Beautiful Tragedies

Hey guys!

This is my first try at a Christmas one-shot, completed on December 25th, 2015. Just wanted to wish you all a very Merry Christmas with this 6K story based on characters from my novels. I feel rather proud of this one-shot due to all the relationships explored the way I wanted them to. I won't give away anything, so feel free to comment anywhere you like about anything you like! I look forward to reading your comments,

<3

inkblots Xx

PS: as usual, copyright legalities are embedded in this story as it is purely of my imagination. Consequences will follow if copying occurs. Sorry for this necessary nastiness on such a special occasion :/ but it had to be done.

beautiful tragedies;

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The girl brushed her hands together, her forefinger trailing over the valleys between her knuckles. There were areas of her hands that were too rough, she knew. God knew how many times Kendall had told her to moisturise, but she couldn't. It would mean that she had given up, given up the journey to find her identity. Her eyelashes flickered delicately as she swallowed, halting over a wound that, over the weeks, had faded into a reddish hue. The wound that her mother was mortified of; that her precious daughter would resort to such drastic measures. The wound represented something her mother was against, the girl believed. From what she could see, her mother was addicted to Botox injections, silver syringes that removed the lines and flaws from her face, although after each visit made her mother seem older and haggard.

But the girl remembered the thrill that had raced across her body as she leaned back before throwing all of her body weight into that punch, that punch that had thrown Felicia to the ground after she had stumbled over those ridiculous stilettos. It had flooded through herself, a weightlessness that accompanied her heart. For the first time in what seemed like years, Aqua realised that she felt content.

But that gradually changed.

      She used to be your friend, a voice drifted through her mind. Aqua bit down on her lower lip. No, she corrected herself harshly, you used to be her dictator. Once again, and not for the first time, a plethora of immense guilt washed over the girl. It racked her body, causing her to arch her back as she placed her head in her hands. She was exhausted, she realised. She was exhausted of constantly forcing herself to remember, to remember a life that had slipped through the crevices between her fingers. She was depleted of energy from placing a pretty smile upon her painted lips, laughing airily as she placed the cool glass of champagne at the orifice of her mouth, tilting her head back as the fluid slithered down her throat, her diamond earrings glinting at either side of her neck.

Aqua knotted her fingers through her hair, a dry sob echoing through her bedroom. Idly, she thought back at the time she had stepped across these doors, staring, stunned, at the enormity of it, at the opulence that reeked sensually from every fabric, every colour. But now, she never felt more trapped by the scent of incense that wafted from her bed stand, burrowing deep into her nostrils. This was her own prison, her own golden, gilded cage that had been ethereally crafted by the people she was supposed to call family and friends.

What a beautiful tragedy.

"Aqua!" Desmond's authoritative voice called from downstairs. "Are you ready yet?"