OPEN | prompt two | LOVE

[wrens]

prompt two | L O V E And what you can never know from the beginning is how hard or how long you'll love something; how even when it is gone the love will chase you down, loping like dark flame through your blood. — Some lies are love. — Love blurs your vision; but after it recedes, you can see more clearly than ever. It's like the tide going out, revealing whatever's been thrown away and sunk: broken bottles, old gloves, rusting pop cans, nibbled fishbodies, bones. This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes, not knowing the future. The ruin you've made.

 

start a thread.
leave a character request/verse in the subject line.
(otherwise leave blank and i'll choose who you get)
start the scene in your comment.
(otherwise leave open and i'll start)

OR

respond to a pre-existing thread.
(double-tags/cross-overs/aus welcome)

OR

respond to the image prompt as if it has come up in conversation.
or muse on the subject in general.
(á la mothdeath/dr-style)

Comments

[aside]

[ Oh love is truly nothing but trouble as far as Red is concerned, but trouble is something she's always had a taste for, even as the youngest of girls. Be mindful of the path, they'd told her. Stray too far and you'll be lost. But lost is a state of being that has never frightened Red and never will, not even if it kills her.

Being found meant being pinned into place — run through with expectations and boxed in by rules. Getting married had been a mistake but an adventure in its own right, however brief. But marriage, Red knows, is decidedly not love. Her marriage may try to kill her with tedium but if she dies, it will be both of love's hand wrapped tightly round her lily white throat, and she's fine with that.

When she speaks her voice is light and singsong, just bordering on condescending. ] Not a fan?

[mercantile]

[ After a faint pause, Mally raises her eyes upwards a little, inspecting the woman speaking to her. She purses her lips, reluctant to continue on this topic, even though she knows that she has no space to avoid it. One engagement ring somewhat viciously melted down by a friend (so to speak) at Mally's hurt request, a second mailed to an isolated Cornish cottage with a short note asking for the ring to be disposed of over the side of a boat, Mally is barely short of stories to tell, but telling them isn't quite her favourite pass time.

At length: ]

Not particularly, no.

[aside]

[ Everyone has their stories, Red knows that, so the real question that remains is whether or not a stranger's stories are worth any salt. The world is full of people and each person has their tales to tell. some of which are boons while others are just burdens. Sad tales, happy tales, fairy tales — it doesn't matter. Red is hungry enough to want to taste all of them, to hold a morsel of them on her tongue and decide for herself as to whether they're delicious or not.

Red has a way of smiling, even when she doesn't. It's something to do with the set her of eyebrows, the shape of her mouth and the tone of her voice. ]

But you were once upon a time, [ she ventures. It's not a question. ]