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Perfect
Title: Perfect (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)
Pairing: None, really
Rating: R
Category: I think disturbing content is very apt here.
A/N: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
japanpeterpan for beta.
Willy Wonka just wants his collection to be perfect.
The fabric is vast. Rooms and corridors stapled onto each other. Rooms within rooms, sometimes another one, making the whole of it a labyrinth. To keep people out. To keep people in.
He started his collection by coincidence. Nothing planned at all. He had just seen something he knew he had to have. The unusual, the perfect. It was perfection he wanted, and when he found it, he had to find it a place close by. The music, the art, the beauty. Each and every item in his collection was unique, without comparison. Treated with the utmost care. Presented in a setting that made them even more luminous. Carefully thought out to enhance, always to enhance.
They are all kept close to each other in a special part of the fabric. Not together, but still close. He wanders there most every day, listens and watches and delights in what he has. He is very good in keeping them and making them grow. True, there is a darkness that seems to be unavoidable, but darkness can be perfect too. The singer’s singing is just as lovely, only his voice is tinged with sadness. The beautiful love the mother has for her child only deepens. Oh yes, he doesn't mind it at all.
But sometimes he fails, and now he has to admit defeat with the dancer. She was the most exquisite form he had ever seen. Her movements graceful but fully controlled- even the smallest muscle worked in harmony with the other. He craved her as soon as he saw her, but she never danced again. He had tried to tempt her with music, every kind of music, but she never moved.
And then she stopped eating. Not even chocolate, the richest he could made, passed her lips. Nothing. She is so thin now, but, he finds to his surprise, still perfect. Her dark skin stretches over bones, delicate and beautiful, and he realises that she is not a waste after all. Instead of her movements, it's her stillness he has to preserve.
And when all the last shallow breathing is gone, and she is still, he actually goes inside. Not for long. Just to ensure that she is posed to his liking, and then he leaves. No living creature will ever go into that room again, because now he lets the cold in. Bitter cold that wraps her in tiny glittering ice crystal. Like diamonds they glitter in the light. So beautiful. Nothing but her beauty and the ice. Perfection.
He looks at her for a long time, before he wanders off to enjoy something else.
Pairing: None, really
Rating: R
Category: I think disturbing content is very apt here.
A/N: Thanks to
japanpeterpan for beta. Willy Wonka just wants his collection to be perfect.
The fabric is vast. Rooms and corridors stapled onto each other. Rooms within rooms, sometimes another one, making the whole of it a labyrinth. To keep people out. To keep people in.
He started his collection by coincidence. Nothing planned at all. He had just seen something he knew he had to have. The unusual, the perfect. It was perfection he wanted, and when he found it, he had to find it a place close by. The music, the art, the beauty. Each and every item in his collection was unique, without comparison. Treated with the utmost care. Presented in a setting that made them even more luminous. Carefully thought out to enhance, always to enhance.
They are all kept close to each other in a special part of the fabric. Not together, but still close. He wanders there most every day, listens and watches and delights in what he has. He is very good in keeping them and making them grow. True, there is a darkness that seems to be unavoidable, but darkness can be perfect too. The singer’s singing is just as lovely, only his voice is tinged with sadness. The beautiful love the mother has for her child only deepens. Oh yes, he doesn't mind it at all.
But sometimes he fails, and now he has to admit defeat with the dancer. She was the most exquisite form he had ever seen. Her movements graceful but fully controlled- even the smallest muscle worked in harmony with the other. He craved her as soon as he saw her, but she never danced again. He had tried to tempt her with music, every kind of music, but she never moved.
And then she stopped eating. Not even chocolate, the richest he could made, passed her lips. Nothing. She is so thin now, but, he finds to his surprise, still perfect. Her dark skin stretches over bones, delicate and beautiful, and he realises that she is not a waste after all. Instead of her movements, it's her stillness he has to preserve.
And when all the last shallow breathing is gone, and she is still, he actually goes inside. Not for long. Just to ensure that she is posed to his liking, and then he leaves. No living creature will ever go into that room again, because now he lets the cold in. Bitter cold that wraps her in tiny glittering ice crystal. Like diamonds they glitter in the light. So beautiful. Nothing but her beauty and the ice. Perfection.
He looks at her for a long time, before he wanders off to enjoy something else.