The key notes of The Rite of Spring echoed in her head over and over -- only the opening notes, of course; the full song was far too long for Lily to understand. Five minutes was difficult enough to grasp, to section out in her mind; the concept and execution of 33 minutes (let alone the fact it was naturally designed for multiple musicians) or more left her head reeling. Spinning, reeling, leaving her dizzy and -
Well. The pen she'd received after going through the mirror was proof enough of curiosity; the way that when she used it, when she became Juliet and not-herself, mirrors rippled under her touch. Like she could push through. Like everything made sense - and she could travel, if she concentrated, if she visualized. Like she was something more-than, something incredible, something with sight.
(She felt so light, when she did. Light like floating, with bracers on her wrists and a crown-of-sorts or a circlet upon her head. Like she could leap and never, ever land, never fall; just lose herself in the air and the snow. Whiteouts. Fade to white, fade to blank, visibility to zero -- well. She wasn't there yet. But if she was to be like Lesath, eventually, she'd make it there. Elegant wings, elegant everything; to serve, to be helpful. A servant to her Court. That sounded lovely, didn't it? Maid, page, servant of a Court and of - Queens and Kings she'd never met. A younger her would have wept at the thought, to know her dreams of royalty only entertained in daydreams were true of a sort; although all she knew was names. Leto, Princess-Queen, and Remarque - Lesath had spoken of the latter with such fondness that it had made Juliet smile to watch her. The happiness of other people was her favorite thing.)
Elegance. Grace.
But she didn't have time to worry about the Court, did she? There was a competition coming up in but a week, and Lily-Rose had a reputation to uphold. She needed to practice, to make sure her fingers would hit the keys just-so and glide over them like the breeze, all gentle as anything. Orchestrate the piece, make sure your back stays straight and your face is calm, and only hit the pedals as long as one must: those were all the hallmarks of a good pianist. And Lily was a good pianist - not the best. Never the best. But good was good enough for her, and she would never improve too much beyond what she already had. Such were the rules of nature. Such was the rules of her life. Her boundaries weren't breakable, but she would reach them and treat them gently, treat them sweetly and kindly: she would be good to them. So very, very good. So gentle and kind to them.
People didn't like it when she threw herself into harm's way, after all. They liked to see a girl who was clean, calm, polite; stepping on her was only okay to them as long as Lily never visually showed it.
But she bruised easily.
At least her heart never did.
Posted: Mon Jan 02, 2017 7:37 pm
myosotis, the forget-me-not, the snake in the grass [tw: suicidal idealization, thoughts of self-harm, thoughts of harming others, severe depersonalization]
Lily did not have nightmares. Lily rarely had dreams, even. Lily's sleep was flat and restful and filled with nothing resembling anything at all.
“I just – I don’t understand. Why don’t you want to be useful to other people? It’s better than being useful to yourself.”
To be fair, it's not like she didn't dream -- oh, Lily dreamed, certainly. But she didn't remember hers - and even when she did, they are so very close to life she could never distinguish. Perhaps, even from a young age, she was always destined for a bad memory.
"It’s not too difficult. You just…walk far, far away from anyone who’s ever known you. And you find someone who will make you useful. You find a purpose.“
She has a lot of thoughts about that, sometimes, all along the lines that she could be better. She could be more useful. She could be worthwhile in her labor, instead of the only daughter of a moderately affluent family, a caged bird unable to fly -- make her into a beast of burden, perhaps, if her own mind will pardon the comparison. Fragile she may be, but she has talent, she thinks - it's just all trapped up in delicacies with her hands. Weaving, maybe. Jewelry. Ice. Anything so fragile she can cradle it like dust.
“I’m human - why wouldn’t I be human? Ghosts used to be, aren’t human now, but I’m human."
That one, in particular, is a nasty little nightmare. Not human, her-but-not says right back from the mirror; her hair braided back, a red ribbon tied around her throat. Humans aren't like you. Humans listen. Humans decide on their own. You're less-than, you're an afterthought, and eventually they'll know what a disappointment you are, and - and - and - the mirror breaks and digs shards through her veins and shows her eye color right back at her, and her head slips off and falls to the ground and breaks into crystalline ice, and the shards dig through her blood right up to her eyes and eat her all up over and over again. She's just a mirror anyways. Nothing has changed.
“Oh, I’m not upset - I’m never upset. There’s no need to worry about things, is there? I don’t think there’s any need to fret, in any case.”
Another reoccurring nightmare (she has more of them than she thinks, her brain recycling the same thoughts, same impulses over and over). She stands, in her fuku, with Lesath and Remarque and Sadalsuud; and her classmates are bleeding - the ones who bully her, mostly, because she's suggestible and quiet and won't make a fuss - their fingers are darkened with frostbite and cut with puppet strings, moths and clovers gently landing on their skin - and she should be upset, but she cannot. She has no capability for it, after all. Some people might -- but Juliet is just Juliet, and Juliet is just Lily. There is nothing in her that gives her the strength of others.
She is quiet, and she is tired, and she relentlessly practices the standards of care so people don't attempt to help her. She doesn't need help. There was never much of a person there, anyways, even so long ago.
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