Penny > Recent Status Updates

You've always been the hunger at the heart of me, Red - my teeth, my claws, my poisoned apple.

I couldn't know, then - I couldn't, and nor could you - how thoroughly you were already inside me, shielding me from the future.

"Some things matter more than winning."

She looks up, stares, and, broken-throated, laughs.
And then Commandant's legions fall upon her like the night.

The gaze of the girl who would be Blue fixes on her, soft with dreams, trusting. She tastes what she is offered, knows the pain in it, and swallows.

Sometimes you have to hold a person, though they'll mistake embrace for strangulation.

I will write myself into the world, so you will see me throughout all braids and mourn?

Coward to continue, and coward to seek an end.

No death sticks but the one that matters.

Perhaps survival is its own form of torture.

I loved you. That was true. With what's left of me I can't help but love you still. This is how you win, Red: a long game, a subtle hand played well. You played me like a symphony, and I hope you won't mind my feeling a little proud of you for such a magnificent betrayal.

She wants there to be a God, so she can curse Her.

The tears have anger in them at first, but anger burns out fast. Tears stay.

She might be asleep, wrapped in sunlight, but she is not.

She so rarely dreams, but did tonight, of players and an empty stage, of Blue crushing a poison berry between her teeth, and on waking, Red screamed, sweaty, death-mouthed, wide awake uncertain, as if a pane of glass within her soul had cracked.

And yet here I am, a fool, writing you one last time, and here you are, a fool, reading me. We're one, at least, in folly.

You slid back through my life, and I have known you since before I knew you.

I love you. If you've come this far, that's all I can say.

Because it is the end, she cannot resist the urge to make this deadly thing beautiful.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I'll write it in waves. In skies. In my heart. You'll never see, but you will know. I'll be all the poets, I'll kill them all and take each one's place in turn, and every time love's written in all the strands it will be to you.
But never again like this.

That I should die - fine. I signed on to this war to die.
I don't know if I ever told you that before.

We can fight. We can chase each other down through time, like we did for centuries past before I knew your name. But no more letters.
No more of this.

With all you are to me, and all you'll always be, we can't just go. We can't just walk away.
But I will, if it leaves you living.

Listen to me - I am your echo.
I would rather break the world than lose you.

She takes the stairs to meet her alibi for a drink, smiling, already thinking ahead to the cognac she glimpsed earlier in the day, the reddest one, and how it will fill her mouth with sweet fire.

I want to meet you in every place I have loved.

Loss begs immediate response.

But when I think of you, I want to be alone together. I want to strive against and for. I want to live in contact. I want to be a context for you, and you for me.
I love you, and I love you, and I want to find out what that means together.

Like your victory, love spreads back through time.

I am so good at missing things. At making myself not see. I stand at a cliff's edge, and - hell.
I love you, Blue.
Have I always? Haven't I?