erinne beaver [d12] - finished

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- APPEARANCE -[/font][/color]

I am a flower.

My petals are wilted, stuck up in odd angles and dusted with the faint silver light that comes through the frosted window. Splayed out at the sides, the once ( pink ) color is now grey, dreary like a mid-winter’s sky, complete with the small flecks of white snow that spread around the edges, fading into nothing as the daylight sun arises from its cave. The stem is nothing more than a severed end, cut by a knife, like the strings sawed away from a marionette, forcing the doll to dance on its own, to hold her head up and stare into the heavens with starry eyes.

Wondrous large spheres, crested with a silver tint, blue coloring the rest of it and hues of the sky tediously spread through the irises, snowflakes dotting the inside, mixing with the silver of the clouds. The flower has eyes, they sit under her black, charred petals, resembling hair, strands of it folded out into lengths of locks, spread out on the wood, her face turned to look at the sky. “What a beautiful night,” she will say, that girl will be me, the wilted flower, left out to die under the sun.

“What a beautiful day,” I will murmur as I fade away, as my petals turn to dust and ( I simply blow away )

[/i] in the wind.

My beautiful ending.

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- PERSONALITY -[/font][/color]

I never want to disappoint Judis,

Her icy eyes hold the winter in them, a chilling sensation of pure evil, icicles form along my nimble fingers every time she opens her mouth to speak to me, to mutter a new command or try to convince me to do something. I can’t say that I adore her, the fearsome queen of Winter, the arctic.

[/i] [/color]She holds that crystal clear bottle in her hand, a smile of greed crossing her perfect face, her cookie-cutter white teeth showing through her blood-red lips.

“Attain the girl for me, you can do that Erinne?”[/i][/color]

Even her voice is menacing, it drips with snow and cold water, drenched in the feeling of a bitter cloud of frigid air that always seems to surround the prim and proper lady. Judis.

“Yes, Ma’am.”[/i] My replies are always short and simple; I wouldn’t want to upset her, the queen of deception and lies.[/color] The things that she could do to me, it’s unimaginable. With a whip of her hand I could be found dead, face-up in the snow, a pool of red filling out around my head. All with a simple command, anyone will do anything for her. I would know, afterall.

I don’t want to be mad at anyone, I want everyone to like me; the little liar and wilted flower, the impure little girl that never was allowed a childhood ( the little princess that never solved the mystery of who she was supposed to be ). I just want them all to like me, to call me their little darlings. Some say I’m too old to desire such things, to aged to wish for love; they say I should only care for myself and know that depending on others will only lead a young woman into troubles.

They just cannot understand, the calling to know that I have a family, to know that I’m loved by someone, to feel the warm embrace of a parent and know that they do care about me, the non-existing flower of a girl.[/i][/color] At least I have my brother, the sweet little prince that he is. And Judis claims that she will help; she will give us good fortune.

They call me naïve for believing her.

Something in me sees a slightly different side to Judis though, something in me longs to be like her and to have people fearing me left and right. My heart tells me that it would be beautiful, to have grown men bowing at my feet and doing whatever I so wish. A gold crown perched awkwardly on my head, freckles like the sky ringing my small nose. And their mutters of “Yes mistress,” would echo through the hallways, to the very capitol, if it may. No more would they think me to be just a useless little girl, no, I would be the true princess, loved by Judis, my adopted mother.

Something in me longs for this future.

And yet I know it’s foolish to want it so badly, to betray everyone else and fall to lies and withered misleading’s of hearts. To be frozen by Winter and give into the alluring words of Judis, to take a sip out of that clear bottle and feel all my emotions fade into dust.

And yet, I can’t help that I crave that kind of power.

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- HISTORY -[/font][/color]

Tragedy is only a peaceful way of saying Chaos

Neither are good words, neither of them have any eloquent meaning that pulls a reader in, makes them stay and listen for one more minute. A cup of tea won’t keep down the disgusted face that will emerge if either of those words come up in a casual conversation, only shouts of distaste will follow, the stomping of boots as the guest leaves abruptly with a mix of words, bundled up, just like the visitor as he retrieves his hat and scarf.

[/i][/color]This is all before he bows and wishes you a good night, slams the door, and walks out into the blistering cold of winter’s grasp.

The next morning, you see, he is found dead [/i]out just behind your house. And you sit there wondering who is responsible for such a crime, surely it isn’t you? But is it? Memory is a fickle thing as I’ve come to understand, it can fail you in the most important of situations and return many hours later, when you no longer can change what you did, the past cannot be tempered with, you see.

Even the smallest details, if changed through an undiscovered wormhole, would mess it all up. Everything would change, and not necessarily for the better either.[/color] This is my story though, not one of a mysterious man that we do not know, sitting out on the street, and a small bullet-hole in his head and glazed over eyes staring back at you. But alas, it’s not only a story, no my friends, this is not fiction nor a fairy-tale. This is the truth, as mysterious as he seems; that man was my father. Alleged suicide they say, absolute bullshit.

My father was an honorable man with light eyes and a breezy smile, and yet they say that he went and murdered himself? I can only imagine that a peacekeeper saw him, mistook him for a suspicious stranger, and shot him. The only thing, they say that the hole in his head was in such the place, the spot along his temple where it would instantly kill him, burn his soul to dust.

How could a faraway Peacekeeper have such perfect aim? The answer will never be known I suppose.

It doesn't matter though, they say I'm a good deciver, manipulator of the naive. This is why Judis respects me, I can tell a pretty damn good story and make anyone believe.

I'll tell you now though, watch your back. You never know when i'll be right behind you.

Good night, friend.

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Bump

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