#vintborn

        ❝         .  .    what are you    ??       ❞                    

           “hello,” you parrot. you don’t quite understand the rest of that statement, but you know it’s polite to say hello back. everything else in the world may be inside out + upside down, its icky innards spilling out into the unknown, but saying hello is the right thing to do. + you know it always will be. “hello,” you repeat.

@vintborn​

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄, head whipping to slither of wind that   THREATENS   her warmth. A frown and a slight   groan   as she stomps over to aforementioned direction to close the   window  --  no doubt left open overnight.   Strange  , the last few days had been bitterly cold, whom would possibly open their window ? Unless the cleaners had been using heavy chemicals and required airing this out for her safety?  REGARDLESS   , she would not be too sure of this but continues about her day, adjusting the bow in her hair before she leaves the room she sleeps within. 

         Not far down the corridor does she feel herself being watched. Slowly to glance over her shoulder, in child like manner as though the culprit would not see these actions of the young ancient. “  Boo!  ” She jumps, turning around as she does so, hands to be raised like a bear, attempting to intimidate whatever may be lurking. She means no harm. Nobody to be seen and hands on hips with purse of lips in… thought?   Disappointment  ? Certain she could feel a presence, she takes her small feet one step at a time, carefully following pattern on carpet to hopefully approach whomever had been close by. She does not feel   THREATENED   , she knows this is   potentially   the most secure building in midgar. Curious is she, to see what she may find -- whom she may see !

@vintborn​  --  happy birthday!! :)

                                                          unprompted ask

           your mouth is stuffed with cotton, arid like a desert. dry like the pig’s blood on your prom dress. sometimes, you don’t get to say goodbye. oh, God, you don’t even know if that words exists in your vocabulary. you never thanked tommy, never told sue you were sorry for not trusting her. never told your momma why -- why you did what you did. you aren’t sure what a proper carrie white goodbye would sound like. you wrap your arms across yourself, shifting. you need to respond, but the bile in the back of your throat wants to stop you. swallow. “yeah,” you manage, nodding. “some ... sometimes, they -- they’re stolen, too.”