i've got no strings. | recolle sample

[pronounces]

[ nazuna's nightmare's aren't all that abnormal, at least for him. he frequently has sketchy dreams about various, terrifying images, but this is the first time that his dream has been so clear.

nazuna's in front of a stage. the audience is full, glimmering with red and gold light sticks, and the crowd seems to be hanging on the very edge of their seats for what is going to be a spectacular performance of some kind. they're cheering and shouting for someone, and when the curtain comes up, there's nazuna.

his hair is a little longer, the blonde locks reaching his shoulders and delicately curled; there's a black headband pressed lovingly into his hair. the entire outfit nazuna has on does, really, suit him--it's delicate and lacy, and whatever stage makeup he has on his face gives him the appearance of a perfectly angelic doll.

there's something strange about it, though. at his wrist, his elbows, his shoulders, his head, his ankles and knees--there are strings, softly glimmering gold in the light of the stage. they lead up to the catwalk above the stage, where a mysterious, shadowy hand snaps its fingers, and beautiful orchestra music begins to play.

in his nightmare, nazuna's not quite himself. his facial expression doesn't really change, mouth closed, eyes blank. he's a perfect, total doll, and the strings begin to twitch, making him dance along to the tune. the crowd goes wild for him, light sticks glowing and waving along with the tunes, as two other (unknown) voices sing from across the stage. here, nazuna is the star, and when the curtain finally closes to thunderous applause, the strings drop, and he's left there, just dangling. just another doll to be used when the second song starts.

...unless someone was willing to cut him free. ]

Comments

[handcraftings]

[ in his dreams, shu is whole.

there is no aftermath of his accident, no phantom pains that plague him every other step. he is inhuman, untouchable, above the vulgar masses that lie before him, the sharpness of his gaze and the fluidity of his movements unnatural and burning, fire and passion painted in red and gold and black designed to kill those unworthy to lay their eyes upon him.

he is sovereign, possessor of absolute control.

when the applause fades and the curtain falls, shu enters the stage. it's dark, the lights have all been turned off behind the curtain, and the only source of light, strangely, is in the centre of the stage. the heels of his boots click loudly over the wooden floor as he crosses over to the prone form of his perfect, beautiful muse, angelic and delicate and--

shu kneels, for a moment, grimacing, but there's nothing he won't do for his beloved muse, not when leaving such a beautiful, perfect doll on the ground is liable to leave it damaged. he scoops up his dangled form, cards his fingers through the soft, silken strands of blonde hair. ]

You did well. [ it's soft, affectionate, proud. the blonde hair obscures the doll's face, but it still lies listless, unmoving save for the occasional jerk when shu tugs lightly on the strings. ] You move so beautifully, so obediently, according to my every command--

[ and he sweeps the hair out of the doll's face, and shu freezes.

no.

because the doll is wearing nazuna's face, eyes blank and mouth closed and nothing like the nazuna that he knows, and it takes all of shu's willpower not to drop him. ]

Nito? Nito?! [ he's hoping that it will pull some kind of reaction from that blank, blank expression, but no. ] Nazuna, can you hear me?