Work Text:
It is 11:49 PM and the screen is still empty. The sterile white glow illuminates her face, giving it a sick paleness. She stares back, unrelenting, willing her head to come up with something, anything.
Her hands hover over her keyboard, expectantly. As if any minute now, they would finally get work to do. As if words might magically start to appear.
But they don’t.
Of course they don’t.
It is 11:53 and Caitlyn gets up and leaves the room. With a sigh, she puts on the kettle, then leans against the counter, staring into nothingness. No thought occurs, no idea sprouts.
There is only blankness.
The kettle clicks, she puts a teabag in her favorite mug and pours water over it.
When she sits back down at her desk it is 11:57. And she still has nothing. The clock on the wall behind her ticks silently, a hypnotizing rhythm. Caitlyn doesn’t notice it; she went back to staring at her screen, willing the words to come out.
It is 11:59 when Caitlyn breaks off eye contact with the mocking white glow and turns her gaze to the single flower on her desk. The water is starting to get a little murky and in response the Violet has started to let her petals hang. She would have to get a new one soon.
A faint pang echoes through her chest, like she is supposed to remember something but there is nothing there. Forehead creasing, she regards the flower with a scrutinizing look, as if it would tell her what she was missing. Carefully, she strokes one of the petals, its delicate surface soft under her fingertips.
Suddenly, she thinks of a girl, pink hair and freckles dusting her cheeks and a lopsided grin on her face. A hard exterior but a soft heart.
She doesn’t know where it comes from, yet the girl becomes clearer and clearer in her mind. Her laugh echoes through her head, powder blue eyes crinkle from laughing and calloused hands fidget out of a nervous habit.
The clock strikes 12 AM and Caitlyn has started typing. And she doesn’t stop ‘till the sun rises and the first rays cast a pink glow over her office. Caitlyn writes up a manuscript and sends it to her agent. She spends a long time pondering about a title but at last comes up with one she deems suitable.
Violet — The Girl That Never Was