Post by Chloë Delacroix on Aug 31, 2015 18:37:03 GMT -5
And that's okay.
A small frame, a blur of lavender and black flickered in and out of the park. Perhaps Chloë was not quite ready to make her return from France. It had only been five years, after all. It wasn't long before her indecisiveness got the best of her and she stood in the middle of the park and squealed in pain. Her carelessness had left a beautiful red slice across her pale skin. Only the Delacroix was capable of getting so lost in her mind and fears as to get herself splinched at her age. Breathe, Chloë. She sighed, closed her eyes and swiped the blood off her cheek and temporarily healed the wound. Like a bad habit, she licked the blood off her fingers and scoured at the metallic taste.
You know, if you didn't want to return to London, you didn't have to. Cleo offered to go. She told you that you weren't ready. She was right you know, she's always right. Why don't we just go home now? You've already injured yourself. This is a disaster, come on. But Chloë had always been defiant, and she was no longer victim to her own mind. The fragile mess that had left London many years ago was, well, still a mess. But she was no longer just a mess, she had cleaned up nicely. In a lavendar blouse and a black skirt, the tiny woman had inched over to under a tree to gather her thoughts. Her black curls had been strategically pinned back out of her face. Why Cleo had let herself run out of Murtlap was beyond Chloë but she assumed it was a task, and she refused to fail.
Her dark eyes glanced around the park, finally coming to the realization that she had made a rather loud entrance into the park and right now, Chloë just wanted to remain forgotten. She arrived in the middle of the day in the middle of the week on purpose, after all. Her cursory glance proved there was no one in direct sight, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief. But the glance also proved that nothing had really changed in London. The Delacroix had come and gone and returned again and there were no signs of her in London whatsoever. Perhaps that was how it was suppose to be. At first, the thought made her scowl with disappointment. She wondered what it was like to be remembered, if she would be. But those thoughts were quickly lost as Chloë gathered herself again. London still had it's charm, and if she was going to fully complete the task at hand, she had to at least experience some of it again.
The petite woman adjusted her skirt and inhaled slowly. Breathe, Chloë. Exhale. She tiptoed to the main walkway. Time to blend in, just a casual stroll through the park.
A small frame, a blur of lavender and black flickered in and out of the park. Perhaps Chloë was not quite ready to make her return from France. It had only been five years, after all. It wasn't long before her indecisiveness got the best of her and she stood in the middle of the park and squealed in pain. Her carelessness had left a beautiful red slice across her pale skin. Only the Delacroix was capable of getting so lost in her mind and fears as to get herself splinched at her age. Breathe, Chloë. She sighed, closed her eyes and swiped the blood off her cheek and temporarily healed the wound. Like a bad habit, she licked the blood off her fingers and scoured at the metallic taste.
You know, if you didn't want to return to London, you didn't have to. Cleo offered to go. She told you that you weren't ready. She was right you know, she's always right. Why don't we just go home now? You've already injured yourself. This is a disaster, come on. But Chloë had always been defiant, and she was no longer victim to her own mind. The fragile mess that had left London many years ago was, well, still a mess. But she was no longer just a mess, she had cleaned up nicely. In a lavendar blouse and a black skirt, the tiny woman had inched over to under a tree to gather her thoughts. Her black curls had been strategically pinned back out of her face. Why Cleo had let herself run out of Murtlap was beyond Chloë but she assumed it was a task, and she refused to fail.
Her dark eyes glanced around the park, finally coming to the realization that she had made a rather loud entrance into the park and right now, Chloë just wanted to remain forgotten. She arrived in the middle of the day in the middle of the week on purpose, after all. Her cursory glance proved there was no one in direct sight, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief. But the glance also proved that nothing had really changed in London. The Delacroix had come and gone and returned again and there were no signs of her in London whatsoever. Perhaps that was how it was suppose to be. At first, the thought made her scowl with disappointment. She wondered what it was like to be remembered, if she would be. But those thoughts were quickly lost as Chloë gathered herself again. London still had it's charm, and if she was going to fully complete the task at hand, she had to at least experience some of it again.
The petite woman adjusted her skirt and inhaled slowly. Breathe, Chloë. Exhale. She tiptoed to the main walkway. Time to blend in, just a casual stroll through the park.
