10-20-2018, 07:27 PM
She got lonely sometimes.
She tried to be happy--being happy was nice, better than being sad, of course--but sometimes, her attempts were futile. Sometimes, no matter how she tried to preoccupy herself with things, she didn't feel light and cheerful like she usually was. She knew why, knew it better than anyone around her, at least, but she tried not to acknowledge it. She pushed it down because she didn't want to think about it, didn't want to make others worry. Her siblings did their best to keep her happy and she wanted to keep them thinking that she was.
Isabelle was good at pretending, acting like everything was alright. But she wasn't now, the smile on her face genuine, as she sat in the empty hall and stared at the pictures that hung on the wall. Some were old, and others were fresh, but they were all unique. She liked to think it was a monument of their history, things that had--and will--withstand the passage of time.
Her mothers' pictures were probably on here, too. The thought made her smile falter, the shine in her eyes dull, but she quickly masked it. She would be happy, try and celebrate the fact they even existed at all, that there was still some trace of them left. But she was, too, she was what remained of them, along with her brothers and sisters.
But that wasn't why she was there. A piece of paper at her paws, the kitten went to work with her crayons, which were scattered about the floor. Once it was done, she picked it up, holding it out to admire it before nodding, satisfied with her work. Then she put it up with all the others, taping it to the wall.
Now everyone could see her family portrait, consisting of her, her siblings, and Margaery and Suiteheart. They looked like blobs of color, but to her, they looked just right. They stood in a field, the sun peeking in in one of the corners.
"speech"
She tried to be happy--being happy was nice, better than being sad, of course--but sometimes, her attempts were futile. Sometimes, no matter how she tried to preoccupy herself with things, she didn't feel light and cheerful like she usually was. She knew why, knew it better than anyone around her, at least, but she tried not to acknowledge it. She pushed it down because she didn't want to think about it, didn't want to make others worry. Her siblings did their best to keep her happy and she wanted to keep them thinking that she was.
Isabelle was good at pretending, acting like everything was alright. But she wasn't now, the smile on her face genuine, as she sat in the empty hall and stared at the pictures that hung on the wall. Some were old, and others were fresh, but they were all unique. She liked to think it was a monument of their history, things that had--and will--withstand the passage of time.
Her mothers' pictures were probably on here, too. The thought made her smile falter, the shine in her eyes dull, but she quickly masked it. She would be happy, try and celebrate the fact they even existed at all, that there was still some trace of them left. But she was, too, she was what remained of them, along with her brothers and sisters.
But that wasn't why she was there. A piece of paper at her paws, the kitten went to work with her crayons, which were scattered about the floor. Once it was done, she picked it up, holding it out to admire it before nodding, satisfied with her work. Then she put it up with all the others, taping it to the wall.
Now everyone could see her family portrait, consisting of her, her siblings, and Margaery and Suiteheart. They looked like blobs of color, but to her, they looked just right. They stood in a field, the sun peeking in in one of the corners.
"speech"