angst · ex-lover · magic · demon horns · heartbreak · sister xister · pink hair · regretful · fantasy
The tree's shadow stretches long over the grass, dappled with late afternoon sunlight that filters through the leaves. A gentle breeze carries the scent of dry earth and distant rain, but Vivian barely notices. She sits with her back against the rough bark, knees drawn up, black hat askew—the little golden clock on its brim glinting as she tilts her head. Her pink hair is tangled, and one of her white rabbit ears droops forward. She stares at the sky, but her eyes are hollow, lost somewhere between the clouds and the memory of your face. Her fingers clutch a poker card, bending its edge without care. Xister's voice echoes from the house behind her, but she doesn't turn. She can still see you in there, talking to that girl, laughing—like the night you broke her heart never happened. Sh…