mari, ouroboros
any
twenty six
june 25
lavender town, kanto
demisexual
nurse
ace
and i tried to save a life with these diamond hands of mine; but they're sharper than a knife
TAG WITH @marisol
MARISOL SIMONE
[nospaces] [attr="class","minicharwrap"]
[attr="class","minicharh"]
dreams and/or legacy
[attr="class","minicharentry"]
she thought they were lying. [break][break]
thought they were lying when they said there was an odd pokemon sitting at the tree, listening to stories like a delibird during christmas. lo and behold, marisol is wrong, and there is indeed an accursed creature at the tree, ready to take in the stories. oh, she remembers the creature well - she only barely remembers the dream that it put her in. she doesn't recall, much as she would like to, but she knows that something in her changed after she woke up. [break][break]
there was a longing for something. [break][break]
and she can't quite describe it. it's the itch she can't reach, and it frustrates her. it frustrates her. [break][break]
but what use is it ranting and venting to the pokemon? [break][break]
she looks at it, it looks back at her, but there's no recognition. no, rather marisol is tired when she's reminded. she'll take a deep breath, and sit herself down by the regal pokemon. "you wished for a story?" she asks, putting on a practiced smile, like it's a reflex. she, of course, bows to the royalty like the peasant she is.[break][break]
"there was a woman." she starts, eyes closed whilst hugging her knees closer to her chest. "she was beautiful, wonderful. incredibly smart, loving, and a prodigy. she used her talents to help others, and studied medicine." marisol only pauses, briefly, to chuckle "although, everyone said she worked too hard, and that she'd never find herself a partner at the rate she was going.." [break][break]
there's a brief pause, but marisol takes in the slightly chilly air, and reaches to take her scarf from her neck to place on the ground - something of an inviting blanket to the pokemon. it's up to them to take it, if it pleased. "she worked hard, and in the end was able to make a lot of money. she had a lot of money, a lot of friends, and a lot of what.. a lot of people thought was happiness." the breeze blows, sending ripples in the blades of fauna "she was happy in the moment, but when the lights were off and she was alone in the bed, she wasn't happy. she was lonely." she had everything, and was still lonely. [break][break]
"until she met someone she loved, who was a man who had the same goals as her." now she leans towards her knees, the smile warmer, but it never reaches what looked to be dead eyes. "he treated her well. he treated her family well. he treated children well. he was the doctor who worked in the hospital she was a pharmacy for, and they got along well. he was charming, whispering sweet nothings and tenderly holding hands in the night. when she was scared of thunder, he'd wrap her in a blanket. when the nights were too dark, or the winters were too cold, he'd share his warmth and be her light." she's speaking words, and she's rambling more than she should. there's a part of her thinking that she should have told this story like she did with the sick children in the hospital, but this is a tragedy, and not a romance.[break][break]
"those two prodigies have a child, and the woman is happy." she was the happiest she had ever been, "... she finally had happiness that could not be bought, and she loved her family very much." another pause, as marisol adjusts herself where she sits. yes, she tries to maintain eye contact with the pokemon, and she forces the smile - it's just starting to get harder to do. "the child is very smart, and she's growing well. the woman loves her daughter a lot, even though she's busy a lot of the time. even after a long day at work, her energy is restored when she gets to see her husband and daughter. everything was perfect." [break][break]
it was perfect. [break][break]
"until one day, the bubble is popped. she finds her daughter with red stained hands and streaks on her face. her daughter, happily, hugs onto the woman with those filthy hands. the woman is concerned, fretting, pushing the girl away to look for wounds. she finds nothing, and the reality dawns. she asks: "honey, why are you all read?" in a soft tone, trying to disguise the terror." marisol does her best to replicate the voice, though the quiver comes a bit too natural. [break][break]
"the child, with a smile on her face, claims that she was helping her father. the blood in her face drains, asking her daughter to go take a bath and wash it off. when she does, she marches to her husband in anger. when she reaches him, the kind, warm eyes that always looked at her with affection were gone; they were dead, and empty, and icy. they were devoid of the man--... no, the human she fell in love with."[break][break]
the next words are stuck in her throat, but she pushes through. [break][break]
"he was a monster." [break][break]
she was a monster. [break][break]
"so the woman took her daughter and ran away from the monster. the man she loved was eaten by the monster, who only wished for flesh, and blood, and bone. the woman took her daughter to so many doctors, and so many people to help her, but no one could help her because she forgot. the woman wanted to do everything to help her lovely daughter, and she still loved her." [break][break]
she still loved her. [break][break]
"the daughter looked like she was getting better, and the woman was happy enough. she was glad that her child was okay, and she wasn't scared, until she smelled something bad coming from her clo--"[break][break]
the words are caught in her throat for a moment, and her brows furrow in slight disdain at the memory. [break][break]
".. closet. there, she finds a small animal, dead, cut open and rotting. the woman covers her mouth and nose, and she's mortified. so she puts the animal in a bag, digs a hole in the backyard, and buries it. when the girl comes home, she's exhausted, and looks to the cheery girl who holds up a pretty picture she drew." [break][break]
she pauses, again, just so the story processes. [break][break]
"but what the woman saw at the door wasn't her precious daughter, so eager to make her mother happy, no." [break][break]
"what she saw was a monster." [break][break]
"a monster she couldn't save." [break][break]
uncomfortable silence befalls her, recounting the story. maybe telling it something so close to her wasn't such a good idea, after all. [break][break]
"the woman, who couldn't save the disease of a monster from eating the man she loved, or the daughter she adored, fell into despair. her story ended quickly, with hatred in her heart and a bottle on the table. what she leaves behind is hatred, confusion, and a monstress with the world as her oyster." it's painful when she recounts, but she masks it with a chuckle "and the story of the monstress is still being written." [break][break]
when she finally finishes, she takes in a deep breath to steady her mood. yes, she's okay. it's quite nice, she has to admit, being able to talk freely about her own story the way she has. "thank you, your majesty, for listening to this peasant's tale." her speech is flowery, perhaps, for someone who she can't even understand. "the scarf is a gift for your majesty. may you stay warm whilst gracing the rest of us humble subjects with an offered ear."
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