The clay was white. It's stiff and white and brand new, the psychiatrists bought it just for her. The told her to manipulate clay, not people. Because Larxene has hurt people. A couple of them were sent to the same asylum she calls home now. She turns the clay over in her hands. It's too white, too pearly, too bleached, too pretty. She can't bring herself to destroy something so pure. Looking around the table, she saw various bottles of paint. Acrylics, Larxene assumed, but she wasn't sure. There are a lot of colors, because to Doctors didn't want to hinder their creativity. Redorangeyellowblueindigoviolet- none of them mattered. Reaching out, she pulled out a bottle reading obsidian. She didn't need fancy words to know that it was black, the darkest.
If there were other people around her, Larxene didn't notice. If there was a universe besides her and clay and paint, she didn't notice. An inscion made with a fingernail into the white white white clay and the black black black paint covered it thickly. Her hands were dripping black but it didn't matter. The bottle of paint was back on the table and Larxene was pressed the clay into itself. Working it. Changing it. Making it into something beatifull. She wasn't too bad at it, and soon in her hands was a small star. It was black, with veins of remaining white and greys of all shades. Suddenly the world existed again and Larxene glanced around the art therapy room. Vexen, the psychiatrist, was on the other side of the room with Namine.
A pretty little thing, Namine was, with her blonde blonde blonde hair and her white white white dress and her pale pale pale skin. Young too, barely eleven. Introverted, victim of abuse. Probably sexual, from the way the girl sat with her body closed in on itself. Larxene had expirience in such things. Seventeen years old and she's not quite as innocent as her parents would like her to be. That was why she was here in the first place, really. Couple gangfights here, a little sex there, a few people gone insane and it all added up to locking her away.
Larxene's eyes looked around the rest of the room, several other kids were working on drawings. Her eyes lingered on Namine. Namine was a very good artist, her art taped to the walls of the room. Everyone's was, really, but Namine's stood out. Larxene turned back to her workspace and set the star on the table. Her hands were covered in drying black paint, but she didn't care. She pulled a peice of paper from a stack by the paints, she pressed both hands against the white white white paper. A moment passed, and she removed her hands. The inky blackness didn't come off on the paper too well, it looked as if her hands were fading away. Like the white white whiteness was taking advantage of the darkness. Scowling, Larxne balled up the paper and tossing into the trash.
Taking a new peice of paper, she decided to paint something for Namine. Because she's too white, too pure. Larxene can't bring herself to destroy something so pure. The paint was messy, but it didn't matter. It was supposed to be that way. Fingers slid over paper, filling it, making it beatifull. The paper is thin and cheap, the paints are bleeding through and it's soggy but she's done. But it's perfect. Slowly, carefully, she peels it from the table and holds it with two hands. Vexen is still standing there, watching Namine draw. He must hear her footsteps, because he turns his head. But it's too late, Larxene is there and she's talking in her sugar-sweet voice. "I drew you a picture, Namine."
Namine looks up with her baby-face and she's smiling like she's happy. Larxene puts the picture on the table next to Namine's. Namine is silent, looking at the picture. It's fingerpainted, a dark inky splotch taking up most of the paper. It's so much more than a dark spot--it's darkness. It's a warning, a message. The pale pale pale girl is shivered and her cheeks are getting red. She's crying now, looking at the picture and Larxene is smiling from ear to ear because she understands. Namine understands.
Vexen is comforting her, he's confused. He doesn't understand the message. You are the paper. It's saying, I am going to taint you. I'm going to make you black and destroy you. Larxne rests a hand on Namine's shoulder, the paint staining her white white white dress. Namine lets out a pained yell and sobs harder, clawing desperately at her shoulder. Larxene doesn't move her hand, doesnt flinch when the young girl's fingernails scratched her repeatedly. There's blood and paint on her hands and Namine buries her face in them. Her sobs are muffed and Vexen is at the door, calling for a nurse.
Larxene takes up her hand and pulls off a peice of skin hanging off from Namine's attack. She's still sobbing patheticly and Larxene reaches over, grabbing on of the small girl's delicate hands covered in blood and dark. She squeezes it, as if giving her reassurance. Namine doesn't respond, only when Larxene lets her hand go does the small girl pull her hand back, quickly and she's shaking and shaking and Larxene is smiling and smiling.
Her hands slam on the table and she grabs a crayon, royal blue, and she crushing it into her hand because maybe then she wont be black. She wont be dark. Any color, and other color, anything other than black. Tainted. Larxene frowns and takes the crayon out of the younger girl's hands. Her arms are over Namine's shoulders, holding her black and blood hands by the wrist and Namine is shaking, shaking into Larxene's hands. She tries to squirm away but it wont work. It wont work
The nurses are here. They're looking and judging and tsk-tsking and Larxene glares. The tell Larxene to let go, and she complies. After all, it doesn't matter where they take Namine or what they do or how hard they scrub at her paleblackpale skin.
Because there's nothing you can do after the infection