2014-03-04 - Torn Up
| Title: <Your title> | |
|---|---|
| Summary: Madoka was recently exposed to her first taste of truly graphic magical girl violence. | |
| Who: Madoka Kaname, Kyubey | |
| Where: Kasa Kaname | |
| OOC - IC Date: 03/04/14 - 12/10/13 | |
Blood.
She's dashing from it and towards it all at once. With every jarring step, her heart pounds in her ears, and it screams, run, run, RUN, now, now, NOW, go, go, GO, help, help, HELP...
...coward, coward, coward
Red droplets splatter her demure white stockings as she splashes across puddles, planes. She can feel the rising tension behind her, the air shuddering as a wave threatens to break above her, crash upon her, sweep her away like a pink-tufted rat, a drowned rat, drowning, drowning, sinking and she cannot swim, she cannot breathe, she cannot see, anything but crimson, crimson, crimson and
green
Her feet hit something far too soft, far too giving, but she goes sprawling over it anyway, and she tumbles with it in a ball of pink and green and red, red, she closes her eyes, screws up her face with panic, she doesn't want to look but she has to see
She can feel blood catch on her eyelashes as her eyes fly open, and meet the other eyes, which gaze at her blindly, dull, empty, accusing in death. "I'm so sorry," she wants to say, but the words get caught in her throat, which is thick with horror and grief, so thick that only one sound can penetrate. It has no words, only pain
And she's shaking, shaking all over, she can't even hold her anymore, as she's torn away, upwards, upwards to blackness, upwards to
the floor.
Thrashing out of her nest of blankets, Madoka finds herself staring at two very red eyes, which are looking down at her from the bookshelf. She thinks they're concerned, but they aren't, because worry is something that humans do, and he doesn't understand humans. But even her projected emotions are enough to comfort her from screaming to tears, and she weeps brokenly.
Crawling across her room, sticky with cold sweat, clumsy with exhaustion, she drags the curtain across her window, revealing what lies beneath: using the glass as the only large, hard, flat surface she had available, she has mounted a poster. It is of her own design. It has been tenderly worked on for some months, now, new additions added as they are discovered.
Side by side, hand in hand, sparkling and smiling are the magical girls. Their clothes and hair are rendered in gorgeous detail, capturing Kyouko's spear, Sailor Moon's brooch, Forever Sunshine's embroidery, and many others, so many more, everyone she's ever seen fight for love and justice, all standing together in a huge pile of friendship, no matter how improbable. Homura's hand is in Mami's, for example.
And in the middle, as sparkling and smiling as they, is Madoka Kaname, adorned by ruffles and bows, roses blooming from her heart. She looks so happy. So confident, so responsible. She looks like she belongs.
With a choking sob, Madoka tears herself out of the picture. The paper isn't strong, and jagged breaks appear in all directions, fracturing the fairy tale, rending friend from friend. She crumples the scrap of paper up, into a tiny ball, and flings it across the room with all her meager strength.
It doesn't go far enough, landing in the middle of the blankets, a tiny ball of grief and guilt, and she kicks at it savagely, like paper soccer with Sayaka, until it's under the bed, out of sight, out of mind. It doesn't deserve to be there. It doesn't deserve to be anywhere.
Curling up into a ball herself, she cries herself dry and hoarse, until the soft embrace of exhaustion rises to meet her, promising no red, only black.
