A globe.. of.. the Queen that appeared at the ball?
Lumiere tipped the snowglobe back and forth, spinning the around and around. But no matter how many times she saw it, it couldn't be identified as any other. There were no such things as coincidences in this world. At first, the snowglobe had been an object of distrust, sitting delicately on a white counter.
... But days went by.. There wasn't a single trace of evidence that indicated elsewise, that the snowglobe was anything other than a snowglobe. It merely sat there, gathering dust. Sometimes, Lumiere sat at the desk, leaning back in her chair to listen to it's nostalgic tune. The melody could be heard in late hours of the night, the bluenette sitting by her window, curtains opened to reveal the large moon. She closed her eyes, head tipped back, simply allowing the pale streaks of moonlight to light her dark silhouette in the night. Slowly, she brought her knees up to her chest, her arms hugged her legs tightly. Her head rested sideways, her cheeks flattening on the hard surface of her knees. Her eyes closed, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
The season of Christmas. Memories lingered in the back of her mind as the notes played, slowly but coherently, forming into a clearer picture. It was images of her family from once before. It was only a single Christmas embedded in her memories. Ms. Aileron, or Mama, as Lumiere referred to her was attempting to stick a large crystal star on top of the tree. Nearly falling over, Lumiere's small and high pitched voice had frantically called out to Mr. Cross.
The man, bent over a box of decorations, looked up in alarm. He slid forward, catching the thin-framed female in his hands, landing in an unorganized mess of limbs and presents. They had laughed over it, Senri's father winked at her. He had once told Lumiere that he would always be there. At that time, Lumiere believed he truly meant it. Little Lumiere burst into laughter as well, bringing out the irate Senri, lecturing the two adults on their lack of caution.
But shortly after, Mr. Cross would rarely, if ever, be seen again in the home of the Ailerons.
The notes neared an end.. and so did the memory.
Open my eyes, yeah, it was only just a dream.
So I travel back, down that road.
Will she come back? No one knows.
I realize, yeah, it was only just a dream.
So I travel back, down that road.
Will she come back? No one knows.
I realize, yeah, it was only just a dream.
The lyrics filtered in from a song on itunes, playing softly on her abandoned laptop. It was difficult to pull her gaze away from the etheral sight in the sky, unfolding from her current posture to reluctantly stand. Instead of checking on the important emails and messages that surely awaited her, she closed her laptop lid for the night.
She wouldn't play that snowglobe again tonight. Unnecessary memories only proved to be an incessant hindrance. She turned the snowglobe around so that the front no longer faced the bluenette, pushing it to the back of her desk. She didn't have time for sentimentality tonight.
But that didn't mean that the tune wouldn't play tomorrow. Or the day after. Or for days to come. But that memory wouldn't be replayed.
(607 words)
