pommelina

@mirrorshards                            [the ghost of momentary touch’ll fleet, as all good things in life though. although the smile it’s brought to almila’s reddened lips remains.]               spare me.              [it’s a half—whisper, joke gone unuttered as a secret between the two of them.]            for it to last a couple of hours, a day if refrigerated.   every single time i’ve tried,   it’s ended in,    well..      —you look like you could have a couple of lucky guesses. 

⠀ ⠀ i’m  not  the  one  who  did  it.    (  the tone is light,  and she pushes her shoulder into the others softly.  the contact burns on everly’s bare skin but she wants more. )    it’s  rewarding.  to craft  something  yourself,  with  your  time  and  the  fresh  ingredients.  and  the  thought  of  others  enjoying  it. 

@mirrorshards                            i must be cursed.           [it’s proposed all in good humor, the edgings of a smile daring to come out of hiding.]            it’s a small thing that takes forever to make and five minutes tops to finish off.   no, thanks. 

@mirrorshards                            well,   i can’t?   alright?   is that what you’re dying to hear?     —i can s-   /feel/ you staring daggers at me across the room.   i’d still feel it if i left far, far away to be in the isle,   or the other side of the world.              [a million pricks stem at her. prying, in unrelenting pursuit of the impossible, to let almila see everly for perhaps the very first time. shuddering breath’s wind is knocked out of her lungs, back to back, until nothing but the scent of her is all she breathes in.]              don’t pretend to stoop down a level to reap the pleasure of me spelling it out.               [almila’ll step in, for it to make no difference at all. she’s all she sees and all she hears still.]              you’re in my blood,  everly.           [her finger will move to ghost on top of the pulse on her neck. fatal point. the words leave her mouth before a stream of consciousness picks up on them.]            you’re right here.    —i was destined to have you like this,   and you, me. 

⠀ ⠀ (  a  scoff,  almost a laugh from everly.  like the whole thing is amusing to her,  like she’s enjoying getting under her skin and messing with her.  and had it been anyone else,  she would be enjoying it.  )    i’ve  seen  the  way  you  look  at  me  —  in  fact,  it’s  the  way  you  [don’t]  look.  it’s  like  you  [can’t]  look.  if  that  doesn’t  make  it  clear  how  you  feel  about  me,  then  what  does,  almila  ? 
            
            ⠀ ⠀ (  her voice loses itself in her throat,  words dying on her tongue,  rotten as an apple.  [what am i to you?]  the thought is pounding against her skull,  it’s now her heartbeat.  )  tell  me.  what  ..  am  i  to  you  if  not  your  enemy  ?

@mirrorshards                            i do respect you!            [she exhales a breath so deep, almila is afraid she might lose color altogether. or whenever it was that she let everly get so under the pits of her white skin.]            and yet, you—   you’re convinced i’ve made you out to be this sort of enemy.    and i haven’t—   i hadn’t.   /i wouldn’t/.             [an attempt at peace is made, though it lasts as long as before the second their eyes meet once more. and almila is pulled back in.]            well,    guess what?      i’ve been seeing how you’ve been eying me up since you’ve come here.    i think it’s really you who feels a sort of moral superiority over me.   and this is just your really roundabout way of punishing me some more for..      —trying to make nice?       when we both know what you are to me,   and what i am to you.

@mirrorshards                            [it’s one of her mother’s, reworked, colored, and near—manufactured a plethora of resources that could have gone into feeding at least one county.]             thank you.                 [she’s dreaded turning, putting a face to the name she had all but etched onto the back of the unknown mechanisms of her mind. though the moment of it does come. and then there were two: tucked away under the blanket of midnight.]             i don’t know if it’s ‘me,’   but—        you’re,       (…)        your gown.   is beautiful too.    two beautiful gowns.    what to do, what to do..

ALMILA WHITE,     daughter of snow white.