Theme + Number: 15) Home, 35) Masks, 42) Hidden, 62) Storm & 83) Dying
Claim: Irvine Kinneas/Selphie Tilmitt
Warnings: Some sap.
Summary: She remembers now that when they were little...
She remembers now that when they were little they would be put together in a room and given crafts to do. Perhaps it was a way to draw them together, perhaps it was a way to occupy their time. She never knew and didn’t think she ever would.
She remembers now the messes they made in their home by the water, the feathers and shells and scraps of paper scattered around the floor, them curled up together, too fire to move, too tired to remember to breath calmly, too tired to have any rational thought at all.
When Matron starts talking to her about when they were small she can almost remember it, almost taste the warm sun on the tip of her overactive tongue.
She doesn’t tell him she keeps the masks Matron gave her, he had to remember the ones. They all made them, out of cardboard and scraps of paper. Matron had kept them all these years, treasuring them, then returning them to her children from long ago.
“Get rid of them, Selphie,” he had told her. “No good memories in them.”
But she had kept them hidden deep in the back of her dresser, treasuring that link to their past, tracing her fingers along their jagged lines, trying to keep those precious memories from dying.
As she sat looking out the window (an all too common occurrence lately) watching him practice shooting in the heavy rain (the shotgun was so damn bright even in the dark) she pressed the mask he made to her face, watching him through the eyeholes, waited for him to come back inside so she could warm up his cold body and kiss him to burn the memories into his brain.