solid gold, fourteen carat, barely burnished despite twenty years of hard molling. but beneath it, i knew, beneath that gold & stardust, she was all grit and sharp teeth gnashing, head twisting, talons out, tearing flesh.
make me queen
private, selective, independent blair waldorf.
or i'll make you bleed
you have to decide who you are, little girl, she told me once. once you know that, everyone else will too.
the aroma of fairydust clung to me as i clambered into my unmade bed, the sheets crumpled and thrown the way i had leftthem what felt like days before. the thrill of iron clashing with equally well-forged steel still rang in my ears, the calls of indian’s marching through overgrown forestation towards buccaneers shouting ‘ pan, pan ! ’ in time with their footsteps. little did they know that those very footsteps had shaken the earth that covered the hideaway that i had taken refuge in. a treehouse the lost-boys and peter had constructed, a treehouse i wished that i could have stayed in. now, tucked safely back into my own bed with the only remnants of my adventures being the smell of fairydust caught in my nose, i closed my eyes tightly. i fought to keep them shut ! i fought to keep the images of neverland from prying them open again. i’d always be drawn to glancing at the open window where the wind made my curtains dance; where i had first seen the silhouette of a boy. a boy who started it all. a boy who never grew up.