05-02-2018, 09:18 PM
★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
ooc: okay note to myself so i don’t forget: this is a human au
Also oh my god again im so sorry this is so terrible, i would have written more but i’m falling asleep for some reason smh
Here’s the thing: for the first fourteen years of Hazel’s life, she had spent most of her days behind a closed door. She could still remember exactly what it looked like, too. It had a brass knob that was corroded but smooth, its once-shiny surface littered with dark splotches. It rattled in its embedding, and squeaked when turned. There was a hole in the center of the knob where the lock used to be, but had somehow been dismantled so it could only be bolted from the outside.
It was a simple lock; Hazel could have picked it if she wanted to. She wasn’t short on learning time, and there were no other locks or bolts holding the door shut. She could remember sitting in her room on her small twin bed, bed sheet wrapped around her ankles as she cradled her knees in her chest, thinking of all the ways she could break it down.
Hazel used to think about breaking that door for hours - would spend hours staring at blank wooden panels, thinking, imagining. Countless times she would find herself unconsciously inching towards the old slab of oak, the sting of impact already sparking in her heel.
But she never did it.
Because it wasn’t really the lock keeping her in her room. It was the knowledge that whatever was waiting for her on the other side wasn’t nearly as safe as what she had on her side. All she faced was punishment, and that wasn’t worth it. She still received three meals a day and when it rained, she was dry. That was ten times better than facing Mother’s wrath for the satisfaction of opening her door.
So...yes, doors had a very significant role in her life. Closed doors made her feel isolated and lonely and gave her horrible flashbacks to the first few times Mother had caught her trying to open the door as a little girl. Because of this, Hazel kept her new bedroom door open.
Today she was getting around to moving some of the bigger things in her room, like the filing cabinets that had somehow managed to shift halfway across the floor. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but it would be worth it once she finished. There would finally be even floorspace!
The soon to be sixteen year old hummed to herself as she slapped her hands over and across the back pockets of her faded overall shorts, wiping off the dirt she might’ve picked up from chasing Arion around barefoot. That colt was going to sleep like the dead, hopefully. Hazel couldn’t stand another night of his insistent clopping every two hours.
Hazel had just set her hands against the filing cabinet, prepared to scoot the seemingly four hundred pound object eight feet to the nearest wall, when a short, deep voice startled her out of her wits. A mortifying squeak slipped off her lips as she jumped, whirling around to face the boy in the doorway.
Angry Boy? What was he doing here? “Oh...hi,” Hazel managed after a moment. Angry Boy was sort of the last person she expected to see, but a surprise was always a little more fun, she supposed. Besides, a destructive sense of curiosity ate away at her every time she saw him. Hazel wanted to know everything about him: what made him tick, what made him come apart, what made him happy, what broke him down in tears. But at the moment? She didn't even know his name.
Also oh my god again im so sorry this is so terrible, i would have written more but i’m falling asleep for some reason smh
Here’s the thing: for the first fourteen years of Hazel’s life, she had spent most of her days behind a closed door. She could still remember exactly what it looked like, too. It had a brass knob that was corroded but smooth, its once-shiny surface littered with dark splotches. It rattled in its embedding, and squeaked when turned. There was a hole in the center of the knob where the lock used to be, but had somehow been dismantled so it could only be bolted from the outside.
It was a simple lock; Hazel could have picked it if she wanted to. She wasn’t short on learning time, and there were no other locks or bolts holding the door shut. She could remember sitting in her room on her small twin bed, bed sheet wrapped around her ankles as she cradled her knees in her chest, thinking of all the ways she could break it down.
Hazel used to think about breaking that door for hours - would spend hours staring at blank wooden panels, thinking, imagining. Countless times she would find herself unconsciously inching towards the old slab of oak, the sting of impact already sparking in her heel.
But she never did it.
Because it wasn’t really the lock keeping her in her room. It was the knowledge that whatever was waiting for her on the other side wasn’t nearly as safe as what she had on her side. All she faced was punishment, and that wasn’t worth it. She still received three meals a day and when it rained, she was dry. That was ten times better than facing Mother’s wrath for the satisfaction of opening her door.
So...yes, doors had a very significant role in her life. Closed doors made her feel isolated and lonely and gave her horrible flashbacks to the first few times Mother had caught her trying to open the door as a little girl. Because of this, Hazel kept her new bedroom door open.
Today she was getting around to moving some of the bigger things in her room, like the filing cabinets that had somehow managed to shift halfway across the floor. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but it would be worth it once she finished. There would finally be even floorspace!
The soon to be sixteen year old hummed to herself as she slapped her hands over and across the back pockets of her faded overall shorts, wiping off the dirt she might’ve picked up from chasing Arion around barefoot. That colt was going to sleep like the dead, hopefully. Hazel couldn’t stand another night of his insistent clopping every two hours.
Hazel had just set her hands against the filing cabinet, prepared to scoot the seemingly four hundred pound object eight feet to the nearest wall, when a short, deep voice startled her out of her wits. A mortifying squeak slipped off her lips as she jumped, whirling around to face the boy in the doorway.
Angry Boy? What was he doing here? “Oh...hi,” Hazel managed after a moment. Angry Boy was sort of the last person she expected to see, but a surprise was always a little more fun, she supposed. Besides, a destructive sense of curiosity ate away at her every time she saw him. Hazel wanted to know everything about him: what made him tick, what made him come apart, what made him happy, what broke him down in tears. But at the moment? She didn't even know his name.
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better