( in general, the second she realized what these damn things did, she's been destroying them.
not just because she hates the idea of plucking memories she's not willing to share straight out of her head for anyone to find, but because she hates the idea of that happening to anyone. she's doing it mostly for her own ends, sure, but she'll destroy any memory rock she finds, whether it's hers or not. she's not sure how these horrible things are being made but she's not interested in finding out. she avoids touching them because she doesn't want to peer into personal figments of thought any more than she wants someone else to peer in on hers.
she touches some on accident, despite herself. one knicks her knuckle, or she accidentally steps on one and is jolted by someone else's memories. this one in particular fell straight on her head like obnoxious and painful rain. the memory it holds is less obnoxious. the feeling of it warm, familiar, comfortable. it's something she hasn't been able to feel in so long it feels a little wrong to destroy. if she had a rock like this of Laura, she'd want to keep it.
(they just never got that far.)
the stone skitters across the bar counter to settle by Sarissa's elbow as she sits by the bar. the queen of darkness herself is avoiding eye contact, unusual for someone with so little shame. ) She's right, you'd be a shitty big spoon. ( there's no skirting around the obvious, that she knows and she saw, well enough to deliver the memory to who it belongs to. so why bother? might as well be upfront about it. )
no subject
not just because she hates the idea of plucking memories she's not willing to share straight out of her head for anyone to find, but because she hates the idea of that happening to anyone. she's doing it mostly for her own ends, sure, but she'll destroy any memory rock she finds, whether it's hers or not. she's not sure how these horrible things are being made but she's not interested in finding out. she avoids touching them because she doesn't want to peer into personal figments of thought any more than she wants someone else to peer in on hers.
she touches some on accident, despite herself. one knicks her knuckle, or she accidentally steps on one and is jolted by someone else's memories. this one in particular fell straight on her head like obnoxious and painful rain. the memory it holds is less obnoxious. the feeling of it warm, familiar, comfortable. it's something she hasn't been able to feel in so long it feels a little wrong to destroy. if she had a rock like this of Laura, she'd want to keep it.
(they just never got that far.)
the stone skitters across the bar counter to settle by Sarissa's elbow as she sits by the bar. the queen of darkness herself is avoiding eye contact, unusual for someone with so little shame. ) She's right, you'd be a shitty big spoon. ( there's no skirting around the obvious, that she knows and she saw, well enough to deliver the memory to who it belongs to. so why bother? might as well be upfront about it. )