|Repose Fall (reposefall) wrote in repose,|
@ 2019-11-20 22:49:00
|Entry tags:||*log, derek friggsdottir, marta flores, ~plot: all aboard|
The Illusion and the Mirror
Who: The Illusion and the Mirror
Where: The train
When: Immediately following this
Warnings/Rating: We'll see.
"I've already promised." And to break it -- to break one's oath -- it struck a chord so deep in her she worried that she might vibrate with it. How very strange. Most of the show was lies, what left her mouth, what the audience perceived, and that was fine. The paid to be entertained and as long as they had that, she didn't worry about the rest. But this was different. Her eyes shuttered for a moment as the thrum inside her died down. This wasn't a promise she could break. Her eyes opened again, the matter settled, her chord back in their usual positions.
"I don't know," she answered honestly. Maybe something bigger, grander in scale. "Sometimes promises are as important to the one making them as the one receiving it," her voice was as hushed as theirs, a little moment of privacy for the both of them. "I know -- I can tell you don't, but I think its time you get something in return." Taking a deep breath and swiping one last time at their eyes, Friday stood, and tried again.
She imagined a grand ballroom, white marble floors, chandeliers that cast a low, golden light everywhere, and for a moment, it was exactly that. Nearly Disney perfect, and then the marble cracked. From between the stones grew massive oaks and then vines, until the ballroom was recaptured by nature, little remnants of humanity clinging to roots. The ceiling was retaken by vines, and it was the moon that lit the illusion, not candles or bulbs. She sighed. It wasn't right, but this, at least, would do.