fruit of a poisonous tree

[Cicada]

((Once upon a time, there was a princess who spent all her days locked up in a tower...))

Who knew that embarrassment still existed? Kelly continued to feel the smaller, fragile shards still embedded into her skull, soft and brittle things of porcelain that had the stickiness of memory. Impossible to get rid of, a dull headache to the recollection. It wasn't Kelly's clumsy laugh, it was Roxanne who seemed to have the verve left to echo the ghosts of her past, as if they'd never left. Likely, they never had. Kelly had assumed her exorcism of her own skin had been thorough as it had been bloody as it had been will-to-truth, a falsehood repeated enough times until she had made it true.

It had been a full day, now, since Kelly had been prepared to defend herself. No need to explain her story, and she now had the time to listen to another.

But Roxy was slow to re-litigate her own past history of cringe.

She'd made it up onto the roof of the temple a good fifteen minutes before Kelly could manage it, and had still been coy. Kelly had asked for a beginning- she'd only lived out her own, and she'd wanted for another. A point of reference, to maybe one day make for a useful alibi.

Kelly had sweat, once more reliving learning to live with the dreaded pinch of her skin when the first bead of heat began to ooze from her pores, the next, then the next, then the dampness ruining yet another perfectly recycled shirt. It must have been too long since she'd last washed her clothes. Longer still since she'd remembered the ache of caring.

It was hard to clench her jaw, to feel the stress beyond it's most nebulous and unapparent form, when her cheek's scarring had started to make all but the softest murmur of her lips like chewing through a full-shape raw steak.

But Kelly had indulged herself in the ascent, and rejected all Roxanne's efforts to help. Finding the little spots to put one foot, then the next, then one hand to hold it all up. The sun had set as she rose, it was gone by the time Kelly was sitting on the roof tile alongside Roxy, by the time Roxy had admitted even that she'd done this before and that climbing the temple hadn't just been about avoiding the magician's mutilated body to find a place to sleep. She'd done this before, and had been wondering what had changed since.

So her tale went. Rather cliche, Western sounding fantasy, but Kelly had replaced the offending mythical creature with a 龍 to her own taste.

'You were at the cusp of finding yourself, walking on the path you so desire, but now your life is mine, mortal.'

'I am invincible. I am unstoppable. Fall before me, as every man before has.'

'... Thank you, Mr. Dragon. This is the only thing I’ve ever wanted.'

It had been a rather nice listen actually, under the stars, butts at least a bit comfy atop the least blood stained of the cushions they had been able to salvage.

Like everything else about the fodder of a life that had been generic and replaceable, it was a stupid, petty tale that reflected onto stupid and petty people. It was an obvious metaphor for the desire for change, for adventure, spoken as a prayer that had never been particularly answered. For Roxy, anyways. Kelly supposed she had, in some way, climbed this temple before, much like Roxy had. She'd told herself a story, as Roxy had. She'd stood tall and proud and surveyed her kingdom.

She'd learned to, rather. She'd learned to make the story come true. Roxy had never really had that conversation with the dragon of her own imagination. Much like the rest of the forsaken, deluded souls on this island, and unlike the one shining beacon that had struggled with the truth and bent it to her own.

That was the difference between herself and the adorably helpless zombie sitting beside her, the two of them stuck on all the out-loud contemplation of huddling for warmth that the camera lens would have zeroed in onto for the overly emphasized lesbian fanservice.

With all that, there was a reason, then, that Kelly more of herself reflected in Roxy's dim, inert eyes than had ever been comfortable or even particularly true. They were, but for little cracks in the mirror between them, one and the same. Reassemble the remaining pieces of Kelly and one might have crafted a Roxy from scratch. As much as they were dissimilar, disinterested in one another...

((Inexorable fate.))