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Humanity Empty Humanity

Post by Nyx on Fri Aug 28, 2009 5:29 am

Chiffon. Tulle. Silk. Satin.

Her fingers traced across each different fabric in turn, alone in the fitting room, just her, the dress, the mannequin it rest upon, and the artificial sunlight streaming in through the window. Sometimes when it was quiet, Nyx could think. This was one of the times she wished she couldn’t make sense of the discordant clips and phrases that comprised her thoughts.

Weddings. After all these years, this was one ritual that she simply didn’t understand. Celebrating births and deaths made sense, but marriage? It felt superfluous to her. Both parties already knew they were in love and to her reckoning, it was impossible to pin an exact date on love. Love happened in degrees. Love was measured in moments.

If she were human, would she understand any better? That was the heart of this issue. She was not human. She was right on the cusp of humanity, but not quite there. Nyx lacked something, but what? It plagued her. She felt emotion just as any human. She loved as deeply, as fiercely as any mortal could. Why? Why could she not understand?

This, she thought as she ran a finger across the crystal beadwork, is our punishment. Being among the beings we love, so close and yet knowing that we can never be like them. Bittersweet.

She moved a hand to her cheek, blinking in surprise when she found it wet. To her confusion, she realized she was crying. Now that she realized it she found it impossible to stop, turning away from the dress to double over, sobbing into her hands. Images of the dead flooded her mind; those she had loved, those who had loved her, those who saw behind the giggles and games and insanity – dead. All dead.

Slowly her sobbing quieted, then ceased as she apprehensively glanced over her shoulder. The dress remained there in all its splendor, this moment frozen in time. Nyx held her breath, finding the image strangely reverent. No, she could not be mortal … but she could at least appreciate their efforts, their struggles and triumphs, their loves and losses. She stood, brushing her fingertips down the skirt of the dress as she bowed her head.

“May they be happy,” she murmured simply, turning and leaving the fitting room as her familiar masquerade mask formed about her eyes and nose, her lips following suit by curving into a bright grin.

Number of posts : 27
Age : 33
Registration date : 2009-05-18

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