#valentinoworn

Thoughts. thOUGHTs. tHINK. thOUghTS. But how hard are the T H O U G H T S in a brain that can only race race race race (howdoyouexpectsomeonetoentertainortocareforyouwhenyoudisappearlikethiswithnowarning?) and hands that cannot touch and fingers that cannot grasp anything to touch. For one, perhaps it never seems to come to mind that this behavior is VERY SUSPECT, is the type of suspect THAT MAKES BEAUTIFUL WOMEN NOT WANT TO TOLERATE YOU. But Alana Bloom’s, previously Alhertine Marie Xavier, long ago, before she was DEAD, weakness is the inability to quiet her heart.

It’s a loud, terrible thing. And when she likes someone how the loneliness shrinks to the size of a speck and she can, god help her, actually feel like a person. Can actually feel like she’s real real real. And it’s intoxicating, to be touched.

It’s been so long.

The Creature stalks quietly through the woods surrounding the large, apparent, wooden, sleek cabin. Her car is parked in its extensive drive, a boxy, black Mercedes G6 that costs more than anything is necessary. But here it is, the Monster, trying to think, rein it in, to think, to think. How hard-- grasping-- knees and joints, arms and legs, grotesque, long, shiny-dark claws clicking and scraping along tree-bark. They leave long scratches when she lets go.

But out here her thoughts can race. And no one will bother her.

Sometimes she must be left alone.

     Another pointless banquet, another night of fake smiling and hand shaking and cheek kissing that mean absolutely nothing at the end of the day...she detests these events more than she can ever put into words. Yet as a guest of honor, society dictates she must attend—if only to keep up the illusion that she actually cares about any other association but her own.

     She’s flanked by both assistants, looking as though they might sick up on the floor every time they’re asked a simple question, and eventually Miranda dismisses them to their table and takes a seat at her own, eyes roaming over the others that are coming near. But there’s a familiar face, one that makes her gaze narrow for a moment before the mask slips back in place...it’s been quite a while since she’s seen her former assistant.

I feel like doing more stuff with Hannibal in prison. Give this a like and I’ll write a starter in my silence verse

SNOWBALL FIGHT.

STATUS: NOPE.

It is the last day, reprieve hanging around old shoulders as they’ve been resewn and restitched, dropped into a scented bath and soothed aches. She insists she’s fine and, to be perfectly frank, she is fine. Shes more than fine, truly, trekking out into the snow in boots crunching cold to do a cursory glance. It’s a paranoid thing, just to be sure she was safe the evening before, didn’t hurt anyone, anything. No signs or scent of blood. She does it every time, even if it’s only brief.

--And then WHAM! Well, it’s not particularly hard, but the snowball hits her right between the shoulders and leaves cold little flakes melting in dark hair. A smile tugs at newborn teeth, baby teeth, exposes sharp canines that glint in the sun-- and they should be frightening, but they are the purest example of her happiness. A glint in her eye, bright and vibrant and alive. Expensive gloves reach down, pack in cold to make a neatly closed, tightly closed ball.

She drops back a step, thick woolen pea-coat creasing around a thin body and freezes there, arm crooked back to let fly the shot.

TOUCH ALANA BLOOM GDI.

STATUS: PLEASE LORD.

The Creature looks upon Emily and Emily looks back, and she is startled by the other’s lack of fear. It shows in the gentlest widening of those water-blue eyes, so large and so very clear behind that skull. And it dips forward calmly with no modicum of fear to offer, at least, letting a palm move over the elegant ivory of that enormous skull. The mouth doesn’t open-- it stays shut, glass-shard teeth bloodied and raw concealed. Instead, her gaze flicks up to meet Emily’s patiently.

She wants to smile. She wishes so badly that she could. But the sight would look absolutely hideous. The image would be disgusting, she’s aware of this. And she has no lips with which to smile, so she simply cannot.