white horse and a carriage. keira & jaque.
Apr 2, 2021 15:58:54 GMT -5
Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Apr 2, 2021 15:58:54 GMT -5
You think this is the moment to pinch yourself.
You don't.
You're walking down the center of the street, shoulder to shoulder with a crowd of people, and you don't pinch yourself. You tell yourself over and over and over again: this is real, this is real, this is real. Someone in a hat almost as tall as they are bumps into your shoulder, and you don't let your eyes open in wonder as they somehow manage to stay balanced, hat and person both. You grit your jaw, let your mouth only quirk just barely, and remind yourself that you belong.
Over and over.
You belong. You belong. You belong.
This is where you belong.
Cell phone in hand, you stare down at your dare, the tiny little $20 right there at the bottom. So little. Not enough. It's as much money as someone in your neighborhood might make in a week, but it's not enough, not to save you from spending the rest of your goddamned life in the detention center after this. You feel every muscle in your body tighten for a single beat at that thought, feel yourself swallow thickly then look away from the screen and into the air, searching for the brightly lit sign of Royale Fashion.
The outfit in the window is enough to make your heart stop, but you don't let your eyes linger on it for too long before seeking out the girl you'd been dared to go and meet up with.
And the girl standing outside is nothing if not an eyesore in her plainclothes.
"Heard you needed me," you say, finally letting a grin start to split your face as you walk up to her. It's not a kind one though, and you know it. You've never been any good at showing kindness, especially not to strangers, and especially not to your competition. "So here I am, knight in shining whatever."
You don't.
You're walking down the center of the street, shoulder to shoulder with a crowd of people, and you don't pinch yourself. You tell yourself over and over and over again: this is real, this is real, this is real. Someone in a hat almost as tall as they are bumps into your shoulder, and you don't let your eyes open in wonder as they somehow manage to stay balanced, hat and person both. You grit your jaw, let your mouth only quirk just barely, and remind yourself that you belong.
Over and over.
You belong. You belong. You belong.
This is where you belong.
Cell phone in hand, you stare down at your dare, the tiny little $20 right there at the bottom. So little. Not enough. It's as much money as someone in your neighborhood might make in a week, but it's not enough, not to save you from spending the rest of your goddamned life in the detention center after this. You feel every muscle in your body tighten for a single beat at that thought, feel yourself swallow thickly then look away from the screen and into the air, searching for the brightly lit sign of Royale Fashion.
The outfit in the window is enough to make your heart stop, but you don't let your eyes linger on it for too long before seeking out the girl you'd been dared to go and meet up with.
And the girl standing outside is nothing if not an eyesore in her plainclothes.
"Heard you needed me," you say, finally letting a grin start to split your face as you walk up to her. It's not a kind one though, and you know it. You've never been any good at showing kindness, especially not to strangers, and especially not to your competition. "So here I am, knight in shining whatever."
