teatime sorrows, original poetry

are we children? are we monsters?

He had warned her a million times, and yet there she was, talking to that monster of a man.

Ivor.

Jealousy swirled in his stomach, throat aching with unspoken words. Music blasted through the room, but he could only hear muddled noise.

He gripped the delicate wine glass in his trembling hand, mind spinning with bitter thoughts. Oh, how he despised his life. Everything about it was horrible, from the moment he was born to the moment he was turned.

By him. Ivor.

Jacqueline laughed at Ivor's clever humor, a smile on her young face. She reached out, grasping his hand again.

"Care for another dance?"

Her voice was like a potion, surrounding and enchanting everything it touched. Even Ivor was a victim of her soft words.

They danced elegantly across the floor, laughing and talking about everything.

Ivor looked around, eyes catching on a young man standing in a corner. Spinning Jacqueline again, he saw the way he grasped his glass, the tenseness of his jaw, and his drunken sways.

Jacqueline stopped dancing, eyes fixating on an old clock.

"Oh, I must leave..." Her words trailed off as she looked at Ivor's face.

Ivor smiled softly, letting go of her hands.

"Shall I walk you home?" He whispered, eyes dancing.

---

Gregor sat down, world spinning. He needed to talk to Jacqueline. It was almost too late...

He opened his eyes to see the staff cleaning up around him, soft murmurs filling the heavy air.

She was gone.

--

Ivor walked a bit behind Jacqueline, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. She was barely walking straight, her slurred whispers unintelligible.

His head was full of the same thoughts, running around in endless loops. His hands twitched just thinking about it.

The large wood door creaked as she opened it, stumbling up the four small steps.

"G'bye." She said simply, starting to push the door closed.

Ivor said nothing, holding the door open and entering. She protested, stumbling over herself.

There was a sharp feeling of pain in her head, and a soft whisper.

"Just sleep...."

--

Blood coated her mouth and stained her white dress. The mouse in her hands was cold, chest jaggedly ripped open.

"What have I become?"

fun notes 😀

btw Jacqueline and Gregor are seventeen and ivor has no confirmed age rn and this makes no sense but it's part of the plot thing that connects ff/am/blur/the cure/queen songs.

also this isn't really a poem. sorry 😔