Categories > Original > Drama
Hi! First fic ever on here. Just something I whipped up a few years ago, figured I'd dust it off and such. Rated for a bit of language and some semi-naughty implications. Thanks!
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"Tell me a secret. Something you've never told anyone, ever."
She is beautiful in that broken sort of way. Fringes that aren't quite flush. Cracks and seams flicker like lies across her face. Pieces to different puzzles all in one place. Crooked fingers engulf the chipped floral mug, seeming to not notice the steaming contents. Amber eyes regard her stoically, too old for her young face.
Diane sighs, studying her own mug intently, as if there were a code contained within the enormous cascading phrase of "WORLD'S BEST MUM!!" She wishes she could say she was uncomfortable, that she wishes this strange young woman who'd simply sat down at her table and ordered a mug of tea would just leave. Funny how things work out.
"Tell me a secret."
She looks up, a pained smile on her face. "When I was twelve, I told everyone Edith Brailthwaite was pregnant because I didn't want people to know she called me a dirty whore at a party the night before."
The young woman sits there, quietly, patiently, as if made of stone. A breeze ruffles a stray auburn curl, but despite that, she is still. Diane bites her the lip, the sudden scrutiny giving her a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"And what about you? What sort of secrets do you have?"
An ivory hand snakes across the table to grasp Diane's trembling one. The young woman slides out of her chair, leaning in close to Diane (who's consequently wondering if she should in fact scream.). Another hand rises to cup Diane's face, calloused fingers gently caressing her cheek. She smiles, so sweetly, so innocently, that Diane can't help but feel as if her heart has been ripped in twain. The power of speech seems to have failed her and it doesn't help the matter when the young woman leans in, kissing her gently, chastely on the lips.
A million stars burst into existence and a thousand suns slowly die down in that one moment. Voices scream and whisper and it feels as if the universe itself has uttered its secrets.
Feeling slightly dazed, Diane watches as the woman stands, smiles again, and says, "One day, my love, our secrets will be the universe's playthings."
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"Tell me a secret. Something you've never told anyone, ever."
She is beautiful in that broken sort of way. Fringes that aren't quite flush. Cracks and seams flicker like lies across her face. Pieces to different puzzles all in one place. Crooked fingers engulf the chipped floral mug, seeming to not notice the steaming contents. Amber eyes regard her stoically, too old for her young face.
Diane sighs, studying her own mug intently, as if there were a code contained within the enormous cascading phrase of "WORLD'S BEST MUM!!" She wishes she could say she was uncomfortable, that she wishes this strange young woman who'd simply sat down at her table and ordered a mug of tea would just leave. Funny how things work out.
"Tell me a secret."
She looks up, a pained smile on her face. "When I was twelve, I told everyone Edith Brailthwaite was pregnant because I didn't want people to know she called me a dirty whore at a party the night before."
The young woman sits there, quietly, patiently, as if made of stone. A breeze ruffles a stray auburn curl, but despite that, she is still. Diane bites her the lip, the sudden scrutiny giving her a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"And what about you? What sort of secrets do you have?"
An ivory hand snakes across the table to grasp Diane's trembling one. The young woman slides out of her chair, leaning in close to Diane (who's consequently wondering if she should in fact scream.). Another hand rises to cup Diane's face, calloused fingers gently caressing her cheek. She smiles, so sweetly, so innocently, that Diane can't help but feel as if her heart has been ripped in twain. The power of speech seems to have failed her and it doesn't help the matter when the young woman leans in, kissing her gently, chastely on the lips.
A million stars burst into existence and a thousand suns slowly die down in that one moment. Voices scream and whisper and it feels as if the universe itself has uttered its secrets.
Feeling slightly dazed, Diane watches as the woman stands, smiles again, and says, "One day, my love, our secrets will be the universe's playthings."
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