Marionette

Skies, Chapter Thirty Eight - Kesshō no Hana [結晶の花]

In the darkness of her most feared memories, broken worlds lay crumpled, a churning mess of decay.

Flecks of light fell from the skies, a precarious reflection of a broken world.

Whirls of wind stirred the light, swirling it around haphazardly as the wind would do to the gentle snow.

It was so cold, and lonely here.

Everything was frozen even though the harrowing chorus of voices flooded her ears.

It was all one could do to lock the heart away, to throw all thoughts and hopes aside.

A soft chime rung through the darkness speckled with light, just as harrowing as it was musical.

'I'm so sorry ...'

A haunted voice whispers through the darkness, disconnected, bouncing through the darkness as the light fell.

Sorrow rung in the voice, broken, reflecting the broken world.

'It's alright if you want to cry.'

And then, the flecks of broken light grew brighter, illuminating the world around her.

Illuminating one of the memories that haunted her the most.

Flashing of blue and red danced in the back of her mind, her petite form clad in sombre hues of black and grey. A single branch of green was held in her small hands, upon its stem were tiny little flowers where the petals had turned transparent upon contact with water.

The sea of voices surrounded her, ever cold in the wake of her worlds disaster.

They were nobody she knew, nobody she ever wanted to know.

They spoke, disjointed, words of pity rolling off of apt tongues.

They knew who she was, though they had never met her before.

They'd never met her until now.

'Such a useless child.' One voice spoke, that of a woman much older than her Mama. 'Its a wonder she managed to cope so long with such a daughter as that.'

A harsh, mocking laugh echoed in response to the callous words.

'Hush now, Dear,' An older man spoke, though the jesting tone in his voice showed that he certainly didn't mean the reprimanding his words portrayed. 'Its doubtful, but she might be able to understand you.'

The flecks of broken light filtered through the air, casting bright glimmers through the expansive, talkative ballroom full of people. Red, plush carpets were elegantly spread over gold-coloured floors, red leather chairs sitting along the edge of the room in neat arrangements. The railing of the two circling flights of stairs that lead up to the overlook seating up above were ornately designed, resembling plant vines in elegant, looping manners. Soft terracotta coloured walls offset the two main colours of red and gold, dimly lit by wall-lamps.

The grand piano that usually stood proud in the centre of the room had been moved, relocated to another room for this one particular event.

Instead, a pillar of flowers stood in its place, surrounding a life-sized photograph of a fair-featured woman with soft red eyes.

A chandelier of crystal and gold hung from the top of the room's ceiling, the source of the fragmented flecks of white light.

The crystals resembled skeleton flowers, that of which were her mothers favorite, though nobody had brought them here for her.

Nobody except for the lonely little girl standing before the giant mass of expansive, and exorbitant display.

Silently, with no emotion showing across her face, the girl stood silently in front of her mothers portrait, alone in the dull chorus of mocking, insincere voices.