Brielle is not the one that is (ouverte) wrote in rooms,
Re: brielle & wren, gatsby
[If time wanted to wither them, or if memory dreamt of falter, that greeting did not allow for it. There was no mistaking Wren. Even before Brielle glanced up from the paper where pen poised, even before she'd fully realized that the door was open - bonjour. Voice carved from honeycomb, pollinated through lavender and love and a life envied. It was fleur de sel in raw wounds, and Brielle made pretend at being healed, but now, in sudden tragedy, she found herself bleeding again. Her heart gushed and her head felt dizzy when she answered in dull monochrome.]
Bonjour..
[The word simple, voice frail and dusty. She was not French honey, she was the catacombs. The sad violet of her eyes gashed wider, and pen dropped. Brielle stood up from the table with such fervor that she sent the chair clattering back, unsteady on wooden legs until the entire thing toppled and crashed to the floor. The carpet was thick and muffled the sound of the chair, but Brielle could hear nothing over the pounding of her heart anyway.
This was not the look of a woman who set beds ablaze, not a woman who dug in with nails and laughed at the moon. This one was the hunted. If Wren was the bird and Anais had been a kitten, then Brielle was the mouse.]