La veuve tisse sa toile [AUTOPLAY]

Bunny sat at the edge of a fountain, one of her gloves in her lap as she let her un gloved finger skim atop the water. It was not the Wonderland well water she was used to, which was just another reminder that she was far away from home.

“…how can people stand this?” She asked aloud to no one in particular, her gaze not once moving from the water. “How can people possibly get used to living here? Away from home?” She recalled her struggle to fit into Ever After while the rest of her Wonderlandian friends seemed to have no problem adjusting. Bunny had only just started to grow a bit comfortable there before being whisked to this place, which again left her out of place and unsettled.

“…I want to go home.”

────﹙ ⧖ ﹚─  ❝ You are a child, you do not understand things such as war, but you can. ❞

Seated beside the girl, Widow makes her presence fairly known -- no smile, no soft tone; hard and tough. Comforting words aren’t her forte any longer -- blunt and straight forward.

────﹙ ⧖ ﹚─❝Heart breaker…peut-être.❞

 Perhaps her own heart--once upon a time.

────﹙ ⧖ ﹚─  QUIET is welcome for the sniper--familiar. Left with herself and her own thoughts as she breathes in and finds targets. Here, there are no targets--not yet--and she surveys surrounding in a hope to gain familiarity with the terrain. It’s useful information. 

There’s noise nearby ( melodious humming ) making her way toward it quickly to figure out its source. Ah, something familiar. She does not approach, staying in her spot as she watches--but she is caught and he approaches himself. Hands grab her own--something she is not used to as no one touches her cold skin often nowadays--she goes along with it. The words strike a chord--dancing.

        ❝ ...Danse...? ❞

Quiet tone, almost lost in a distant thought she can’t place. How long had it been? Even still her body aches to dance, the professional ballerina still in her--in her muscle memory that the most thorough brainwashing could never take. She gives in.

        ❝ I only know ballet. ❞

She illustrates.

{ im dying, bard }

send “flashback” for a past memory || accepting

────﹙ ⧖ ﹚─ NIGHT is cold–her head swimming with attempts at remembering what it is that happened. Kidnapped–pain, she remembers pain–her head HURTS. Something feels off. She ( along with everyone else ) writes it off as effects from a scary incident–trauma. Everything is fine, they smile and welcome her with care and comfort as they find her and take her home.

It’s fine.

The days pass and she–as well as her husband and friends–feel more at eases. There’s something she escaped, something big she was so lucky to survive through. What was it? She now feels normal, as though nothing had ever happened.

Her head ACHES.

Amélie spends what is unknowingly her last moments with her husband in peace–in love. Small jokes, light laughs and warm embraces as they whisk the night away together.

Neither is aware.

The couple fall blissfully into rest–bodies entwined and comfortable. Then she awakens.

Not Amélie. Someone different–feelings and personality numbed, cherished memories sealed with a tight, emotionless expression. He sleeps, silent, calm and serene.

White sheets that once held nothing but love slowly become sullied by bright red. There is no plead for his life, there’s no reaction to his wife standing over him with his own gun in his face. 

Nothing.

It isn’t done–her transformation. She’s not perfectly brainwashed ( yet ). Liquid runs down her cheeks, dropping and mixing among red but she makes no expression–nothing, she is empty.

She wipes her face, pockets the murder weapon and silently makes her way back to the clutches of Talon. Today they had won. They had taken the life of a celebrated Overwatch member–

threaten widow at your own risk || accepting

────﹙ ⧖ ﹚─ ❝ Ah, and? I believe I know many people who could crush me easily, including my own coworkers. I do not feel fear, so I am afraid you won’t find that here. If it is a challenge you seek, however, I can sate you, Omnic.❞

paramore starters || accepting

threaten widow at your own risk || accepting

────﹙ ⧖ ﹚─ ❝Is that a promise or is that your way of flirting, Reaper?❞

The sniper smirks–hand on hip. He is taken seriously, she knows not to underestimate him ( and his prowess ) but that didn’t mean she had to take whatever he threw at her laying down. It isn’t how Talon works. All that’s missing is the hacking annoyance she somehow misses.

Grappling hook connects to pavement–pulling her away from the shadow with that smirk still pulled upon her lips.

send “flashback” for a past memory || accepting

────﹙ ⧖ ﹚─ LEG extends, arms folding in gracefully. Movements fluid–expressing love, life, sorrow, all the things she felt inside–fear. Her nerves are high, though not a fear of what’s in store–she has no fear for this, she’s ready. Her head tilts down–a look of love cast across her features–as she moves position. 

Today is a good one, the nerves fill her with delight as she wants everything to go well. Dancing is something that comes to her–practising all her life to obtain the level she has now–and it calms her. Now, she needs to dress, get ready for a big day.

Her face lights up as she sees him. Veil forward, bouquet in hand–footsteps light and eager as she steps closer and closer toward him, toward the brightest light in her life. Young–afraid of the future, but not with him at her side.

Voice, full of emotions–love. 

        ❝Ah, Gérard. ❞

There is no sadness filling every fibre of her tone, not like the inevitable future that haunts her.