Posted: 10/11/00
Title: Little Girls
Author: Jay / carboxylated@yahoo.com
Archive: All those with prior permission are welcome (and hugged profusely) to archive this.
[Note: all fics accessible @ http://www.oocities.org/fenris_wolf0]
Category: Angstfic.
Pairings: 6x13
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is quite sadly not mine, but in fact the property of Bandai, Sunrise, and other large corporations and companies I have no affiliation with. (Again, quite sadly.)
Warning/Rating: R. Lots of Noin angst & introspection.
Feedback: Hit me!
Note: I like G-girl torture best of all, I suppose. Very abstract. See notes at the end after reading to make some more sense of it. Inspired by 'Burn This' written by Bianca and Ariana. ::bows:: (Yes, inspiration is a dirty hit and run business. File lawsuits away from the ML, please.)
Little girls fall prey.
Consumed as we curl our hair, paint our lips an immaculate red that gleams like blood-- how easy it would be to peel back and expose the quivering flesh beneath porcelain skin; the beauty that lurks beneath, inherent in my china bones. Wrap pretty silks around our necks-- see? The submissive bend and beguiling curve that should call your blood to me.
I want to know why you never come by my window late at night.
I want to know why you walk by.
As princes should.
I know what you are underneath the mask; trying to hide the skin you think has shamed your father so. Zechs. Milliardo.
The king is dead and the throne waits, ancient draped velvet on an ivory chair.
And as I kiss my reflection and ache to think that that cold glass is you, your lips run over the curve of someone else's pale arm.
Little girls fall prey.
Consumed as we pull off the ornate ball gowns, tired of playing the ladies in a war. I am not soft. I am not made for soft things.
Why I'll wait by the door and only your shadow passes by, and down the hall where someone welcomes you with open arms.
As I pluck the petals off of roses, viciously, craving vengeance. He loves me. He loves me not. A mantra that steels my nerves for the inevitable blow. That is, when dawn breaks and my bed is empty.
Like the throne your father left behind, in a ruined palace, white walls falling down.
Wearing your mask like a crown.
Trying to catch your scent as someone's nails dig into your back, pushing you down.
And little girls still fall prey.
Cropping my dark hair, as short as his. Tearing the expensive dresses, shredding satin on the floor. And calmly smoothing the crisp uniform. My body still betrays me, even as my eyes blur. The sink continues to catch wisps of hair.
As he lifts off the mask, reverent and stares into your eyes, I snap the roses, burn the petals.
I'm waiting by the balcony.
I'm staring into the mirror.
Your name whispered like a prayer.
Fingering shorn locks of hair.
Or an Amen; an afterthought.
Raising up the blade to peach breasts.
Your hands, wandering over the smooth surface of his chest.
And slick lines appear. I am fascinated by red.
Even as the petals fall, he's murmuring, "He loves me," lips twisting into a smile.
And furiously slashing, ignore the stinging.
A panting, pounding, rhythm that shakes the room.
As you collapse, I fall to the ground, crimson-stained blade clattering on the tiles.
You're bleeding on the sheets.
I'm bleeding on this dress.
Burning the flesh that marks us female, slicing the curves into sharp angles, starving ourselves into submission as our heels click back in an instant salute.
Little girls fall prey.
[fin]
End notes: Okay, as strange as it is, it's pre-AC 195, I suppose. Noin, Zechs, and Treize are all boarded along the same hall, Noin's in love with Zechs, Zechs and Treize are... ahem... special friends. Since I've already gone over suicidal Relena and homicidal Hilde, crazed Noin seemed as good as any for something else. She's basically rambling about how she waits for him every night, how he goes to Treize every night, and she's finally snapped, cut her hair, and is attempting to eliminate, essentially, all that marks her as female. Which includes self-injury. No. She did not slice them off in this story. It's more symbolic than anything. The rest is however you want to read it. Y'know, in retrospect, the timeline doesn't really work-- hey, think of it like "Slaughterhouse Five."
Jay