Post by Lillian Ann on Sept 8, 2007 19:59:46 GMT -5
Blue eyes watch the world beneath her quiet, and it is all that she can do not to laugh at the merry first years as they exist in the world so free... Such children, she observes them, knows there quirks, knows their inner thoughts at times it seems, as she can guess what they are going to do.. Which are going to fall to pieces, which are going to find 'love', it is so easy to read them.. It makes her sick to know that she was once just like them.. Can pray that it wasn't really so.. That she was never so foolish.
A soft pop echoes within her ears, and she wonders if the one's below her have heard, before pushing the thought away, as it is a foolish thought... Stupid of her, and for a moment the thought passes her that she wants to be caught, but shakes it away.. No.. She is quite happy in her self-induced lonliness, quite happy in her alienation.
After all, it was what she was made for.
Lillian bites her lip, piercing fragle skin and raises a pale hand to touch the wound, staring at the scarlet that resides on her pale skin.. Knows that it must color pale pink lips like lipstick on a porcilean doll.. Or the smiles on a clown.. Isn't sure which thought disturbs her more, though she knows which she seems like to most.. A doll.. Perfect, untouchable.. This is why she hovers in the trees,,
She is dressed in black bell bottoms, though they went out of style many a year ago and a black shirt that hangs past her waist... It is easier this way, to blend in with the night, though her face in all it's paleness is illuminated. It is probably around four in the morning now, and she has been sitting in her tree since night fall.. Her tree.. They have all become her trees...
"Wishing upon a crippled star."
Is her soft murmur in the wind.
A soft pop echoes within her ears, and she wonders if the one's below her have heard, before pushing the thought away, as it is a foolish thought... Stupid of her, and for a moment the thought passes her that she wants to be caught, but shakes it away.. No.. She is quite happy in her self-induced lonliness, quite happy in her alienation.
After all, it was what she was made for.
Lillian bites her lip, piercing fragle skin and raises a pale hand to touch the wound, staring at the scarlet that resides on her pale skin.. Knows that it must color pale pink lips like lipstick on a porcilean doll.. Or the smiles on a clown.. Isn't sure which thought disturbs her more, though she knows which she seems like to most.. A doll.. Perfect, untouchable.. This is why she hovers in the trees,,
She is dressed in black bell bottoms, though they went out of style many a year ago and a black shirt that hangs past her waist... It is easier this way, to blend in with the night, though her face in all it's paleness is illuminated. It is probably around four in the morning now, and she has been sitting in her tree since night fall.. Her tree.. They have all become her trees...
"Wishing upon a crippled star."
Is her soft murmur in the wind.
