Jenlisa Drabbles

Sometimes I Think it's Just for You that I Live and Breathe In

Cold.

She's -no, it's cold.

Lisa steps away, the sound of her chisel hitting the ground -echoing out into her empty studio. The touch burned. Cold against the warmth of her own skin, a reminder of what could not be.

For a brief moment an unsettling wave of embarrassment overshadows the guilt. Almost as if it's strong enough to keep herself from running her hands against the cold alabaster, fingers tracing with want over the curve of smile she has managed to carve into smooth stone

For a minute it is.

For a minute it keeps her from reaching out, from touching, from feeling, from grazing her fingers softly against the surface of the stone. Trying to understand how her hands sing with a sensation she cannot name. Something she has trouble defining.

Lisa takes a step back, looking into eyes that she's sure exhibits a certain life to it. A certain kind of warmth calling out to her.

Taunting, teasing.

As though it mirrored her stares, and some nights Lisa wished it did.

Longed to see it look back, hold her gaze as if to challenge Lisa to claims of being her maker. Longed to know what it would feel like to have her gentle eyes fall on her and her alone. She chanced another glance at the creation in front of her, the feeling of guilt heavy inside her chest. It's there she wonders how. Like the thought itself was sinful. Countless sleepless nights spent on wondering how she created something so close to -perfection. If it weren't perfection itself.

She picks up the chisel, carefully running it through the white stone to create the likeness of fabric draped over the sculpture's head. Like a veil, it falls to the side along with hair she spent hours crafting. Over bare shoulders she knows would have been soft to the touch if it were real. With measured strokes she guides the tool to create ripples, careful not to overdo the strength with which she hammered. A sense of gentleness she didn't know she had.

For four days she spent hours smoothing the surface-

Chiseling out creases that shouldn't be there,

Perfecting the smile on her lips,

The frozen warmth she captured in her eyes,

Smoothing out her cheeks, thumb barely grazing the roundness of it because she's afraid;

Of feelings she does not know the names of,

Of the want to cradle its face in her hands, hoping to feel warmth instead of stark coldness,

Of the beauty that takes more than just her breath away,

Of it,

Of Jennie, who is

-not hers, never hers.

Lisa thinks it's more of a curse than a blessing to have made something like her. Feeling the pain of ripples inside her own heart; silently pleading, wishing to everything sacred known to humankind to give her life.

Give her breath and soul and everything in between,

Each plea, an added weight to the disgust and desire that builds inside her. Over and over and over.

Jisoo comes over a couple of days after, wanting to look into the progress of her creation. Of the statue Chaeyoung has commissioned from her a month prior.