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31_days2008-05-08 08:26 pm
sophiap.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2008-05-08 08:26 pm
[May 8] [D.Gray-Man] Mystery House
Title: Mystery House
Day/Theme: May 8/You know that ghost is me
Series: D.Gray-Man
Character: Road Camelot
Rating: PG
She has been a little girl for a very, very long time. Long enough to have grown up and to have had a little girl who would be the thirteen years old she only appears to be.
Thirteen. That's exactly right, she thinks as she skips through the impossible hallways of a house built just for her.
Road tumbles laughing through a window set in the floor, then walks down the wall and leans casually against the floor below, looking around at what she has wrought. This place is so much like the dream worlds she creates, twisted and senseless and just plain fun.
What makes it even more fun is that Road's mother--well, the woman who gave birth to the baby Road used to be--seriously believes she built this house to keep people like Road out.
"Silly Mama." Road laughs, and upstairs, an old woman whimpers in her sleep because she hears her infant daughter crying but can do nothing. "Silly Mama," Road says again, and 'mama' is no endearment; it's a joke. Most of the time, the woman who gave birth to her is simply 'the old lady,' or even just 'Sarah.'
The Earl is the only parent she needs. But that doesn't mean she doesn't have fun playing with Sarah. Silly, silly Sarah.
Road runs upstairs, and even though the stairway ends nowhere, it doesn't stop her. It carries her right to the old lady's bedroom. There are one hundred and sixty rooms in this house and nearly one thousand doors. Some of the doors don't lead anywhere, or lead only into nowhere, but they always take Road exactly where she wants to go.
The house was built for her, after all, even if Sarah doesn't know it.
Why else would Road's favorite number appear all throughout the house? Thirteen palm trees lining the walk. Thirteen panes in every window, thirteen panels on every door. Every clock set to one-thirteen--thirteen minutes after the thirteenth hour. Road is an only child, but she has twelve siblings, and even though this is her house, she has made sure they all have their place here.
Then there's the ballroom, with its dark wood and its ornate fireplace. Two stained-glass windows flank the fireplace, green and gray, quotes from Shakespeare scrolling across them.
Wide unclasp the table of their thoughts, it says on one window. These same thoughts people this little world, it says on the other. Meaningless, unless you are a little girl who can reach into a person's mind and pull out pieces of his past, or who can trap somewhere in a poisonous tea-party nightmare.
It's her house. And the Earl's, of course.
"You really don't know, do you? What this place is? What it's for?" Road rests her elbows on the bed and cradles her chin on laced fingers. She speaks normally, as if she were speaking to the Earl or Tyki. Sarah's head lolls to the side, as if she's looking at Rhode, but she doesn't wake up.
Sarah mutters a name--Annie--in her sleep, but that was never Road's real name. The Earl gave her her real name, when he plucked her from the place where she just happened to be born. Even back then, even without knowing what she was doing or how, Road left Sarah and her husband with the dream of a dead baby lying in its crib.
She'd been sad, so sad, the Earl had told Road. So sad that he could have made an Akuma out of her. Road had a good laugh at that, but the Earl just smiled at her as always, only this time the smile suggested that she'd made some mistake. Whatever it was, Road thought, it didn't matter.
For no reason other than curiosity, Road reaches out and runs a finger along Sarah's cheek. It feels like paper that has been left out in the rain and the dried up again. All dry and crinkled and feeling like it's about to fall apart.
"You're going to keep on building for me, aren't you?" Road cajoles, teases. "Keep on trapping those poor, dead souls you think you're saving?"
All those people who had died violently. All those deaths because of the guns Sarah's husband had made. The twists and turns of the house confused the poor, lost souls. The doors they thought would lead them to freedom simply led them into trap after trap, changing them, wearing them down, making them into something the Earl could use.
"It's such a wonderful place to play. So much like my dreams. Like the dreams I give you." Road sits back on her heels, and her head cocks to one side as she ponders. Only a second passes, then she shrugs and hops to her feet again, having decided there's no need to say goodbye. She skips upstairs and out a doorway that opens out into thin air, seven stories above ground. There's no need to say goodbye. She'll be back, after all, to see what's been added to her playhouse.
But only after she's spent some more time with her real family, of course. Then she can come back and play with her oldest and favorite toy.
Comments, questions, suggestions all very welcome, as I may be revising this before posting to my own journal.
Day/Theme: May 8/You know that ghost is me
Series: D.Gray-Man
Character: Road Camelot
Rating: PG
She has been a little girl for a very, very long time. Long enough to have grown up and to have had a little girl who would be the thirteen years old she only appears to be.
Thirteen. That's exactly right, she thinks as she skips through the impossible hallways of a house built just for her.
Road tumbles laughing through a window set in the floor, then walks down the wall and leans casually against the floor below, looking around at what she has wrought. This place is so much like the dream worlds she creates, twisted and senseless and just plain fun.
What makes it even more fun is that Road's mother--well, the woman who gave birth to the baby Road used to be--seriously believes she built this house to keep people like Road out.
"Silly Mama." Road laughs, and upstairs, an old woman whimpers in her sleep because she hears her infant daughter crying but can do nothing. "Silly Mama," Road says again, and 'mama' is no endearment; it's a joke. Most of the time, the woman who gave birth to her is simply 'the old lady,' or even just 'Sarah.'
The Earl is the only parent she needs. But that doesn't mean she doesn't have fun playing with Sarah. Silly, silly Sarah.
Road runs upstairs, and even though the stairway ends nowhere, it doesn't stop her. It carries her right to the old lady's bedroom. There are one hundred and sixty rooms in this house and nearly one thousand doors. Some of the doors don't lead anywhere, or lead only into nowhere, but they always take Road exactly where she wants to go.
The house was built for her, after all, even if Sarah doesn't know it.
Why else would Road's favorite number appear all throughout the house? Thirteen palm trees lining the walk. Thirteen panes in every window, thirteen panels on every door. Every clock set to one-thirteen--thirteen minutes after the thirteenth hour. Road is an only child, but she has twelve siblings, and even though this is her house, she has made sure they all have their place here.
Then there's the ballroom, with its dark wood and its ornate fireplace. Two stained-glass windows flank the fireplace, green and gray, quotes from Shakespeare scrolling across them.
Wide unclasp the table of their thoughts, it says on one window. These same thoughts people this little world, it says on the other. Meaningless, unless you are a little girl who can reach into a person's mind and pull out pieces of his past, or who can trap somewhere in a poisonous tea-party nightmare.
It's her house. And the Earl's, of course.
"You really don't know, do you? What this place is? What it's for?" Road rests her elbows on the bed and cradles her chin on laced fingers. She speaks normally, as if she were speaking to the Earl or Tyki. Sarah's head lolls to the side, as if she's looking at Rhode, but she doesn't wake up.
Sarah mutters a name--Annie--in her sleep, but that was never Road's real name. The Earl gave her her real name, when he plucked her from the place where she just happened to be born. Even back then, even without knowing what she was doing or how, Road left Sarah and her husband with the dream of a dead baby lying in its crib.
She'd been sad, so sad, the Earl had told Road. So sad that he could have made an Akuma out of her. Road had a good laugh at that, but the Earl just smiled at her as always, only this time the smile suggested that she'd made some mistake. Whatever it was, Road thought, it didn't matter.
For no reason other than curiosity, Road reaches out and runs a finger along Sarah's cheek. It feels like paper that has been left out in the rain and the dried up again. All dry and crinkled and feeling like it's about to fall apart.
"You're going to keep on building for me, aren't you?" Road cajoles, teases. "Keep on trapping those poor, dead souls you think you're saving?"
All those people who had died violently. All those deaths because of the guns Sarah's husband had made. The twists and turns of the house confused the poor, lost souls. The doors they thought would lead them to freedom simply led them into trap after trap, changing them, wearing them down, making them into something the Earl could use.
"It's such a wonderful place to play. So much like my dreams. Like the dreams I give you." Road sits back on her heels, and her head cocks to one side as she ponders. Only a second passes, then she shrugs and hops to her feet again, having decided there's no need to say goodbye. She skips upstairs and out a doorway that opens out into thin air, seven stories above ground. There's no need to say goodbye. She'll be back, after all, to see what's been added to her playhouse.
But only after she's spent some more time with her real family, of course. Then she can come back and play with her oldest and favorite toy.
Comments, questions, suggestions all very welcome, as I may be revising this before posting to my own journal.