licenseartistic Fic Prompt; Velvet
Title: Velvet
Character: Sophie Neveu
Warnings: Maybe a little violent imagery.
Pairings: None
Fandom: The Da Vinci Code
Word count: 564
Rating: PG-13 ... ish?
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't make any money, please don't sue. Dan Brown and Ron Howard own everything. Including my soul.
Velvet.
Time, they say, heals all wounds.
Sophie Neveu begged to differ. She lay on the bed, panting as if she had run miles to save her own life. It would not have been the first time, but that was not the case. The summer was unusually warm this year and lacked the rain that was always associated with Paris. Even without a stitch to her body, Sophie found herself sheered with sweat, sticky and unforgiving.
It wasn’t as if it didn’t want to rain. The sky was pregnant with nurture, swollen like the stomach of a malnourished child. There was something wholly unnatural about the way dark clouds covered even the brightest stars. She could perhaps blame her nightmares on the specter-like entities, but she had a strong aversion to lying, especially to herself.
They had come since the night of her car accident. For a child to see her entire immediate family wiped out in one fateful swoop was one thing, but for that child to know they were the only one to survive places a heavy burden on their heart. (Heavy, her limbs felt heavy.) She remembers it perfectly, still…gasping for breath, upset about something that arrested her suddenly in the car. Her mother had turned, (Such a lucky child whose mother would block her with her own body…) had run her hands down her face and repeated the familiar motions that soothed her like no other.
And then there had been the sickening sound of glass shattering and impacting all at once, (She’d never been able to stand the sound of a knife on flesh after that) the feel of being shot forward from her seat. The waistbelt was useless, of course, to hold her back. Rather than feeling the hard, unyielding seat, she had felt … velvet. Her eyes had stayed clenched shut up until that moment, and the sound was so fleeting that she was sure she had dreamt the horrors she had not seen. Mama’s perfume filled her senses and she exhaled deeply, searching for the heartbeat with her ear, rubbing her cheek against the (Soft, impossibly soft and the colour of dew-kissed grass) material of her dress.
No sound.
She was frantic now, chubby hands curling desperately into the fabric. Her small arms wrapped awkwardly around her mother’s back and she made to whimper, but no sound emerged.
Wet. (The colour of cherries and wine and ketchup, stifling and hot.)
She squeezed her eyes shut harder, unwilling to open them. The silence wrecked havoc on her eardrums and she brought her hands to press over them, only to feel the sticky fluid follow her.
Her eyes snapped open.
It burst like a flood - the noises she had filtered out - and she was faced with her family. Her mind only blurred after that, her face pressed into her mother’s shirt. They’d pried her away despite her attempts to scream herself hoarse, and she’d torn a piece of the fabric.
She stood, trance-like and weary; to walk to the small box she kept under lock and key in her closet. By now it had frayed, worn around the edges, and nearly worn through in spots. Her fingers, (Clammy, cold…like death) slid shakily down to pick up the scrap, bringing it to her cheek and closing her eyes.
Velvet, as she remembered, grew darker with tears spilt upon it.
Character: Sophie Neveu
Warnings: Maybe a little violent imagery.
Pairings: None
Fandom: The Da Vinci Code
Word count: 564
Rating: PG-13 ... ish?
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't make any money, please don't sue. Dan Brown and Ron Howard own everything. Including my soul.
Velvet.
Time, they say, heals all wounds.
Sophie Neveu begged to differ. She lay on the bed, panting as if she had run miles to save her own life. It would not have been the first time, but that was not the case. The summer was unusually warm this year and lacked the rain that was always associated with Paris. Even without a stitch to her body, Sophie found herself sheered with sweat, sticky and unforgiving.
It wasn’t as if it didn’t want to rain. The sky was pregnant with nurture, swollen like the stomach of a malnourished child. There was something wholly unnatural about the way dark clouds covered even the brightest stars. She could perhaps blame her nightmares on the specter-like entities, but she had a strong aversion to lying, especially to herself.
They had come since the night of her car accident. For a child to see her entire immediate family wiped out in one fateful swoop was one thing, but for that child to know they were the only one to survive places a heavy burden on their heart. (Heavy, her limbs felt heavy.) She remembers it perfectly, still…gasping for breath, upset about something that arrested her suddenly in the car. Her mother had turned, (Such a lucky child whose mother would block her with her own body…) had run her hands down her face and repeated the familiar motions that soothed her like no other.
And then there had been the sickening sound of glass shattering and impacting all at once, (She’d never been able to stand the sound of a knife on flesh after that) the feel of being shot forward from her seat. The waistbelt was useless, of course, to hold her back. Rather than feeling the hard, unyielding seat, she had felt … velvet. Her eyes had stayed clenched shut up until that moment, and the sound was so fleeting that she was sure she had dreamt the horrors she had not seen. Mama’s perfume filled her senses and she exhaled deeply, searching for the heartbeat with her ear, rubbing her cheek against the (Soft, impossibly soft and the colour of dew-kissed grass) material of her dress.
No sound.
She was frantic now, chubby hands curling desperately into the fabric. Her small arms wrapped awkwardly around her mother’s back and she made to whimper, but no sound emerged.
Wet. (The colour of cherries and wine and ketchup, stifling and hot.)
She squeezed her eyes shut harder, unwilling to open them. The silence wrecked havoc on her eardrums and she brought her hands to press over them, only to feel the sticky fluid follow her.
Her eyes snapped open.
It burst like a flood - the noises she had filtered out - and she was faced with her family. Her mind only blurred after that, her face pressed into her mother’s shirt. They’d pried her away despite her attempts to scream herself hoarse, and she’d torn a piece of the fabric.
She stood, trance-like and weary; to walk to the small box she kept under lock and key in her closet. By now it had frayed, worn around the edges, and nearly worn through in spots. Her fingers, (Clammy, cold…like death) slid shakily down to pick up the scrap, bringing it to her cheek and closing her eyes.
Velvet, as she remembered, grew darker with tears spilt upon it.