Control Yourself Woman

[Pandamainia 86]

[ Creative Writing/Storyline RP/Documentation of Devotion ]
 

 

 

 

 

“Thank you, Doctor” 

 

Those words bristled into the space, in their reverent and righteous tone, punctuated thereafter with the quiet closing of the door.

 

∘ ∘ ∘

 

One foot at a time sank into the scalding bath water.

Leaning against the tin, the lady’s cold and trembling skin did find little refuge. The steam circling her eyelashes and pulling her hair.

 

S u b m e r g e.

 

Sound muffled. Breath held.

 

There it was okay, for not any soul could tell the difference between the scented searing waters and the cold salted droplets that joined them.

 

The wooden beams on the ceiling - simple and mundane. Upon those did her eyes glaze up to for the hour in which she lay lifeless in that water, in the steam. 

Despondent… as sentimental thoughts seemed to dance with those curves of steam and rise up to those beams, unable to escape.

 

For a moment all restrictions and rules did wash away, yet then they swam in the lily-soaked waters below, the rising mist that taunted her eyes serving as a reminder of their presence ever more. The very steam itself did seem to begrudge the weight of the sullen atmosphere, the most heavy weight.

The lady's head curled into the tin - and in it's reflection her icy eyes stared back deformed in it's warp.

Then, and only then, would she allow herself a moment of care, a moment of heart. 

 

 

 

 

{  X }

 

L O S I N G     M Y     M I N D

 

 

 

 

 

 

A bitter snarl slithered hastily upon the lady’s lips as she rose from the bath, exhaling a guttural cry. 

Too long. Too long spent on this soppy, self-indulgent and needless sensibility. Off with you. Off. Go away.

 

Droplets fell upon the floor below - lavender and bergamot oiling and seeping into the wood works with each pacing step.

This wouldn’t do. This lack of control. Everything she stood for. 

No.

The lavender on the lady’s face had substituted with despair, the bergamot replaced with ire. 

 

 

That’s the splendid thing about Control : 

 

It can be taken back.

 

That's the splendid thing about Control :

 

It can be taken back.

 

That's the splendid thing about Control :

 

It can be T A K E N B A C K

 

 

The robed lady did move across to the desk- fingers slashing across a pile of letters, their tension only finally released once the flames of the spitting fire did fan with pages.

 

The hearth consuming.

 

The heart resheathing. 

 

 

" No. "

“This is my life”

 

 

 

 

 

[ This is not to be metagamed ]

[bickando 3967]

said that to my ex,

there's a very good reason,

she isn't my wife.