| cramoisipur |
The brunette was not one to lie- even when the past had fiddled with their bonds, never was she the one to spew out white fibs. Not when she still saw her as a friend.
Silence being the only reason for the two to still not leave each other’s sight, it was then that she realized words finally came out of the blonde. Yet- they were ones in which she didn’t expect at all. An apology? A lump caught in between her throat, she swallowed it carefully until slowly shaking her head.
✿— “No, I should be sorry…”
If there was anyone that should apologize… it should have been her. Despite the harness caused by the fabricated child to escape from the world- she finally understood. No one wanted to be in there alone, and no one… not even her, deserved a cruel fate like that.
✿— “Mary is here… So… I’m…”
Phrase paused in a jerky rhythm, deeply pondering whether she should continue. It was then something fell out of her eyes. Warm streaks of moisture trickled down the sides of her flustered cheeks, a sudden wave of emotions emerging all at once.
What… was this? Sorrow? Guilt?… Relief? Through blurry lenses, she couldn’t tell what it was exactly- however, she knew that she hadn’t felt this in a very long time.
✿— “I’m really sorry. I’m sorry for everything… Mary… I’m sorry…” Her steamed face buried into her hands, she didn’t know what else to say. It was her fault that she died, after all.
It’s all Mary had ever thought she’d been, all she’d ever be, and all she’d ever run from. Of course she’d made friends—headless sculptures, paintings, dolls—but it wasn’t what she’d wished for; it wasn’t the same. It was all false just like her—A fabricated girl in a fabricated world.
It’s where she belongs.
Eyes sting and fingers curl as they fold into her chest and she listens. Remorse, sorrow, longing. She could feel these things, all so astoundingly real and clearly mirrored and brought forth by the brunette’s words. Mary almost finds it funny. Funny how the one who’d killed her was also the only person or thing that had ever managed make her feel alive.
She’d found freedom in her, the girl who suddenly appeared one day with eyes the very same crimson as her necktie and skirt—her rose.
She had waned to escape with her—
Only to be met with betrayal.
It had been forever in a day.
A breathy sigh escapes her then, followed by a gentle quiver of her lower lip as she takes a single step forward and both hands rise to dry her own eyes. And then she takes another.
Perhaps she was far too quick to forgive.