their phone went off the third time. 'It's probably February.' Etta groaned once more at the thought of going to work. "..Baby can't you see you're the reason why I can't breathe…" They knew they were late, and they knew that February wouldn't be pleased, either. But there is only so much you can worry about when your head is being split in two. "I love you! I love you!" Etta couldn't take anymore of that song.

Reaching out to their nightstand, they slammed their clenched fist hard on top of the pitiful alarm clock. As if the alarm clock knew it had the upper hand, it was stubborn and didn't break from the sheer force of its owner. "And my best friends are gonna cry, they don't understand what it's like…"

Etta swore slightly under their breath, half tempted in throwing the alarm clock out the window. 'Dropping from the window's height, the alarm clock could probably kill someone.' Etta rolled their eyes in the thought of getting done by using their alarm clock as a murdering weapon. "..To love someone so cold…" Etta dived down, "I think someone is caging me up again…" elbows rubbing hard onto the grey carpet, "..I wonder what phrase will trigger it…" their body positioned ready to do butterfly strokes.

"..Girl I'm sorry but I've got to go…" Desperate. Thirsty for water after days of neglect. Reaching out to the power plug like Etta's carpet was quick sand. As if the sunshine seeping through the curtains was a blazing fireball; threatening to burn them alive. "..This time I'll leave you without no note-" The alarm clock never saw it coming, how can a body of sadness move so swiftly?

'I win.'

Etta raised the power plug into the air, triumphed by their success. Warm and calming silence hugged Etta's ears, making Etta sigh out in relief and pure joy for a moment. It felt like freedom, for a long standing second.

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