“As someone who still secretly maintains her nightly ritual of sleeping with her stuffed animals in shifts so as not to make any of them feel left out, it stings a little to know the disintegrating lamb and the monkey with one button eye cannot be salvaged.” OHHH THIS PART HITS. Man. The stuffed toys :( The way the air and atmosphere in the photo album is described is captivating… Truly a candid glimpse into a weird, barely-not-totally-unhappy life that would only go lower as the years went on. At the end of the day at least Hannibal had someone in his corner, somewhat. – “He may wear Hannibal’s old clothes, but he is not her son.” Man…
The baby pictures in this fic man, they always hit me square in the chest. One snapshot of Noodle in the glove compartment, vs. the single note of tenderness recorded between Sebastian and Murdoc. The innocence doomed before it could even have a walking start, let alone a running one. “She too, was never a baby, only a fresh lump of clay to be kneaded into an obedient weapon– or a prodigy guitarist.” As usual words fail me so I punctuate with a noise. Aauhghgjg :( The juxtaposition of a miserable parade of Christmases and the lingering unease that comes with not.. having many of them to remember. But decidedly happier ones regardless. “She was only ten years old once and will never be again.”
Comment on Nobody's Child
Stupidusernamepolicy on Chapter 10 Tue 03 Sep 2024 09:35PM UTC
Comment Actions