#I'll guard her secrets and nod at her when her ghost haunts me in the mirror

[depressedtheatrekiddo]

Sometimes I look back.

I'll never be twelve years old me again.

She was so angry but oh wasn't she graceful? In her suffering, a romantic was born. And in her rage I drown, expecting to get her blood into me.

Because I might not be her. But she was so beautifully written, she was so chaotic and poetic and she could've eaten the world if she wanted so.

So I've taken all her rage and made it mine, I've taken all her thoughts and knitted them all together, creating a web of knowledge she only talked about in an abstract way when she tried to find her reasons to justify her rage, so her words won't be put in question. I've got my fists up for her cause and swore to the girl I once was.

Sometimes I look back.

I'll never be twelve years old me again.

But I'll honour her, I'll try.

[kaseyskat]

nyx? writing a snippet of a new au they have not explained on this site yet? more likely than you think, have some princess marcy/guard sasha sasharcies

~

"Your Highness," Sasha starts, soft and slow, "what are you doing out here?"

It's a party- at least, it was supposed to be a party, a celebration of the new treaty that Marcy had signed into effect a few weeks ago, and yet here she is, curled up on the floor outside of the lower east wing, pressed against the wall like it will whisper its secrets in her ear.

The wall, at least, is a friend. Marcy can count on one hand the amount of those she has; at least, ones that won't betray her at the drop of a well-funded hat.

Sasha doesn't look like she wants to betray her though. Instead, she almost looks worried, her brow all furrowed as she kneels at Marcy's side. Her hands raise, and Marcy flinches, curling further into the wall.

She hadn't meant to leave her party. Usually, she loves the thrill of a ball, being able to entertain her guests in a setting where they could be punished for looking down upon her, and the festivities are always a delight to plan. However sometimes Marcy just has days where the fiddle is too loud and the chatter lingers in her ears, the voices merging with the ones inside her own head until it all rings the same melancholic message.

So she had fled. Call her a coward or a weak princess, it means nothing when she could stand firm and hold an iron grip and be met with the same pitiful sneers because of her age and her political stance.

"Your Highness?"

Marcy's breathing picks up, though she barely notices it through her haze as the voices creep right back in, crowding at the edges of her vision like ghosts come to haunt. She wrings her hands together and shakes her head, hoping the outburst is enough to shake off Sasha- it'd certainly shake off anyone else.

Except… it doesn't. Instead, Marcy feels hands gently petting her braids, toying with the ends just like she does when she's nervous in court. When she blinks the shadows out of her vision, Sasha is still there, sitting next to her and playing with her hair like it means nothing, like this is what she'd do with any of her fellow guards; it's heartwarming.

"Lady Olivia worries," Sasha says quietly, when Marcy's calmed herself down. "Will you come with me? I can bring you back to your rooms."

Marcy, despite herself, gives a shaky little nod. She allows Sasha to help her to her feet, and then to hold her steady against Sasha's own side, supporting her even as they walk back towards Marcy's rooms. If Sasha judges Marcy for her outburst, she doesn't say a word, and Marcy doesn't have to say a word either, not when Sasha's keeping the fraught silence.

Maybe Sasha really is different from the others. Marcy ruminates on the idea as they walk, and by the time they've reached her rooms, she's convinced.

"I'll call for a servant to help you undress," Sasha says when they arrive, even as she gently helps ease Marcy onto her bed.

"Stay?" It comes out a question, meek and timid, and Marcy flushes at the almost incredulous look that Sasha gives her. "I mean… afterwards. Will you come back and stay with me?"

Sasha's expression flickers, and Marcy glances down at the floor; her heart can't take the rejection, especially when this is the first person she's ever allowed to be so close to her heart. But that rejection doesn't come; instead, there's a soft sigh.

"Of course," Sasha answers, like it's the easiest thing in the world.

It's dangerous, this game that Marcy's playing now, but as she allows Sasha to call for a servant, she knows she won't stop playing it anytime soon- for better or for worse.