Work Text:
Dr. Claire Saunders is a lie. The realization is like ripping away a band-aid, pain and breath sharp, skin tender. She exhales, rejecting the metaphor. Too fitting of the doctor she isn't, even as she cares for Victor's wounds.
Her fingers worry the edges of Whiskey's file, mutilating the corners as irrational fear presses down. But she pushes it aside and opening the file is like tearing at wallpaper: jagged edges and abrupt stops. A clashing kaleidoscope of layers peeking through, but none of them familiar.
Lips to her flask, she longs for the lie of being Dr. Claire Saunders.

Garnigal
Posted Thu 01 Apr 2010 11:31PM EDT
Comment Actions
Spiralleds
Posted Thu 08 Apr 2010 08:50PM EDT
Comment Actions