Sep. 30th, 2007

bringmethatnpc: (shipwreck isle)
Jailed, again.

She sits in murky light, in a cell that smells of mold and rats and old seawater, and runs her fingertip around and around the details of her locket. There's a click when she slips a nail into the opening, and a slight whirring, and then her cell is filled with the plaintive plucking of a lullaby--an old song with no words but many memories.

She lets the little melody play, on and on, lilting delicately through her jail, while her eyes follow the track of the cogs and wheels inside.

It's company, of a sort.

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bringmethatnpc

October 2007

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