(carolena) lady of sorrows (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dignity_misery) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
poly_chromatic2012-09-14 01:56 pm
dignity_misery) wrote in poly_chromatic2012-09-14 01:56 pm
Entry tags:
035 x 530 // video
[[ooc; This is the continuation of a plot which revolves around Carla's suicide (also mentions of necro-slavery and abuse.) That is a blanket trigger warning for anything she might talk about in this post or the comments below. Carla will be remaining in the psychiatric ward another week after this. Visitors are welcome, as are any network replies, you don't need to know her, it's a public post.]]
[Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail at the crown of her skull. With her hair pulled back from her face, it's easy to see the exhaustion there, rings deep around her eyes. She's curled into a chair by the window of a very empty room. She's a self-violence risk, and there are fresh scratches on her shoulder and her stomach and her legs that attest to it. With her hair pulled up, it's easy to see the scars carved into her neck, neatly sewn, many months healed but large, from behind her ears round to the dip of her throat, flecked with smaller incisions that had healed on their own. This isn't the first time she's caused herself harm, some have been messier than others. An empty room offers no tools and no incitement.
When she speaks it's to no one in particular. Maybe someone suggested to her to try recording her thoughts. Maybe she just feels like talking.]
Last time I woke up dead... I was chained to the floor. I knew why. I'd seen Reanimates come-to before, all they want to do is scream and eat. I'd have ripped Barbet apart, if he hadn't chained me down. [She lowers her chin to her knee, still staring out the window.] I would have, but I was never as far gone as the others. They knew that, I could see it on their faces when they'd come inside, little pricks of curiosity. It was winter, they all wanted to hide with him. He'd give them dry clothes and put hot water bottles on their heads. He was always kinder to the dead than the living. Barbet tried to keep us apart, so that I wouldn't act like them, but it didn't matter. We were always aware of each other.
I remember that Rigid was afraid. She was getting old... and she didn't want to be sold for snuff, or titled the Raggedy Anne. We all wanted to die. She just didn't want to be tortured first. I don't remember why I hung on anymore. I was never going to go back, I was already dead. Maybe... maybe it was the others. We all shared emotions, we couldn't help it. When one of us reacted, all the others fed off of it, and they all loved him. He spoiled them and they loved him, because he didn't want anything from them.
He spoiled me too. He could have given me over to the trainers. I never forgot that. I knew there were reasons not to go outside.
And I loved him, somehow. I didn't feel that way, before he brought me back. I admired him. He didn't let anyone corrupt him, or change him. He never lied about anything, he never pandered. I wanted everything to do with him. I wanted to be part of it, so that he wouldn't forget me. [She gives a hoarse little laugh, miserable and self-effacing.] I hate... the idea of being forgotten, being that meaningless. But he didn't like to forget. He had walls of pictures, books full, shelves full. He wanted to keep all of us as beautiful as he found us. That's... all he cared about. He only loved his work, so he must have loved me. Whatever's that's worth.
[There's a moment of silence, her expression pensive, reaching for something.]
I still miss him. It doesn't matter what I hide behind, I always miss him, in the end. There's nothing that makes it stop.
...and I don't want that to be all there is. I don't want it to be there anymore.
But I don't want to forget either.
[Her head dips to one side, tucking her cheek in against her shoulder. She reaches up to mess with her hair briefly, rough and frustrated, before her hand darts out to turn the camera off, but it hesitates for a moment. She says slowly,]
I'm fluent in French, and communicable in Spanish. I want to learn something else.
[Now it's going off.]
[Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail at the crown of her skull. With her hair pulled back from her face, it's easy to see the exhaustion there, rings deep around her eyes. She's curled into a chair by the window of a very empty room. She's a self-violence risk, and there are fresh scratches on her shoulder and her stomach and her legs that attest to it. With her hair pulled up, it's easy to see the scars carved into her neck, neatly sewn, many months healed but large, from behind her ears round to the dip of her throat, flecked with smaller incisions that had healed on their own. This isn't the first time she's caused herself harm, some have been messier than others. An empty room offers no tools and no incitement.
When she speaks it's to no one in particular. Maybe someone suggested to her to try recording her thoughts. Maybe she just feels like talking.]
Last time I woke up dead... I was chained to the floor. I knew why. I'd seen Reanimates come-to before, all they want to do is scream and eat. I'd have ripped Barbet apart, if he hadn't chained me down. [She lowers her chin to her knee, still staring out the window.] I would have, but I was never as far gone as the others. They knew that, I could see it on their faces when they'd come inside, little pricks of curiosity. It was winter, they all wanted to hide with him. He'd give them dry clothes and put hot water bottles on their heads. He was always kinder to the dead than the living. Barbet tried to keep us apart, so that I wouldn't act like them, but it didn't matter. We were always aware of each other.
I remember that Rigid was afraid. She was getting old... and she didn't want to be sold for snuff, or titled the Raggedy Anne. We all wanted to die. She just didn't want to be tortured first. I don't remember why I hung on anymore. I was never going to go back, I was already dead. Maybe... maybe it was the others. We all shared emotions, we couldn't help it. When one of us reacted, all the others fed off of it, and they all loved him. He spoiled them and they loved him, because he didn't want anything from them.
He spoiled me too. He could have given me over to the trainers. I never forgot that. I knew there were reasons not to go outside.
And I loved him, somehow. I didn't feel that way, before he brought me back. I admired him. He didn't let anyone corrupt him, or change him. He never lied about anything, he never pandered. I wanted everything to do with him. I wanted to be part of it, so that he wouldn't forget me. [She gives a hoarse little laugh, miserable and self-effacing.] I hate... the idea of being forgotten, being that meaningless. But he didn't like to forget. He had walls of pictures, books full, shelves full. He wanted to keep all of us as beautiful as he found us. That's... all he cared about. He only loved his work, so he must have loved me. Whatever's that's worth.
[There's a moment of silence, her expression pensive, reaching for something.]
I still miss him. It doesn't matter what I hide behind, I always miss him, in the end. There's nothing that makes it stop.
...and I don't want that to be all there is. I don't want it to be there anymore.
But I don't want to forget either.
[Her head dips to one side, tucking her cheek in against her shoulder. She reaches up to mess with her hair briefly, rough and frustrated, before her hand darts out to turn the camera off, but it hesitates for a moment. She says slowly,]
I'm fluent in French, and communicable in Spanish. I want to learn something else.
[Now it's going off.]
no subject