a bullet to my head;
your words are like a gun in hand.


Daddy had said she wouldn't get lost.
In fact, he had pinky promised that she wouldn't. Not with Featherbrain, he had said. Because, in Daddy's eyes, the bird was capable of absoultely anything. And for the amount he had been brought for, he should've been. Even the maid was able to do more, and she got a measly piece of bread on her plate in payment. And yet, the bird recieved all the attention, he had everybody running around the clock to see he was well looked after. And still, he did absoultely nothing. Even Izabella had managed to notice this, which was honestly a miracle. She'd complained to her Mother about it, told her that the bird was completely worthless. And then Mother, righteous in all she did, reminded darling Izabella that she was just like that bird.
But that wasn't true.
Izabella had managed to fetch four or five twigs, about five centimetres long, and arrange them in something that vaguely resembled a circle.
"Maid.! Light the fire.!"
Featherbrain gave a squeak, obviously distressed about doing work. The brave and daring falcon was worried about the simple idea of work.
Izabella stabbed the collection with a longer stick, waiting for it to magically burst into flames. Like the maid had always managed to do. Even Daddy couldn't do it as gracefully as the maid had--his eyebrows narrowed, and a string of curses falling from his mouth whenever he had tried. And might I add; he had never managed to get the fire started, no matter how many times he had tried. Izabella glared at the bird again, pointing at the stick pile with her twig. The bird gave a squeak, his great wings spreading out, before he took off in the other direction.
"Screw you, Featherbrain!" she yelled.
She hurled a stone after him, watching it fall short five metres in front of her. The bird squeaked again, something that Izabella believed was laughter, before ducking between another tree as another stone was hurled after him.
"You're just chicken.!"
She lifted the hem of her purple dress, rose her chin stubbornly, and stormed off after the vague direction of Featherbrain. Stupid, unreliable bird. You give him an inch, and he leaves you behind in a stupid, ugly forest without any sort of idea of where the hell you were.
That, in short, was all Featherbrain was good for.
Izabella pulled the note from her small handbag, carefully unfolding it and reading the small, slightly un-neat hand writing for the dozenth time this day.
Take a shortcut through the forest, and I'll meet you out on the other side, it read.
Which side? And god d**n it, where was out? She folded the note carefully, then shoved it in her bag, alongside a small collection of food and a handful of jewelery. It was all she had. Some food to get her through the night, and her jewelery to sell once she managed to settle down. Once she had found Albert, and after she had strung him up from the nearest tree. Surely he knew she wasn't capable of being alone? Surely he knew she was no where near capable of getting herself out of a forest with her dress still in tack, and her heart still beating? That was the mission, and it seemed pretty darn impossible. Maybe, in truth, he didn't want her. Maybe this was his master plan, leave her alone in the wilderness, so she could die and he could be rid of her once and for all. But how could he do that to her? Surely her own father wanted her to see through another day?
He didn't want her dead. That was just...wrong.
She lifted her skirt up once again, picked a direction at random, and continued to storm through the forest, tripping over every small object that had been thrown in front of her. Purposefully. The forest had dropped all it's leaves and sticks so that she could be the fool to trip over them. She knew our the forest's cruel mind worked--it was almost as bleak and unimaginative as her own.

The lake opened up before her, settling peacefully in the distance. It was so quiet, so beautiful... Everything that was completely opposite of Izabella. Ugly, not quite though. Plain, sure, her shoulders were too broad, she lacked a waist, and her eyebrows weren't the best shaped. But those eye's were gorgeous, framed by dark lashes, and that mouth.! Small, soft lips, that made the shyest little smile when she was happy.
Plain, but not completely dismissive.
The only thing that she and the lake actually had in common. Reaching the edge, she tore off the poor, misused dress, leaving it on a small boulder by the edge, leaving nothing on but her underwear. Her hands cupped the water, spraying it across her face, scrubbing it viciously. How many days had she gone without a shower? Even that dress would be smelling rank... She let the thought disappear, diving into the water without another though.


[ooc-I get the award for the crappest post ever.!]


izabella !

&& you were a sellout;
but you couldn't even do that right.


Let's take two, love.
Let's see if we can get this guy's heart pounding, alright.
Oh darling, she'd noticed him by now. That god damn bird had finally done something worthwhile for once. Our daring Featherbrain had decided to return, settling himself down on the same boulder she had spread her clothes over, his head held in that same cocky manner. He gave a cry, his great wings unfolding, the wind rushing past them to hoist him into the sky. And trust me, that bird was heavy. He steadied himself, landing lightly on another boulder, close to the little.... thing. For half a second, Izabella's attention was rudely drawn off herself, pausing on the bird for a heart beat, before winding down to the figure, before falling back down to herself. Company... The thought actually registered in her mind, hovering for a second, before unfolding into a million questions. Who? The question seemed to hover, keeping her whole body tight. Of course darling, you wouldn't expect Izabella to be much of the safeful type, would you? And honestly love, she wasn't. Never had been, and there was nothing in life that made her think twice on the subject.
Maybe that's what she needed--a good dose of fear.
Not that it mattered, anyway. Izabella was hardly a lady, and hardly company. Better off dead, Ma had mentioned. She was merely a name on the inner circle, living life for purely her owen benefit. That's what she did, you see. Everyone else was worthless, pathetic, and she was perfect.
Darling, don't you dare hesitate to answer now.
We all know it's the truth, now don't we?
Those pretty blue eyes wondered back up to the black figure, curosity sinking in. Haven't you heard love? It was curiosity that killed the cat. But the cat was just an idiot, that's all. Bloody mongrel cat cold in his grave by his own stupidity. Izabella, love, didn't suit "dead." Stupid, perhaps, but curiosity wouldn't dare lay a finger on her. It's just how life went.
The figure [he? she? it?] still remained on the shore, still not moving. How old? Hot or not? And the crucial point--was it a he? Oh darling, she was going to have to do this on guesswork. Put a bit of faith in karma now, say a prayer to destiny, and beg for mercy from fate.
Did you know love, that in a 50-50 question, you have a 25% chance of getting it right?
Just don't quote me on it--it came from a friend, of a friend, of a friend, of her cousin. And people, darling, shouldn't be trusted.
Izabella edged towards the water, Featherbrain having enough sense to shut his trap and move off again. She dunked her head under water, resurfaced, and tossed her hair back as elegantly as she could. And honestly love, that was pretty elegant. Eyes once again returned to the figure [it honestly needed a name, didn't it?] a small smile lighting those pretty lips. Like I've said darling--plain, but not completely dismissive.
"Excuse me, love,"
Oh darling, that voice made up all the beauty she lacked, that's for sure.
"Do you mind grabbing me my dress? It's just over there... Yes, on the boulder there,"
See darling, it could've been anyone. An old lady, half naked, deciding to have a snooze on the shore. What would she say then? Or a measly boy, with bad acne and an over-helpful attidute? Darling, we needed some facts here. Some statistics, if you will. Her eyesight wasn't that good, darling.


izabella !

as day is torn from night;
we're left with broken dreams.


See, darling, I warned you this was only guess work.
There was every probability that her companion was going to wind up as some ten year old boy, still recovering from his afternoon nap. Or maybe he was younger. Not that Izabella would have any idea--children werent quite fascinating enough for her. Too innocent, too many long, awkward silences.... Children, love, weren't company.
And honestly, all she was was another warm body in a bed full of broken needles. But the kid wouldn't understand. Man, all that kid knew was that 1+1=window. Stupid, perhaps, but I've always found that funny.
"This is a brain washer. What's it doing?"
"Brain washing me?"
"No, it's wasting it's time.!"
That, on the other hand, wasn't a funny joke. Not after it was said twenty times earlier to her that day. No wonder that boy had ended up with a hand mark on his rosy cheek. And the pathetic bit of this story: he was only seven. So to conclude this nonsense rambling--Izabella wasn't really a fan of children.
Never had been, and honestly didn't plan to be. No maternal instincts in her what-so-ever.
The child moved in that trance-like sleep you ended up with when you just woke up. From the distance, she could see the small head-jerking movement of a nod, before he wondered over to her. Disappointment flushed those pretty eyes, a small frown crossing those beautiful lips. And it didn't dare to sway. Even as the young boy did as she bid him too, all she could do was frown. Stupid guesswork. What was the chance that there would actually be someone decent in a small town like FrostyLake? Very little. And still, darling, she was pushing her luck. Lost, possibly abandoned, and she was still looking for good luck. Honestly darling, karma was coming back and giving her exactly what she needed.
But still, it wouldn't stop her.
Nothing had ever stopped darling Izabella before. Too stupid to be cautious, too proud to ever admit defeat. Silly girl--she should have learnt by now.
Not everything was going to be exactly what she wanted.
She took that dress with a frown, eyes attempting to make clear to the boy that he wasn't wanted. And yet still, he stomped on Izabella's patience. He made himself comfortable on some boulder, palms of his hands rubbing away excess sleep, obvious immune to the stares she was throwing him.
And the fact that she was half naked.
'Course though, he was only ten. But what about curiosity? Didn't he ever wonder...? Oh darling, such a sick, wasted mind. But still, the human race's innocence was long lost.
He was nothing more then a sinner.
She folded the piece of fabric against her chest, letting the sun soak up the little beads of water that stuck to her. 'twas a beautiful day. At least, weather wise. Anything that crossed Izabella's path was no longer beautiful after her time, I must admit. Not that she actually went out to make everyone's life hell. That wasn't the case, love. And everything she did was only verbally, complete with a prideful body stance, and hardly ever physical. All she was darling, was stupid and vain. And that managed to hurt people more then a suckerpunch ever could.
Funny that.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.
That, love, was a lie. Only a sinner put faith in that.
Eyes continued to stare the boy down, lips folding into a darker frown. Stupid boy.
"That's all, child. Best ye run back to ye mother, now. "
She turned her back on the child, unfolding the purple dress from her chest. By this stage, it looked like merely a peasants dress, instead of the rich dress it had once been. Sticks had torn holes in it, grass stains covered the front and behind, and pollen stuck to the front from the time she had met dear ol' Bryce. Well worn, it seemed. Instead of the special occassion dress it had begun as. She threw it in the water, watching it float for a while, before becoming water clogged. Maybe a good wash would bring it back to shape? Make it as fit as a fiddle.
Funny saying, that.

izabella !