Annie Cresta (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
anniesgonemad) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-10-19 12:12 pm
anniesgonemad) wrote in undergrounds2015-10-19 12:12 pm
Entry tags:
if music be the food of love
who: Britain's sweethearts
what: Finnick bought a harp. Annie plays harp. nothing will go wrong.
where: Chateau Odair
when: Oct 19
warnings: two mentally unstable kids with a harp that causes depression and grief. you tell me.
The harp had been installed, as Annie suggested, by the window that looked out into the back garden. The late October sunlight filtered in through the blinds, bathing the new acquisition in light. I was almost perfect, Annie decided immediately upon seeing it.
with that in mind, she sat at the stool and, after a few moments of admiring it from this position, she began to play. hesitantly at first, then she picked up, humming along to the song as she played. while the song itself was supposed to be joyous, it took on a melancholy tone in the sun-drenched room. Annie's face held no light, however, as her humming dropped off and each note from the harp seemed to take more energy from her. she kept playing, even as tears stung her eyes.
she was just crying, she reasoned, because the song always reminded her of her father. but that wasn't it. not by a long-shot. if he were here- if she hadn't insisted on going to that damn school, he would have been here. him and maybe so many others too. the entire school had been murdered and she alone had survived. a waste of a survivor. A waste of a daughter, of a woman.
she should have died there. she should have bled out. she should have bled out twice. but she remained here, to play a haunting melody on the harp until she couldn't summon the energy to do anything but sit there, hands poised to play, but unable to pluck.
she didn't deserve to make music when so many were dead.
what: Finnick bought a harp. Annie plays harp. nothing will go wrong.
where: Chateau Odair
when: Oct 19
warnings: two mentally unstable kids with a harp that causes depression and grief. you tell me.
The harp had been installed, as Annie suggested, by the window that looked out into the back garden. The late October sunlight filtered in through the blinds, bathing the new acquisition in light. I was almost perfect, Annie decided immediately upon seeing it.
with that in mind, she sat at the stool and, after a few moments of admiring it from this position, she began to play. hesitantly at first, then she picked up, humming along to the song as she played. while the song itself was supposed to be joyous, it took on a melancholy tone in the sun-drenched room. Annie's face held no light, however, as her humming dropped off and each note from the harp seemed to take more energy from her. she kept playing, even as tears stung her eyes.
she was just crying, she reasoned, because the song always reminded her of her father. but that wasn't it. not by a long-shot. if he were here- if she hadn't insisted on going to that damn school, he would have been here. him and maybe so many others too. the entire school had been murdered and she alone had survived. a waste of a survivor. A waste of a daughter, of a woman.
she should have died there. she should have bled out. she should have bled out twice. but she remained here, to play a haunting melody on the harp until she couldn't summon the energy to do anything but sit there, hands poised to play, but unable to pluck.
she didn't deserve to make music when so many were dead.
no subject
no subject
"I'm sorry."
no subject
"Let me put this thing away. We can lie down if you'd like."
no subject
"Okay. I'd like that." Things were always better when Finnick was holding her.