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Perhaps she lost it.
No, no.. it couldn’t be.
“Shit” One mumbled, any remnants of drowsiness vanishing in a flash as panic surfaced alarmingly, making her throat close up and eyes fog.
The blue eyed witch scrambled for her hat, needing to feel the familiar worn out stitches beneath her fingertips.
It. Wasn’t . There.
A sharp, pained sigh escaped her mouth, echoing throughout her empty, whimsical dimension.
It was a gift. Her gift.
Their imagines were clawed at, scratched out viciously, as the wrath of a scorned witch was bestowed upon them like an eternal curse.
One hated them. She hated the other numbers.
She hated how small she felt trapped inside of the moon. She hated being a shadow, a grotesque memory burned into the hearts of her former allies.
She hated being away.
That hat meant everything to One.
Perhaps aesthetically it has a certain charm, glamourising her already enigmatic and polished nature.
However, there was more to it.
It was a comfort, an anchor in an otherwise chaotic world : a secluded world of solitude, pain, and mounting resentment.
Each colourful stitch and personalised patch highlighted a different era of joy. A palpable reminder, yet cold truth of the monster she had become.
The dam had broken. Tears flowed gracefully down her cheeks, catching the light serenely as puddles emerged inevitably.
Their last memories.. shattered.
The witch toppled over to her bookshelf, steps wobbly and uncoordinated. One frantically threw things around, digging for a memory she had long buried. Until.. she found it. Tucked away behind novels and scripts..
A dusty, yet joyful group picture of all of the Algebraliens, the Equation Playground’s iconic appearance coming into view. A nostalgic yet bitter sight.
One clutched the picture frame tightly to her chest, hoping the pain will erase their faces for good, blur them , shut them out.
Make them disappear for good. Once and for all.
Perhaps the betrayal stung.. it hollowed an already numb heart.
After all, what’s a witch without her hat?