even monsters are made of stardust
She shouldn’t be here.
This place is where it all went wrong. Or rather, it is where she went after it all went wrong - when her happy-ever-after became Hell. And oh, how ironic it was that her happy-ever-after was Hell (a demon lady ripping and tearing her up for an eternity, but also loving her, teaching her, breaking and rebuilding her). This place is where she was spat out and discarded. This river is where she looked up by the reflection of the water below and saw the billions of stars that once carpeted her home. Their home. Their place of worship and torture and devotion. Their palace of monsters.
She shouldn’t be here.
But her mind is a broken thing. She goes back to the place it broke hoping to retrace her steps on where it all went wrong, hoping to fix it. Because she can’t go on until she does. It won’t work, of course. Impossibilities cannot become reality on willpower alone. She knows this, she does (doesn’t she?).
She shouldn’t be here, but it’s like a pleasant dream to be here again. The summer air is plump and warm and makes her sleepy, even as she’s pushing through the cattails to the water beyond. The dark makes her obvious with her crimson red glow about her (makes her look like the devil Herself - maybe she is), but she pays it less mind each and every day. Besides, this night is quiet and still. She will be alone, she thinks, and that suits her just the same.
zosma
@[laura]: sorry, starters suckkkk