oblivioni traditae | bnha

INTERLUDE: photo album

REQUEST: snapshots from [y/n]'s childhood!

dear lord this took so long to finish...thank you wuuttup1 for suggesting this cute idea! idk if you still remember u suggested this but,,,i still did it,,,and somehow, as always, i've managed to turn said cute idea into a short chapter that is regrettably lacking in fluff. and any vestiges of that cute idea. because this started somewhere (childhood moments) and ended somewhere else (???) ...ah, oh well. 

anyways, this is just a short interlude between parts two and three that was supposed to be published a while ago. sorry. part three is going to be...fun...and i can't make any promises about when those chapters will begin to go up. again, sorry, you've unfortunately hitched a ride on a car that makes weird noises and needs maintenance often. it's not as smooth a ride as i would've liked, but i'm determined to get to the end of this journey. might take a while, though. 

well then. 

i wonder, is everything i write considered to be canon for this story? 

enjoy :)

*

SITTING ON THE HIGHEST SHELF on a bookcase in the living room is a book with a crimson spine. it doesn't have gold lettering swirling over it's cover, nor are it's pages yellowed and brittled by the steady marching of time. in fact, other than the astonishingly vibrant coat it parades, it's rather plain. there isn't much to look at and, strangely enough, for a book that is tucked away in the far recesses of the shelf, it remains remarkably untouched by dust. 

[y/n] herself has never seen it, but if she ever did, then she'd know that it's a photo album. her photo album. 

despite the apparent lack of audience it's clear that it's treated with care. each page is filled by little pocket-sized squares cut out from the fabric of memory, pressed and preserved, stills of a bygone childhood that remains tethered to the present by only a few taut, fraying threads. like a hazy, translucent balloon, it sways with the whims of the winds—a flighty spirit keen on breaking free and dissipating into the ghost of it's shadow, pressed onto a passing cloud. once you let go, it's gone. 

but for now, 

this photo album is enough to keep it grounded. 

let's suppose for a moment:

age four begins with a child peeking curiously through the crack of a closet door, the gleam of a camera reflected within her irises. her cornea: a convex-concave ocular mirror peering into another, shadows bouncing back and forth, infinity-mirror style. two eyepieces pointed at each other, deflecting and reflecting and—watch! there's the shy smile, leaking with a bubbly giddiness. it disappears into the gloom for a moment before springing into the next snapshot—a blur streaking out of the frame.  

a blur streaks blue streams of a blushing dream, so she says, a quiet confession to always-open ears. [y/n]'s an artist, she's been told, this universe's very own maestro of sound and light. a harmonic masterpiece placed at the center of the world and she giggles in the way people do when they're embarrassed in tv dramas. poppies blooming in a riot of carmine red caged in behind bars of flesh and bone—aw, [y/n] darling, if you cover your face like that i won't be able to take a picture! pulling away reveals little blue kisses, pigmented footprints dotting a flushed landscape with pockets of an imaginary sky.