06-16-2018, 02:46 PM
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[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
Hazel swallowed as she inched further into the room, eyes tracking Suite’s hands. Her tongue felt thick against the roof of her mouth, unsure of what to do or how to start. She knew what needed to be said, but she didn’t know how to...get there.
Dragging her bottom lip beneath her teeth, Hazel pushed the door shut, listening to the small click of the knob before she turned around. Her eyes found Suite’s hands again, then the walls, following the twine clinging to the paneling. The photos that hung there seemed like such a Suite thing to do, even if Hazel had never physically witnessed her take a picture. The other baubles scattered about the room - seashells, gemstones, geodes - seemed to emit the same sort of Suite claim over the room.
Admittedly, her gaze snagged on the bookshelves, a bubble of bittersweetness rising in her chest even if a small, fond smile tugged at her lips. Everyone in the Ascendants seemed to have a bookshelf...except Hazel. She hoped to fix that one day. Her eyes roamed the spines of the books, hoping to spot something classic or Latin-written, but found nothing that stuck out to her immediately. Hazel let her eyes flutter shut, tipping her head back against the door for a brief moment. God, she missed Bastille and his book collection.
Standing up again and pushing away from the door, Hazel took a step toward the middle of the room, and hesitated. “Nothing. I’m - nothing is wrong.” She stumbled over the words, feeling her heart clog her throat. A fleeting smile appeared in a poor attempt to prove her statement. Find a distraction, find a distraction, a little voice whispered. Hazel blinked, feeling a bit more panicked than before now that she was actively wasting Suite’s time.
Eyes falling to the ukulele next to the other, Hazel’s focus sharpened. She’d always wanted one of those...had always heard they made the happiest sounds. She glanced at Suite, barely inclining her head towards the instrument. “Can - can I - ?” Hazel stammered, sitting down and reaching for it, hoping Suite said yes.
It was smaller than she thought. It seemed more fragile than some people said. Hazel held her breath, reverent, as she settled it in her lap and ran trembling fingers over the smooth wood. “I always wanted one of these,” Hazel murmured, voice hardly above a whisper. “but Mother said music makes her head hurt.” She didn’t look at Suite - just kept her gaze somewhere between the blankets and the instrument. The back and stem of it were still warm from where it rested against Suite, and Hazel clung to it in a way, feeling stupidly desperate as the heat seeped elsewhere.
She ran her fingers lightly over the strings, letting the ridges of the cords trail along her fingerprints. Then she pressed down, wanting to hear the twang of music. Her thumb nearly slipped, as nervous as she was; knowing that this wasn’t hers and she was inexperienced with it and could readily break it if she wasn’t careful.
As the sound escaped into the air, Hazel bit her lip through a watery smile. It was a ridiculous thing to get emotional over, but... “I never thought I’d get to hear it in person,” much less play it. “Never thought I’d get to learn. Mother hates the idea of me making “useless, obstructive noise” all day long.” She breathed, not quite ready to let go of the ukulele.
Dragging her bottom lip beneath her teeth, Hazel pushed the door shut, listening to the small click of the knob before she turned around. Her eyes found Suite’s hands again, then the walls, following the twine clinging to the paneling. The photos that hung there seemed like such a Suite thing to do, even if Hazel had never physically witnessed her take a picture. The other baubles scattered about the room - seashells, gemstones, geodes - seemed to emit the same sort of Suite claim over the room.
Admittedly, her gaze snagged on the bookshelves, a bubble of bittersweetness rising in her chest even if a small, fond smile tugged at her lips. Everyone in the Ascendants seemed to have a bookshelf...except Hazel. She hoped to fix that one day. Her eyes roamed the spines of the books, hoping to spot something classic or Latin-written, but found nothing that stuck out to her immediately. Hazel let her eyes flutter shut, tipping her head back against the door for a brief moment. God, she missed Bastille and his book collection.
Standing up again and pushing away from the door, Hazel took a step toward the middle of the room, and hesitated. “Nothing. I’m - nothing is wrong.” She stumbled over the words, feeling her heart clog her throat. A fleeting smile appeared in a poor attempt to prove her statement. Find a distraction, find a distraction, a little voice whispered. Hazel blinked, feeling a bit more panicked than before now that she was actively wasting Suite’s time.
Eyes falling to the ukulele next to the other, Hazel’s focus sharpened. She’d always wanted one of those...had always heard they made the happiest sounds. She glanced at Suite, barely inclining her head towards the instrument. “Can - can I - ?” Hazel stammered, sitting down and reaching for it, hoping Suite said yes.
It was smaller than she thought. It seemed more fragile than some people said. Hazel held her breath, reverent, as she settled it in her lap and ran trembling fingers over the smooth wood. “I always wanted one of these,” Hazel murmured, voice hardly above a whisper. “but Mother said music makes her head hurt.” She didn’t look at Suite - just kept her gaze somewhere between the blankets and the instrument. The back and stem of it were still warm from where it rested against Suite, and Hazel clung to it in a way, feeling stupidly desperate as the heat seeped elsewhere.
She ran her fingers lightly over the strings, letting the ridges of the cords trail along her fingerprints. Then she pressed down, wanting to hear the twang of music. Her thumb nearly slipped, as nervous as she was; knowing that this wasn’t hers and she was inexperienced with it and could readily break it if she wasn’t careful.
As the sound escaped into the air, Hazel bit her lip through a watery smile. It was a ridiculous thing to get emotional over, but... “I never thought I’d get to hear it in person,” much less play it. “Never thought I’d get to learn. Mother hates the idea of me making “useless, obstructive noise” all day long.” She breathed, not quite ready to let go of the ukulele.
★ — hazel — "speech" — eight months — the ascendants — tags — ★
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better