porcelain | scar & shadow

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

S H A D O W .

{ here, faced with ice,
the cold of the sky ;

An ice castle. That is what I have become. And perched upon an even icier throne is a formidable queen with blades for jewelry and menacing eyes to match. Her kingdom is ice, but she is stone, a boulder refusing to abdicate the throne.

And her name?

Daria.

Her screaming soul has woven itself into every fiber of my being. Agony does not recede, even as her ruined body lies six feet under in a casket. I could stomp on her grave and turn her final resting place into a barren, charcoal wasteland with a match and a puddle of gasoline. I could dig her up and toss her - or her bones, her skeleton, whatever she is now - into an incinerator or crush them into dust with a hammer.

But channeling my hatred in such a violent, morbid way would mean nothing but a hasty cleanup. I'd still be broken, just as I was before I made her bleed until she begged for forgiveness and spilled faux sorrows, before I let her hang like she was nothing.

If only it were true that Daria Blackwater was indeed nothing.

She was something. A monster, a rapist, my nightmare, a sadistic little fuck.

I wish the searing memory of her, burned into my mind, would crumble to dust and leave me, without a single fragment of its horror left behind.

She once said she would never leave me.

She meant it.

I can feel her squirming in my veins; I can see her blood on my hands that never washed off, staining my skin like red wine spilled on a carpet. There was a time when I found the crimson color ravishing, when I wore it like a crown, and now -

and now it is a ghost, plastered onto my skin.

I never left that room, as Daria never left me.

My body is at school or down the hall or in the dining room, an empty vessel without lights in its eyes, but my soul remains drifting along the walls, brushing its fingertips on the chair.

Just like Daria, I never break promises.

I'll never leave that room.

But we're all broken beneath this roof, just fragments of who we used to be - who we should be.

My sister's lips have been threaded through by the string of horror, and tied into bleak silence. But her demons, their names I do not know, scream in her eyes. Something has chased her into darkness. Something has finally taken a hammer to her chest and shattered her like a pane of glass.

And Scar, she was in pieces when they brought her here, to the damnation of broken things. I wonder if parts of her are still scattered in her house, if her blood is still stuck to her mother's knife.

I don't see it crawling beneath her skin or reaching its fingertips past the surface of her brown depths. Not today, while she is glowing with joy and anticipation. She inhales darkness and exhales light.

Happiness is a rare occurrence in the orphanage. It is a burst of light that chases away the darkness that exudes from everyone's pores and adheres to the walls.

I can feel the words threatening to spill out of my mouth in a cry - I KILLED DARIA BLACKWATER - at the sight of her, but I fear I'd break her, too, and her happiness, with the crushing weight of my dark secret.

Before I can utter one word, even a greeting, she says, "Shadow, there's something I wanted to show you. Something that's important to me. I know this is random, but it means a lot. Really."

"Um," I say, unkotting tangled words that swim through my mind. "O-okay. Sure? What is it?"

I am nearly choked by the fear crawling up my throat.

[powerplay of scar approved by pika]

[pika]

C E C I L Y   L E O N H A R D T

Today will be a good day.

This is what Scar tells herself every morning as the gloomy fog from an autumn not quite here passes through the forest trees. She can see it from her window, the light of a gray sky caressing the walls of her tiny bedroom.

Whisper sleeps across the small space, a tiny bundle curled under the off-white comforter. Her hair is a mess, flowing gently over her face and pillow. Her delicate beauty reminds Scar of her brother, strident and strong despite his quiet demeanor.

The house is quiet, with only the soft footsteps of the caretakers of Blackwater, up early to prepare breakfast, Scar supposes. They will not be up to awaken the rest of the orphanage for a few hours yet, and the hazy day sparks a flame of inspiration within her.

She dresses quickly, silently, hoping not to wake Whisper. She will want to go where Scar is going, and where she is going is not a place she wants anyone else to go. A green eden, her eden, of life and revelation, of quiet healing and soft ground. As she pads out the room, she looks at the cracked wood of Shadow’s own door. His room is dark and shaded, blinds drawn and no light to disrupt his slumber.

But Shadow is not slumbering. As Scar turns to slip down the stairs, she spots him sitting on the top step, arms crossed over his knees. She almost screams from the unexpected sight, stumbling back a step in shock. It is loud, and she hopes the sound can pass as the house settling; it would not be good for them to find her awake so early.

Shadow notices her as she moves, and Scar moves to sit beside him. He is expectedly quiet, deep in thought. Scar never asked for much from Shadow as a friend, and she supposes perhaps this is why their friendship lasted so long. Where he is quiet, she fills up the empty silence as best she can. Where he is lost, she is finding herself, and Scar supposes that’s all they really need.

He is darkly reserved this morning, more than his normal brooding. No one here knows how the others managed to get into the house; it’s everyone’s secret, everyone’s burden to carry. Some things are better left unsaid. Scar knows now she can’t leave to the garden alone. When she fixes to sneak away early, she is dismayed to know that her plans have been foiled whenever she sees someone else awake before her.

Today is not one of those days.

Scar doesn’t know what urges her to invite Shadow. She knows she is not obligated to take him along. He knows she slips away in the mornings sometimes, she knows he’s watched her go, running down the orphanage lawn into the dark trees. She doesn’t mind; Shadow would never tell. Shadow knows no one else would actually tell, either, but there is something freeing and dramatic about the feeling she gets when she races away, the feeling of knowing that someone might see her. Her garden is her hideaway, her haven. She wants it to stay that way. But something about Shadow’s sadness, uncharacteristic even for him, makes her want to show him something beautiful.

Today will be a good day.

"Shadow, there's something I wanted to show you. Something that's important to me. I know this is random, but it means a lot. Really."

Her blood pulses as she waits for an answer. Her veins feel alive with the itch of jeopardy, the threat of capture. It flows through her seams like a circuit, an electric shock up her spine and out her skin. She is ready for this new adventure, the novelty of sharing something sacred. Scar is fire and ice all at once.

"O-okay. Sure? What is it?"

Shadow is uncertain, and Scar frowns. Shadow is not Shadow today, and it unsettles Scar’s assurance. You will be okay today, she thinks as she looks at him, pleading silently for him to trust her.

“I want it to be a surprise.”

☀☀☀☀☀☀☀

As Scar and Shadow run swiftly away from the house, she feels happier than she can remember. The trees begin to swallow them, the fog covering the orphanage at their backs. Scar is happy to have Shadow here today, she is unconstrained. These evergreens feel more like a home than the four walls of her jail-cell room ever could. She rounds a corner of , Shadow tight at her side, and she brightens at the sight of what she has sprouted from the earth.

Today will be a good day.

This is what Scar tells herself when she comes to the garden.