Before you is a veritable sea of stars; the crowd’s lightsticks shine so brightly, pinpricks of pink enough to cut through any gloom. You’re on a stage lit perfectly for a concert, a field of flowers at your feet all in that same color. Your dress, too—adorned with bows and ribbons, long and flowing at your throat and around your waist and flanking each leg—pastel pink silk embroidered with flowers and bordered with lace, perfectly suits the bright and peppy scenery. It perfectly suits you, the Idol shining at pep!pep!’s back, vibrant and kind. But they’re too tight.
The silks are like a vise around your throat, your waist, your legs, and you can’t dance like this. With your hands free, you could always loosen them, could always remove them, but you would look so very plain without them, wouldn’t you? What appeal could you possibly have without your color, when each person here in front of you has come to see you perform? Levi, Ruby, all of your unit, everyone—everyone has come to watch you, has worked themselves up into this fervor for you, and you’ve offered them nothing in return. They all go silent, the glow of the lightsticks growing dim at your inaction, but around your throat, your waist, your legs are too tight and you can’t dance like this and your throat,
When you reach up, finally, a hand extended to the crowd, a hand to loosen the tie at your throat, a derisive bark of laughter rings out in the silence, explodes into raucous hooting and hollering, all at your expense. Even your unit, even Ruby, even Levi— And you cry. You can’t help it.
Without the spotlights, without the displays, without the lightsticks that once shone around you, it feels far too dark, too cold up on the stage alone, and so, shedding tears, you wish. To sink into the earth, to let it carry you away from this shame, from the stifling fear. Vines and roots spring up from among the flowers gnarled and ugly, a dark stain upon the field you failed in. It perfectly suits you, the millstone around pep!pep!’s neck, slothful and cruel. How long did you really think you could avoid this price? They pierce your at your arms and legs, worming themselves in through the wounds, snaking beneath your skin as the ribbons fray and burst from the pressure, dragging you deeper and deeper into the darkness heedless of your tears.
Hallucinations : Wednesday c w vines/etc in/under skin what do you call this
Before you is a veritable sea of stars; the crowd’s lightsticks shine so brightly, pinpricks of pink enough to cut through any gloom. You’re on a stage lit perfectly for a concert, a field of flowers at your feet all in that same color. Your dress, too—adorned with bows and ribbons, long and flowing at your throat and around your waist and flanking each leg—pastel pink silk embroidered with flowers and bordered with lace, perfectly suits the bright and peppy scenery. It perfectly suits you, the Idol shining at pep!pep!’s back, vibrant and kind.
But they’re too tight.
The silks are like a vise around your throat, your waist, your legs, and you can’t dance like this. With your hands free, you could always loosen them, could always remove them, but you would look so very plain without them, wouldn’t you? What appeal could you possibly have without your color, when each person here in front of you has come to see you perform? Levi, Ruby, all of your unit, everyone—everyone has come to watch you, has worked themselves up into this fervor for you, and you’ve offered them nothing in return. They all go silent, the glow of the lightsticks growing dim at your inaction, but around your throat, your waist, your legs are too tight and you can’t dance like this and your throat,
When you reach up, finally, a hand extended to the crowd, a hand to loosen the tie at your throat, a derisive bark of laughter rings out in the silence, explodes into raucous hooting and hollering, all at your expense. Even your unit, even Ruby, even Levi—
And you cry. You can’t help it.
Without the spotlights, without the displays, without the lightsticks that once shone around you, it feels far too dark, too cold up on the stage alone, and so, shedding tears, you wish.
To sink into the earth, to let it carry you away from this shame, from the stifling fear.
Vines and roots spring up from among the flowers gnarled and ugly, a dark stain upon the field you failed in. It perfectly suits you, the millstone around pep!pep!’s neck, slothful and cruel.
How long did you really think you could avoid this price? They pierce your at your arms and legs, worming themselves in through the wounds, snaking beneath your skin as the ribbons fray and burst from the pressure, dragging you deeper and deeper into the darkness heedless of your tears.
And around you, the air grows thin.