ObliviousGenius

     She had her hands and cheek pressed against the door, trying to hear. She wouldn't be able to hear anything anyway, but she had to at least try. Pick this one, pick this one, choose me, choose me.... The Lady held her breath against the burning darkness and wished.     She'd been with the princess when the guard came to tell her she was the Lady. She had been standing behind the princess, braiding her hair as the princess liked it. As the guard spoke, her fingers dug tighter and tighter into the princess's curls until finally, the princess cried out. She was His Lady. She was to bring Him to salvation.     When the guard had finished h

You’ve made me sick. You, who flicks my snares from your ankle and picks all but the rotten fruit – You, who builds sinew nests between my shoulder blades and uses my broken spine as an air strip – You, who plays my fingers like the hammers of a piano to strings and crochets lace from the wire – You’ve made me sick, gnawed my smile from photographs and cut my hair too short for curls.