𝖳𝖮 𝖣𝖤𝖵𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝘈𝘕𝘋,

Black Swan (2010) dir. Darren Aronofsky

 her   voice   cuts   through   the   low   hum   of   the   space   —   lena's   sitting   beside   her,   legs   crossed   at   the   ankle,   fingers   curled   around   a   half-drank   cappuccino   she   didn't   touch   in   twenty   minutes.   her   head   turns   just   slightly,   slow   and   deliberate,   like   she's   trying   not   to   break   under   the   weight   of   the   moment.   glossed   lips   part   like   she's   about   to   say   something,   but   then   she   just   breathes.   steady.   controlled.   and   then   :   “   of   course,   they   are.   ”   she   says,   voice   low   and   cutting   like   velvet   over   a   blade.   “   a   tragedy's   just   another   branding   opportunity   if   you're   heartless   enough,   ”   she   looks   away   —   out   the   window   maybe,   or   nothing   at   all.   her   fingers   drum   against   the   porcelain   cup,   the   only   outward   sign   of   what's   boiling   under   her   skin.   “   penelope   deserves   more   than   photo   slideshow   and   hors   d’oeuvres,   ” 

innate   urge   to   throw   a   tantrum,   like   her   four   year   old   self   would   when   daddy   said   the   word   'no'   -   rare   occurrence   she   still   can't   fully   grasp.   a   mental   push,   there's   strength   in   numbers   with   gorgeous   brunette   next   to   her   as   posture   is   rightened,   sight   that   grandparents   would   adore   to   see   -   the   perfect   grand   daughter   swathed   in   shades   of   blue.   isa's   cranium   shakes   softly   as   strands   of   chocolate   fall   out   of   high   ponytail,   chosen   words   selfish   compared   to   the   compassionate   nature   lena   exudes   ⸻   she   wants   penelope   to   be   cherished   and   done   right,   while   bella   just   wants   this   horror   show   to   be   over   and   move   on.   "   all   publicity   isn't   necessary   good   publicity,   i   do   not   care   what   those   marketing   majors   say.   "   new   yorker   thumbs   her   straw,   unconsciously   trying   to   dent   fingerprint   into   paper   material.   "   she   deserves   more   and   we   deserve   peace   ⸺   is   it   too   much   to   ask   for   a   normal   senior   year   ?   law   enforcement   on   campus   freaks   me   out   and   i   wouldn't   be   surprised   if   they're   doing   illegal   things   to   find   out   the   truth.   "   it   bothers   her,   it   shouldn't   bother   someone   innocent   yet   it   eats   isabella   alive,   nibbles   on   her   ribcage   to   savor   her   heart   as   final   treat.

he doesn't usually like spending time at the temple, but he'll always make an exception for the garden. especially in today's weather, the sun creating soft shadows that spill gently across the grass, pond shimmering in the gentle breeze. yeongmin sits with his back to the stone by the entrance, sketching the lotus flowers standing tall in the water into his leather-bound sketchbook. a shadow casts over the page he's working on, and when he looks up, he squints slightly, puts a hand to shade his eyes, to make sure that the sunlight isn't playing tricks on him. isa. it's the first time he's seen her this semester. when was the last time they really spoke ? he knows that he can just stand up now, close his sketchbook and leave, let the past rest, sand at the bottom of an hourglass one cannot turn over. but there's something about the garden — how the soft grass reminds him of lying in central park as a kid, or how the sun kissing his skin feels like a summer lost to time, or how the distant sound of the tennis court reminds him of how often he used to lose to isa when they were young. something about the garden that makes a part he locked away want to fall back into naivete and reach, to disturb the hourglass. “ have a break between classes ? ” he asks, and the shape of the words don't feel right. useless words, the kind of small talk he hates, like he's talking to a stranger.

the   warm   air   reminds   her   of   the   last   few   days   before   penelope's   untimely's   death   -   serene   as   time   ticked   by   only   hourglass   broke   into   pieces   for   one   of   them,   glass   shards   mingling   with   the   sand.   brunette   misses   the   salt   breeze,   surrounded   by   a   romance   language   ⸻   now,   she's   back   on   campus   and   everything   has   changed.   laptop   thrown   haphazardly   in   her   brown   leather   back,   strap   straining   under   weight   digging   into   dainty   shoulder,   isa's   looking   for   silence   -   both   in   her   mind   as   around   her.   the   temple's   a   safe   option,   everyone   must   be   avoiding   it   anyway.   pillowy   lips   part   -   open   like   rose   petals   in   sunlight   -   as   hazel   eyes   take   in   childhood   friend,   the   one   that   got   away   as   new   yorker   misses   him   dearly.   words   refuse   to   leave,   strange   behavior   for   the   usually   articulate   one,   too   afraid   to   disturb   whatever   is   happening   in   the   garden.   a   predator   waiting   before   eagerly   pouncing   on   its   prey,   but   they're   friends,   right   ?   "   skipping   class   actually,   "   she   responds,   voice   strained   as   isabella   says   anything   to   keep   the   conversation   flowing.   a   good   two   shoes,   perfect   attendance   until   now.   time   doesn't   stand   still.

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