Work Text:
Lacuna: A blank space, a missing part
October 17th, 03:26
It’s late. Four walls surround a girl, each intimidating with their cold, gray, demeanor. The area feels still, sterile almost, and the cleanliness of each surface is borderline insufferable. In the furthest corner of the room sits a clock that ticks its monotonous rhythm. Tick, tick, tick, tick.
Her heartbeat matches this lonely pulse. The silver haired girl lies uncomfortably in her bed, her eyes fidgeting behind shut eyelids. With each tick of heart and time she feels the pain settle in her stomach before seeping into her head. Her breathing is erratic and unusual, as cold sweat begins to bead her forehead.
It had been a week since the results of the vote, and Vertin and her friends were granted more leniency and freedom by the Foundation’s Vice President. The time spent afterwards was almost dreamlike - Regulus and Lilya arranged for a celebration of Vertin’s “recovery” and their victory in their political battles for freedom, Ms Druvis had opted to help Vertin reorganize the suitcase (after her recent attempts to keep the Foundation from entering), and Vertin even had a well-hearted conversation with Sonetto, who seemed deeply troubled after seeing Vertin in her previously comatose state. After everything that had happened, Vertin was grateful to see that her friends remained in their usual cheerful manner.
Her friends?
Of course - Sonetto, Regulus, Mr APPle, Ms Druvis, Sotheby, X, and Lilya. Her friends whom she deeply cherished.
(You want to hear my wish, my lord?)
“What?” she whispers aloud, her throat unexpectedly hoarse.
The girl in the bed moves restlessly once again. Her ears ring to the pulse of her heartbeat, and she begins to choke for air.
There’s something…I’m missing
She grips at her nightgown with her clammy hands in order to calm herself down. The irritable sound of the clock continues to tick as she allows her thoughts to race.
Timekeeper
What a ridiculous title. How was she expected to keep time? Time is ever-flowing, whether backwards or forwards. She was just one person, barely 16 years old, yet expected to complete such a momentous task. Observe the Storm? And watch all of her friends disappear in front of her eyes?
Her friends? Yes, they’re all safe. All of them.
Her chest aches at this thought, as if she’s forgetting something important. She sits up in bed and looks around in a daze. Her body is strangely cool to the touch, but she feels as if her body is on fire. She stumbles out of bed, her legs shakily holding her up.
(Don’t forget me…)
Forget who? All of her friends are safe. They escaped the Storm successfully. Everything was fine.
She slowly moves towards the bothersome clock. At this moment, the thought of time passing is strangely painful. She staggers at the sight of the small machine, her vision doubling through half-lidded eyes. With each step, the agony in her chest grows.
(I am sorry…my lord)
She grabs the machine and peers at its digital face. Without much reaction, she throws it to the floor, watching the circuits and pieces fly all over the stainless wooden floors. Now, time has stopped, just as she wanted. She stares with her usual, stoic face at the fragments on the floor, but the ticking never stops. The heartbeat never stops.
(Don’t forget my heartbeat…on the right)
She notices the cuts on her feet made from the destruction of the clock.
Red. Blood red.
This color is oddly nostalgic to her, but she can’t recall why.