Length: 3.9k
Summary: She’d been stolen- tr̴͘i̷ck̶ed̸̡- broken, torn apart and forced back together with parts that weren’t Her own. Who was She? What was She?
A/N: I decided to scroll through the blog today and found that it’s the birthday ficathon again! I originally wasn’t planning on doing anything, but then I found this prompt, and well, this happened. It’s not really an official ficathon prompt, but I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway.
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Isolation was like a mother to her, arms wrapped around her neck comfortingly, whispering ideas into her ears. Over the years, her obsession, sparked in high school, had only continued to grow, pushing everyone away from her, and leaving her all alone. But she didn’t mind, because in her quiet house in the countryside, away from the bustling city of her youth, her ideas could be realised.
Now she sat, flicking through a large tome, a Grade-A classified book that, by all accounts, she should never have been able to get her hands on. Her head lolled with sleep, or rather the lack of it, finally catching up to her. She reached up and rubbed her eyes, blurred from the hours of looking through names and diagrams. If she was being perfectly honest, she didn’t know what half of these words meant.
She turned the page again and her eyes landed on some words, ones that she actually understood. She hummed thoughtfully, placing a bookmark into the page and leaning back, looking up at the ceiling of her study. A memory bloomed in her mind, and she laughed quietly, glancing back over at the book.
This was the one.
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