Isabella Foster
I like a look of agony
because I know it's true
Y
ou’re late. She says. I huff, it is a mockery of a laugh as it leaves my lips. I want to roll my eyes, but you would as soon see a Foster roll their eyes as a kelpie drown in water. And at the same time, I want to press my face close to hers and tell her that I am here, and never have I wanted to be here, a party, so badly. Yes, I am late, but I am here.
Looking at her is like staring directly into sun, but I cant look away either and my steel eyes are fever bright as her own light reflects back in them. I can feel my own heart beating and I suddenly breathe, as if I had been holding my breath since the last time we spoke and move to her side as she banishes the party goer from her sight. I love her power, her confidence, and I love how it feels to stand next to her and pretend that her power and her confidence is my own by association. “Maybe grab one for your date, if you have one,” I say with a smirk. It sounds dumb coming out of my mouth, but I want to feel like she does, when she speaks to people like that. I want to say grab one for your date, and leave mine alone.
I laugh, it sounds just so ridiculous as my words. “You know I am always happy to help,” I say. My eyes glance at the pendent she wears, the pendent I picked. It is like some sort of victory against her, and I swallow down my pride, knowing it would not last in her presence.
“Well, a Foster never lies, so truth would not be very much fun.” I say and I know what I am doing, I am the snake charmer, but I do not hold any instrument. The basket opens she is there with amber eyes, and she holds the instrument, not I, and sends me into charmed darkness. “Dare.”
picture colored by Elidhu
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